Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1891-10-10

but we did not talk of her. Had expected
TO? I Judge so by the faint but positive dis
appointment which l feel
l have been again to the Colonel's, but
this time 1 did not find him in. "He is
much out evenings" explained the woman
who keeps house for him, "and you will
have to come early to see him at his own
hearth"
What is thero about the Colonel that
daunts ne? He seems friendly, welcomes
my company, and often hands me the hospi-
table glass. But l am never easy in his
presence, though the distance between up is
not so great as it was in our young days,
now that have advanced in worldly pros
perity and he has stood still Is it that his
intellect cows me, or do 1 feel too much the
secret melancholy which breathes through
all his actions and frequently cuts short his
words? [ cannot answer; l am daunted by
him and am fascinated, and after leaving
him think only of the time when 1 shall see
him again.
The children, who have grown up since
the Colonel has been gone, seem very shy of
him. L have noted them more than once
shrink away from his patch, huddling and
whispering in a corner, and quite forgetting
to play as long as his shadow
fell across the green or the sound
u l.
think they fear his melancholy, not under
standing it. Or perhaps some hint of his
sorrows has been given them, and it is awe
they feel rather than fear. However that
NAV be, no child ever takes his hand or
prattles to him of its little joys or griefs;
and this in itself makes him look solitary,
for we are much given in this town to
merry-making with our little ones, and it is
a common sight to see old and young to-
gether on the green, making sport with ball
or battledore.
And it is not the children only who hold
him in high but distant respect. The best
men here are contented with a courteous
bow from him, while the women-matrons
now, who once were blushing maidens-
think they have shown him enough honor
if they make him a deep curtsey and utter
"a mild "Good morrow"
The truth is, he invites nothing more. He
talks to NE because he must talk to some
one. but our conversation is always of
things outside of our village life. and never
by any chance of the place or any one in it.
He lives at his fathers house, now his, and
has for his sole companion an old servant of
the family, who was once his nurse, and
who is, l believe, the only person in the
world who is devotedly attached to him.
Unless it is myself. Sometimes l think I
love him; sometimes I think do not. He
fascinates me, and could make me do most
anything he pleased, but have 1 real affec-
tion for him? Almost; and this is some
thing which consider strange.
Where does the Colonel go evenings?
His old nurse has asked me, and 1 find
cannot answer Not to the tavern, for am
bors, for none of them profess to know him
Where then? Is the curiosity of my youth
coming back to me? 1t looks very much
like it, Philo very much like it.
My daughter said to me to-day: Father,
do not go any more to the Colonel's." And
when asked her why, she answered that
her lover-she has lover, the minx-had
told her that the Colonel held secret talks
with the witches, and though laughed at
this it has set me thinking. He goes
to the forest at night, and roams
for hours among its shadows. Is this a
healthy occupation for man, especially al
man with history? I shall go early to the
Schuyler homestead tonight and stay late,
for these midnight communlngs with nature
may be the source of the hideous gloom
which 1 have observed of late is growing
upon his spirits No other duty seems to
me now greater than this, to win him back
to healthy realization of life, and the need
there is of looking cheerfully upon such
blessings as are LETT to our lot.
went to the Cnlonel's at early candle
light, and stayed till 10, late hour for
me, and, as 1 hoped, for him. When 1 left
I caught sight of old Hannah, standing in
a distant hallway, and 1 thought she looked
grateful; at all events, she came forward
very quickly after my departure, for 1
heard the key turn in the lock of the great
front door before had passed out of the
gate.
Why did not 60 home? 1 had meant to.
and there was every reason why should. |
But had no sooner felt the turf under nv |
feet and seen the stars over my head than I |
began to wander in the very opposite direc- |
ton, and that without any very definite |
plan or purpose. L think L was troubled,
and if not troubled, restless, and vet move, |
ment did not seem to help me, for 1 grew
more uneasy with every step L took, and
began to look toward the woods to which I |
was half unconsciously tending as if there |
1 should find relief just as the Colonel, per
haps, was in the habit of doing. Was It a |
mere foolish freak which had assailed me.
or was 1 under some uncanny influence |