Fairhaven herald. [volume] (Fairhaven, Wash.) 1890-????, 1892-04-27


How poorly have said itP she thinks.
"But he isso kind; he viii understand that
| mean we'll"
The curate, when he receives the gentle.
humble epistle, is filled with dismay. He
PAGES wildly up and down his small sitting
room.
Somebody has played a cruel, heartless
trick upon that poor little woman, and |
have to face her and tell her So | would
rather be shotp'
He drinks his scalding tea in great gulps.
and is glad of the pain it causes him.
But what am | to do? Go and tell a
woman-a kind, gentle little lady-coarse-
ly and brutally to her face that she has
been played with and insulted; that | never
dreamed of loving her; that it is impossible
for me to do so' Oh, cruel and cowardly!
How can | strike a gentlewoman, or, in
deed, any woman, such blow as thaty"
He rests his head upon his hands and
groans.
After awhile he reads the letter over
again slowly He reads between the lines
and seems to see a soul laid bare before
him. She loves him, and he realizes how
much that means to her. What a new
| flood of light has been poured suddenly
upon that sad, unselfsh life?
And there is no help for either of them.
He must do it? 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, seeing
nothing, hearing nothing Until he is close
to the little green gate; then a child's clear,
high voice reaches his ear.
MY grannie made it, she says. "Ain't
it pitty2"
"It's a beautiful doll, :" gentle voice an
swers. as it a good baby?"
"Welly dood, the child says, tucIcing
the rag doll under one chubby arm. olive
me a wose, pleasep'
Miss Ruth plucks one of the few remain.
ing June roses one of the prettiest, and
puts it into the little outstretched hand.
As she turns to look after the child Miss
Ruth sees Mr.. Stanford and pauses shyly.
Something has to be said, so he comes for
ward.
What lovely EVENING"" he exclaims,
though he scarcely knows whether it rains
or whether the sun shines.
Yes" she answers Wont you-were
you-will you come imp
He follows her into the house with an
intense longing for something, however
dreadful, to happen to him and save him
from what is to follow.
Ruth takes him into the dining room
He feels vaguely that his task is becoming
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 together
What tiny thimblel He glances down
at her small bare hands; she has taken off
her ugly gloves. What bit Of a woman
for a strong man to fightl What a gentle
life to be marred and shattered by a bitter
shamel
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 fun
upon hers.
81 did not show sister your letter." she
begins hesitatingly 81 thought / had
better wait-that perhaps you would
change your mind, think differently 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, a sweet, fair woman in spite of her
old fashioned gown and her oddly arranged
hair
She looks at him with smiling, steadfast
eyes, and bids him take or leave her as
pleases him best And his courage to hurt,
wound, perhaps kill her, fails him. In
moment his resolution is taken. He strides
hastily forward
Ruth, do you love me?" he asks, hold
ing out his hands And the calm of her
face breaks as she sinks into his arms.
"Oh, so much-so muchr' she almost
sobs. But l am not worthy Of you. You
should marry some one ever, ever so much
better and younger and prettier than |.
Do you know" hiding her shamed face
and confessing it as she would have con
fessed sin, II am thirty-threei"
And | am thirty-four," he answers.
Dreadful, isn't it?"
When Miss Jocelyn hears the news she
goes away suddenly on visit to some
friends.
Three years have passed and Laura Joce-
Ign is older, sadder, wiser. She has loved
and suffered and learned to sympathize
with others. But she has never seen Mr.
Stanford or his old maid wife again.
When she returned home the marriage
'N' W. "At eAASg NNAt 5biit " MS new ]
living.
This was the worst thing l ever did" |
she says sadly to herself 81 will 20 and |
confess, and tell him how sorry / am. !
What horrible thing TO have ruined two /
lives"
So she goes on her penitent errand TO the |
small town forty miles away. On getting /
out Of the train she asks the way to the |
vicarage and walks there slowly.
A child's laugh startles her from her bit |
ter musings, and she looks up and across /
the sweetbriar hedge that is in bloom at |
her side, for it is July again.
She sees but dimly an old fashioned gar |
den quaint rambling house, for that is .
Mr.. Stanford himself standing so close to .
her that she could almost touch him.
And who is that lady, that pretty little /
woman in the dainty gray gown, her fair,
wayy hair knotted close to her head and |
her eyes shining with happiness'
With a gasp Miss ,TOcpIvn rpcoOnizes