The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1891-08-12
Selected storm.
How the Spirit Moved Cynthia.
PART II.
Concluded from last week. J

Il
preoccupied good night, and sought
morning of Richard Rolf dawned bright
and beautiful, and found me strangely
excited and interested spectator of the
sad little drama going on under my
eyes, the existence of which / alone
suspected. Cynthia had shown no con-
seriousness on meeting my eyes, the
morning after her self-betrayal. She
neither avoided my look nor sought it,
and in Just the same manner did she
behave regarding my society. AS !
have always held that the sin of betray-
ing the secrets of one friend to another
paled before the sin of betraying the
mood of one day to the mood of the
next, / ignored, as Cynthia did, our
conversation of Sunday night. l should
have grown to think it a dream of my
own brains spinning, had l not seen
under Cynthia's eyes those dark rings
which betoken sleepless nights, and
observed her more than usual silence.
Her work was as regularly done as
ever; the same gentle sweetness and
serenity was hers, at least outwardly.
Her silence was unnoticed by the kind
farmer and his wife, for she was, as
ever, ready to discuss fully any new
project on the farm or in the house
keeping. | could hear her talking over
plans for Mondays apple peeling with
the adopted mother as they sat behind
me in the wagon, driving over to the
Quaker wedding. l had wondered if
Cynthia's strength would carry her
through this hardest trial, and, in my
heart, applauded the dignity and self
control which prompted her to be
present.
Sam sat on the front seat beside me,
ostensibly driving; but had long ago
taken the reins from his hands.
He was idly Ticking at the flies on the
horses backs with his stubby whip.
You see dat" he said, and pointed
to a jagged scar on the near-horse's
flank. dat gemman fren' O. yourn,
what war here las year, he done cure
dat What he dom know bout HOSES
aim with knowin'-ef he did fit on the
oder side in de wor."
(which is the other side, Sam?"
Ode Yanks, honey" Sam continued,
his elbows on his knees, and his woody
white head nodding to emphasize his
remarks.
"Young mars he fit 'em toof and nail,
an lef' me to take keer o. ole mars an
ole miss, an de young mistis, too.
Sam says he, Il leaves you as a
kind O. garden for 'em ALL he says
a kind o. gardeen.' Den he got hisse'f
shot in the leg; not in de battle whar
de two fust pore chillerns was kilt, but
in the one whar little RUDE was lef'.
Dey never did see him no more. We
dom know what did come to de chile.
Hit all jes' dig ole mistis grave, hit did,
but little RUDE, dat cut her mos. When
young mars he come home, den | went
an fit dem Yanks for more'n year."
oh, Uncle Sam, Uncle Sam, you
hoary old sinner Do [ not know your
story Do not know how you thirsted
for " freedom" and how you deserted
wounded young mars, old miss and all,
to cross the lines and get out of Dixie,
and have not seen the pathetic letter
which came from the Massachusetts
Hospital after March, sixty-fve, saying,
Young mars fur de Lambs sake come
git Sam. | never run away no mo-"
The cruel New England winter had
frozen all love of freedom out of poor
Sans heart, child of the sun as he was :;
but Sam had his own pleasing little fc-
ton concerning that year of absence,
and had told it so often that | think he
had taught his feeble brain to believe it,
By such discourse did he beguile the
way, until at last the ten miles of
wooded road were travelled and the
Quaker Westinghouse was in sight.
1t stood little apart from the settle
ment, and was built on the side of a hill
so steep that realization of the tenacity
it must require to stick on made me feel
tired as | looked at it.
We were among the last arrivals, and
had barely taken our seats with the as
sembled " Friends " when Richard
Rolf entered quietly and sought his
place among the men on the other side
of the aisle.
stole look at Cynthia, but she had
taken her Quakerdom and wrapped it
about her as garment. could learn
nothing Of her feelings from her face.
She had looked at Richard when he
entered the room, as did the other
women, and then cast her eyes down
again.
The door soon opened to admit the
bride, who walked into the meeting
house between her uncle, Friend
Moore, and his wife.
When | saw her, / had to admit, in
spite of my jealousy for Cynthia's love-
illness, that she possessed a dusky
beauty, as perfect type of its kind as
the dreamy face on which | had loved
to gaze.
There was not enough character in
the soft contour of Dora's face, but one
gained an impression of distracting
prrettiness and coquetry-just the kind
OF face Hetty Sorrel must have had, l
thought.
She might have turned older and
wiser heads than Richard Rolls with
that seductive grace and softness.
She sat down, nesting close to her
aunt's side like frightened child
1t was easy to see that she was q
" Friend" by adoption, not birth. Hei
hands were twisted restlessly together
and her eyelids, which she never raised
fiuttered nervously. The utter silence
in the room was broken suddenly by q