Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1890-05-14

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"And you promised. though it may
break your heart, as it has mine 2
He grasps her hands rudely, and gaze'
at her with hungry wistful eyes.
Gould refuse p Her voice trem'
bles.. ut was a dying woman"
There is a silence. The dew falls
A cricket, out in clover. patch, chirp:
ia loud monotonous tone. They
have no word to speak, these two
What shall they say, with the cold
silent figure lying in the house yonder,
upon whose face rests smile born Of
this very sacrificed
III shall be going away soon" he
says, brokenly, at last. Have you
no word for me?'
"Yes that you may be happy, and
that / may learn to forget YOU
"True love can never forget he
says, half angrily.
"But when it is ones duty"
He pushes her away. Then, with
sudden revulsion of feeling, he
catches her in his arms and kisses her
again and again, passionately-so
passionately that her hat falls off and
her beautiful hair tumbles in great
masses down her back.
She extricates herself, with look
of reproach. "Oh! how can you p she
cries, and crouches against tree, as
if for protection, and bursts into silent
sobbing.
Forgive me" he says. 81 will 20.
Give me one lcok-only one. l was
mad. You are right. We must part
He lays his hand OH her, apparently.
She looks up-oh, what look Re-
proach, wonder, love. despair, all
unite in it.
IL forgive you," she sobs. God
help us both
God help us, he answers, and, fear
ing to trust himself longer, he turns
and strikes across the field, leaving
her standing mutely leaning against
the tree for support, straining her eyes
in the darkness after him. Then she
steals home, and, hurrying up to her
chamber, filings herself on her bed, and
bursts into a passion of sobs, that
shake her whole frame.
The day subsequent to that of the
funeral, he went away. Five years
passed 1t is again September.
Bright and mellow falls the late after
noon sunlight over the Ashhart estate,
yet its master is still absent from his
boyhood's home,
Some day, the place may know him
again. But the spring grass and the
spring buds start, and the summers
deepen into autumn, and the winter
SHOWS come and go, and still he is away.
To one, this long waiting seems life
time. Never, since that last meeting
in the meadow, has she seen or heard
from him. She said she would try to
get his love but she has not been
able to do so. Where is he now :?
He may be married. She has never
heard. Even though he he single, he
is lost to her. Perhaps his love is
dead. Five years time brings many
changes, and it may have wrought its
work with Philip Ashton.
Yet, what is he to her, and why can
she not forget him. Why is it that
woman still remembers, when even
hope is dead?
1t is two years since the old man,
who adopted her and raised her rs his
own, died, leaving her the bu Tx of his
fortune. She is an heiress, now.
There is much in life she can enjoy,
and yet she lives quietly on, in the old
home, where, at every twilight, she
steals out, and over the fields. down
to the meadow path. Standing there
alone, she wonders if life IL to 90 on,
forever, thus.
A lawyer, who is settling some bus
mess pertaining to the estate, has ask
ed for some papers of her guardian.
This afternoon, in quest of them, she
opens private drawer in the great
writing desk, that she never looked
into before. 1t contains many faded
and yellow papers. Some are old
letters, dating back many years. She
remembers it well. 1t was here that
her adopted father used to sit, trans
acting business. Sometimes he would
leave his papers about, if hurridly
called away. She recalls particularly
one morning, when the careless house
maid had swept out letter that must
have fallen Oh the floor, and which
would have been lost irrecoverably if
she had not discovered it. She recalls,
too, his look Of surprise, almost of con-
sterhation, when she carried it in to
him. Yes, yes he cried, hurdle ly,
after scanning it, at is one of my
papers. But you haven't read it
You haven't read il? No2 That is
right. l know you never read my
letters, but | thought you might have