Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1891-02-19
gashes through heavy piles Of cloud that

R8SuCS tLAOuSu ACoNy HAASo 70 SASs~~ 1890
were mounting rapidly.
"Never-never!" he muttered, as he
strobe along and barred his hot brow to
the pelting drops of rain.
"Never" she said, sadly, as she list
ened to his retreating footsteps Il
was disappointed in him. We can
never be united again"
And the wind blew and beat upon
that house.
Ruth Jarvis felt that her heart was
breaking, not because her lover was
gone, but because she felt that she
ought not long for his return. He was
unworthy of her love.
The sultry days of summer crept
slowly by. Autumn breathed upon the
landscape, like the fair daughter OF
Rappacini in Hawthornc's tale, and
every living thing withered and died.
Winter buried its dead in deep snow
and sang requicms of the northland
over the white mounds.
Ronald McAllistcr went YEARLY to
and from his work, yearning for ono
word from Ruth, the woman he had
loved and wounded SO gricvously.
He dared not write to her, nor even
look at her as they met in the street.
lie had no trusty friend who could
plead for him. How could he reach her?
One day rs he was passing a news
stand he saw the little figure he knew
so we'll standing at the counter. She
was buying a paper, the heading OF
which he recognized as one of the lead
ing journals of the city.
thought flashed into his heart and
burned there like {. star of hope
He hurried home, seized pen and pa
per and wrote rapidly and increasingly
till daylight crept in, gray and wan. ut
his window
On his way downtown he dropped q
thick package of manuscript into the
letter box.
What days OF torturing anxiety fol-
lowed At last it came-the envelope
bearing the imprint of the periodical
He tore it open and read:
"OrEIcE OF THE CouEIER-Dear Sir:
Your story entitled 'Ruth's Lover is
accepted, and will be published in our
issue of December %. lnclosed please
find check in payment for same"
On the morning of December rs Ron
aid stood shivering at the corner OPP
posite the newsstand. He had remained
there several hours watching for her.
The paper was just out containing his
story. Would she buy it and read it?
1t was signed by an assumed name, but
she surely would-ah, she is coming.
She enters the little store, purchases
the paper-his paper-and turns to go
out, glancing idly down its columns.
He can see her plainly in the brill
iantly lighted interior of the store.
She is about to put the paper in her
sachel when something near the bot
tom of the page catches her eye. She
reads it eagerly.
The ncwsman starcs but she does not
heed him. Ronald can restrain himself
no longer, but draws near, trembling
with hope and fear.
In that sketch, hastily scrubbed at
midnight, he has told her story and his
own, has portrayed the anguish of the
remorseful lover, his pcnitencc, his
| longing for reconciliation.
She glances up; her eyes are dewy
with tears.
What face is that so near? It is his
"Ronald!"
"Ruth-tarling! Forgive me!'
And, although the notice was rather
sudden, the wedding did take place on
that bright New Years day, after all
EEVOl.
Reader. have you OWNED? This is
my own story; this is my own paper
| am Ruth's lover Will she sec this
and forgive me?-Willis Boyd Allen, in
Boston Courier