Waterbury evening Democrat., 1892-04-02
70 AneI1ca.

In the quaint little village time glided softly by on golden slippered feet, the peaceful monotony broken only by little jaunts to neighboring hamlets, the arriv- al and departure of the mails and long blissful sails on the deep blue sea. Blanches sweet face and gentle ways speedily won the simple hearts of the fsherfolk, and her letters were filled with anecdotes of her village proteges and their picturesque life. And 8 steamer would have been necessary to convey away the floral and aquatic treasures heaped on her by the kindly peasants and their little brown legged children.
 The family would winter abroad and return to America in the spring for the wedding, which Blanche had decided should take place in June. June was 8 lovely month, she thought, past all the uncertainty of spring and with the glory of summer beyond it.
 Some weeks after General Smiths re- turn to New York, Nesbit Thorne joineo his relatives in the pretty Mediterranean village. The general had found his nephew so changed, so worn in mind and body, that the kindly old soldier became alarmed and insisted on trying the rem edy uppermost in his mind. He had come with unswerving faith to regard the south of France as an unfailing sani- tarium, and he took his nephew promptly in hand and gave him no peace until he consented to go abroad, never leaving him until he had secured his stateroom and seen him embarked on his voyage.
 Thorne went indifferently enough, partly to escape his uncle's persistence and partly because all places were alike, all equally wearisome to him. He cher ished also a hope of hearing, through Blanche, some tidings of the woman who still possessed him like spell.
 When he first joined them Norma's waning hopes fickered up in final effort at revivifcation. but not for long. That her cousin should be moody, listless and thoroughly unhinged, did not surprise her, since the trials through which he had recently passed were sufficient to have tried more robust physique than his. She set herself to interest and cheer him, and at first was in a measure suc- cessful; for Thorne, always fond of Norma, observed her efforts and exerted himself to a responsive cheerfulness, often feigning an interest he was far from feel
 
 But as he grew accustomed to her minis trations the effort relaxed, and he fell into gloom and bitterness once more.
 There was in the man sense of wrong as well as failure. Life had dealt hardly with him-the bitterness had been wrung out to him to the very dregs. In all things-whether his intentions had been noble or ignoble-he had alike failed. He could not understand it. In his eyes the conduct of the two women whose influence had been potent in his life, while springing from different causes, had resulted in the same effect uncompromising hardness toward him. The diverse properties of the solutions had made no appreciable difference in the specialization.
 His love for Pocahontas had suffered no diminution; rather, it had increased. His longing for her presence, for her love, was so great at times that the thought would come to him to end the intolerable pain by stopping forever the | beating of the heart that would not break. Her second refusal had been a cruel blow to him. He had seemed to himself so patient, so tenderly considerate; he had made allowance for the conserva- tism, the old world principles and preju- dices amid which she had been reared; he had given her time to weigh and con- sider and plead. That the verdict should have gone against him, admitted, in his mind, but of one conclusion-Pocahontas did not love him. Had she loved him, {, she must have proved responsive; love as he understood it, did not cruelty it. l C., tr break barriers than to erect them. And 1 this point of hers was no principle; ii was, at noblest, an individual conscien tious scruple, and to the man of tho world it appeared the narrowest Oi bigotry.
 His mind slowly settled to the convic tion that she had never loved him as h' had loved her-as he still loved her Then began change for the worse. Th' doubt of her love begot other doubts-I grisly brood of them-doubt of truth doubt of generosity and courage, doub of disinterestedness, doubt of woman hood. Thorne was getting in a bad way Over the smoldering fires of his heart crust of cynicism began to form an( harden, powdered thick with the ashel of bitterness. What was the worth O love?-he had found it but fair weathe friend. A storm-less than a storm cloud, though but as big as man hand, had sent the frail thing scurryinI to cover. All ended in self-the eg dominated the world. Righteousness and unrighteousness arrived at the sam
 result. The good called it self sacrifice and blinded and glorified themselves
 the bad were less hypocritical; they gay
 it no sounding name and sought it open
 ly. Self-from first to last, the sam
 under all names and all disguises. Nay
 the wicked were truer than the good, fo
 the self seeker inflicted no lasting in
 jury on any save himself; while the al
 dor with which the self immolator doM
 ished the sacrificial knife imperiled othe vitals than his own.