The Sully County watchman. (Clifton, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1894, 1893-01-20
OVER THE PAIN.

figures could be plainly seen, and al
though she never had nor could ever
hope to join in such pleasures. still
there is no pang of bitterness mingled
in the deep regret which must always
surge into her heart at such a view.
Young, ethereally fair and heiress
to line fortune, she was poor enough
in her powers, of enjoyment to envy
the pale, meek girl who served as her
companion, read and sang for her, or
listened to the impassioned fantasies
of the burning young heart which had
ever pulsed rebelliously against the
cruelty of fate
Tonight she is unusually tranquil;
she does not even hold her hand over
her throbbing heart to still it's frenzied
beating at such sight, for over her
shoulders, closely folded. is the shawl
which Francis Stanover had lately
placed there just before he went to
have one waltz upon the grounds.
81 would much prefer waiting with
you," he had whispered; but with a
generous impulse she had urged him
to mingle with the others.
She closes her eyes to try and realize
all this new joy, the joy that her deep
love is answered; that, frail and
crippled as her poor body is, Francis
loves and would make her his wife.
She dreams moment of the future
they had pictured together in far,
sunny chimes, where even though she
must ever halt and lean upon him. he
will exult in the fullness and purity of
her love.
Then, somehow, she pictures him out
there upon the lawn, dancing with
others, young and fair like herself, but
oh, how much more fortunate! A sud-
den pain creeps icily into her heart
She must not be selfish, so she will 60
away, where their free, light mirth can
not taunt her.
Just then servant passed with
tray of ices. A word and he has
transferred his charge to another and
soon wheels her along the circular
veranda and down the gradual incline,
specially built for her wheeling char,
and in the fresh, inviting cool of the
conservatory she leans back and tries
to stille the sob which would rise to
her throat.
s+ She had been placed in the shelter of
low, drooping, tropical plant, and in
the subdued light is only half-visible.
One or two guests.stroll by, comment
ing in listless fashion upon the warmth
and beauty of the evening; then a low,
familiar voice sounds just beyond a
palm at her right, and in an instant
the invalid sits erect, with blanched
cheek and dilated eyes. Escape with
out aid she cannot, and remaining she
cannot avoid hearing
10 the dancers outside the last few
moments of the waltz were lapse of
JOY, to her they seemed ages, drag
ging by on clogged wheels, and ner
heart crushed in each slow revolution.
The whole truth came with cruel and
sudden intensity. Francis had never
loved her, it was only deep pity, and
when her strong attachment had be-
come apparent he had resolved to make
her happy.
Oh, the pity, the humiliation of it
all! They had long loved one another.
Francis Stanover and Mary Eastburn,
her companion, but one moved in a
world of fashion and the other was
proud as she was poor, and poor Marion
could only wiring her hands in dumb
despair when she remem bered how in
uncomfortable confidence she had told
Mary how dearly but hopelessly she
loved him. She remembered now how
pale Miss Eastburn had grown, but
that she had declared that those of
our world had no barrier to their hap
piness. But the heiress is doomed now
to know of the sacrifice her companion
had made for her, and how Francis had
come to tell her that to him she was
the fairest, purest and dearest of all
womankind.
Beyond the palm the lovers babe
each other farewell, and there is catch
in his voice and an audible sob in hers.
but Marion was compelled to sit there
in dumb, fearless despair, and feel that
this, the one boon in life she had craved.
is denied her.
Half an hour later they find her and
carry her to her room. Francis asks
earnestly and frequently of her condi
ton, and Mary Eastburn bends tender
ly over her. How little either could
know whence came the shaft that had
pierced her quivering heart.
When she was conscious those around
her saw new light in her eyes, the
light of steadfast, earnest purpose.
Yet she would only lie quietly among
her pillows and never murmur or con-
tide in any one.
"Will you not see Mr.. Stanover?"
asked Mary Eastburn one afternoon
when the invalid was able to be
propped up in an arm chair
"Yes-now," was the quiet answer,
and the young companion left the
room. ...
1t was beautiful September after
noon, the air was redolent with per-
fume and warmth, drowsy with the
hum of bees and the tinkle of the dis
tant sheep-bells. Marion lay looking
over the scene with weary, patient
sigh These weeks of pain and delirium
had unrayeled the coil in her heart.
Her course was plain and clear, and the
poor, feeble strength will all but fail IN
the effort.
When Francis comes in he crosses
straight to her side and with an un-
feigned impulse carries the little hand
to his lips. She looks up into his eyes
with a faint smile and whispers: 81