Middletown transcript., 1892-09-01

ago, Jamesf Sne' asks.
Will ever forget it do you
think = is his reply.
| He sighs and turns away his head.
| He knows the promise which keeps
them apart, and it chafes him deeply.
Ruth, too, sighs. Many and many
have been the conflicts which she has
had with her conscience to keep from
regretting the promise made to Clay
ton those two years ago. A great
longing fills her heart as she sits there,
1 looking with unseeing eyes at the
dying sun. But in that desire the
thought of violating the sanctity of
that promise finds no part.
James looks up and meets her eye.
do you think it just, Ruth ?" he
asks wistfully.
"Don't ask me, James," she answers
unsteadily, and her eyes fill.
Is there no hope for me. then 2"
he goes on.
"Oh, James!" cries the girl, des-
lperately, .don't tempt mel You
know I mustn't listen while things are
as they are p
And then he pleads with her, elo-
quently, and as only lover who has
waited two long years can. There is
no thought of unfaithfnlness toward
his dead rival in his mind. but two
years Danish many scar, and he can
not admit the justice of a promise
which steals the happiness of two lives.
But the girl is firm through it all.
She admits that she loves him, hut
she cannot turn her back upon her
pledged word, she says.
"Well, then, Ruth, goodbye" he
says, after time.
She looks up inquiringly.
II must not stay here" james con-
tinues. 81 can't. must go. I'll
come back if ever there's any reason -
Goodbye, DEAR" she says, softly.
and he goes.
After that night, for many a long
month, Ruth Maisley did not see
James Cope again. The burden
which never left her, in her lonely
life, seemed often greater than she
could bear. Her friends wondered at
her Indifference to the modest gaieties
of the village-she. who had formerly
been their life. But Ruth suffered
alone, making confdant of no one,
but bearing in silence the ache that
we'll nigh overwhelmed her.
The Fall and Winter which follow
ed were seasons of almost constant
storm. All the terrific powers of the
elements unleashed themselves, and
beat with unmitigated fury upon the
entire East. The little village of
Bridgetown, thought the residents,
came in for too.large share of the
weather's severity. The Rancocas
Greek, the scene of the ill.fated SWIM
ming race of two years before, lost all
resemblance to its quiet, placid sell;
and rose in mighty torrent, covering
a good part of lower Bridgetown
The still stauch boat house was almost
completely submerged. but gave no
sign of weakness.
One night in early February of the
Spring which followed, after Winter
of almost unprecedentd rigor, in which
food after flood had risen and subsidized,
only to rise again, there came the
final freshet Of the breaking up sea-
son. All the lower section of the VIII
lage was quite subm erged, and the
sullen waters, piled high with Jagged
ice cakes, rushed at will through the
dismantled streets. For a night and
day the food held full sway. Then
it fell quite as rapidly as it had risen,
owing to the breaking of a huge dam
far down the stream.
The land, again rendered visible by
the subsistence of the waters, bore
just the same appearance as before.
with one exception. The old boat
house, staunch and steady until forced
by q power stronge than itself to yield,
had disappeared. No trace oft re-
manned, save here and there a broken
piece of timber drifting on the creeks
muddy bosom.
The sequel. Surely there could be
but one. James Cope walked up the |
path to the door of the Maisley cot
tage two days after the food had sub |
sided, taking with it the old boat
house. And the maiden Ruth faith
full to the last in her promise to the
dead Claytos, but released now from
its observance, withheld no longer
from her lover his rightful due, won
through long and patient waiting.
This is the story which the great
grand children of Ruth and James
Cope told to me, on a late Summer
evening as we sat in flower grown
cottage, built upon the same spot
where the home of Ruth Maisley, their
stood century ago. And
as they told it, through their voices
ran note of loving pride for the
grand dame who was unshaken in her
r 1~1sa.-