The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1892-04-20


when suddenly she utters low cry, her
breath comes fast and the familiar world
about her grows in a moment strange and
unreal.
For it is a love. letter. She is thirty
three, and this is her very first.
And from such a man-the man whom
she has looked up to and reverenced and
followed so humbly aud modestly ever
since she first saw himl She goes down
to breakfast with flushed face, quiver-
ing lips and radiant eyes.
''NIiss Cornelias just on the ramp
this morning, miss" says the little maid
warningly, as she meets Ruth in the mar.
row passage that does duty for hall.
Miss Ruth mods and smiles as if this
were the pleasantest intelligent possible.
Cornelia's diatribes this morning fall up
on needless ears.
Ruth answers at intervals, eyes,
dear, " and "No, DEAR" and "I will see
to it, sister," as in duty bound; but her
heart and soul are filed with one thought
thar wonderful letter.
After breakfast, Miss Cornelia goes out
to visit her district. Then Miss Ruth
takes up her pen and writes trembllngly
out Of the fulness of her heart:
DEAR Mr.. STANFoRD-Your letter has
surprised me very much. l scarcely know
what to say, except that l am most grateful
to you. II is so good Of you to love me as
you say you do, and love has always seemed
such a beautiful thing to me, though L never
thought that it was likely to come to either
my sister or me. But am very, very glad
Ao.- L.I lokN hall ha
So even IL you change your mind, for, in
deed, l am not worthy OF all the good things
you say of me. Still, whatever happens, l
shall always feel happy to know that you
| once thought as you have written. And
beg you will think the matter over well.
| Though it seems impertinent OF me to advise
you, yet think only Of your good. And l
am always your faithful friend,
RUTH BLAKE.
She reads the letter over several times,
and then shakes her head.
"How poorly have said it'll" she
thinks. "But he is so kind; he will un-
derstand that mean we'll"
The curate, when he receives the gen.
tie, humble epistle, is filled with dismay.
He PAGES wildly up and down his small
sitting room.
"Somebody has played a cruel, heart
less trick upon that poor little woman,
and have to face her and tell her so.
would rather be shot"
He drinks his sealding tea in great
gulps, and is glad of the pain it causes
him.
"But what am to do2 Go and tell a
woman-a kind, gentle, little lady
coarsely and brutally to her face, that
she has been played with and insulted f;
that never dreamed of loving her;
that it is impossible for me to do so9
Oh, cruel and cowardlyl How can l
strike gentlewoman, or indeed any
woman, such blow as thatG"
He rests his head upon his hands and
groans.
After a while he reads the letter over
again slowly. He reads between the
lines and seems to see soul laid bare
before him, and he realizes how much
that means to her. What new flood OF
light has been poured suddenly upon
that sad, unselfsh lifel
Aud there is no help for either of
them. He must do it2 Well, then, let
it be done at once.
Mechanically he takes his hat down
from its peg and goes out into the street,
walking with his head bent down, see-
ing nothing, hearing nothing until he is
close to the little green gate; then a
ehilds clear, high voice reaches his ear.
"My g'anuie made it," she says.
"Ain't it pitty9'
'Nts beautiful DOLL" a gentle voice
answers ''Is it g good babyG"
"WeNy dood," the child says, tucking
the rag doll under one chubby arm.
"Dive me> wose, please"
Miss Ruth plucks one of the few re-
naming June\roses, one of the prettiest,
and puts it into the little outstretchel
hand.
As she turns to look after the child
Miss Ruth sees him aud pauses shyly.
Something has to be said, so he comes
forward.
"What a lovely eveningi" he exclaims,
though he scarcely knows whether it
rains or whether the sun shines.
eyes" she answers. "Won't you
were you-will you come iu3"
He follows her into the house with an
intense longing Tor something, however
dreadful, to happen to him, aud save
him from what is to follow.
Ruth takes him into the dining room.
He feels vaguely that his task is becom-
ing more difficult. In the bare, chill
little drawing room he could have said
his say better. But she brought him
straight into the sanctuary OF her home,
and again he feels oddly that her life
lies open before him.
There is her work lying folded togeth.
er. What tiny thimblel He glance
down at her small bare hands. She has
taken of her ugly gloves. What bit
of a woman for strong man TO fight
What a gentle life to be marred and
shattered by bitter shame!
Still Mr.. Stanford does not speak,
but stands there before her, looking
very pale. His back is to the window
and she cannot see his face well, but the
light shines full upon hers.
81 did not show my sister your letter, "
she begins hesitatingly. al thought
had better wait-that perhaps YOU
would change your mind, think differ
emily about it all, and then it would be
best that only we two should know"
She does not say a word about
changing her own mind. She stands
there before him, sweet, fair woman,
in spite of her old fashioned gown and
her oddly arranged hair.
She looks at him with smiling, stead
fast eyes, and bids him take or leave her