The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1894-05-10

blows; less, indeed, for it brings re-
| freshing air and fragrance from
myriads of flower. / hope never to
see his face again, since his name has
only brought me fresh insult, but he
at least is a man, and would scorn to
strike woman to the core who plead
ed to him for forgiveness. Go, Mr..
Maynard. We are quits now. trust
in time may forgive you."
1t was over then-all over And for
my wicked folly was punished. Even
Clarence, thought, with curling lip,
would have been satisfied. + trust his
wooing with Miss Brooks was some
what smoother than had been this of
mine. Why did think of him? What
cared / whether it were smooth or
rough? Our paths lay widely apart.
The world was broad enough for both.
Was it? All. tell-tale heart that beat
with such strange, choking throbs,
i then stood still for moment, whilst
the blood receded from its channels,
leaving me icy as death when they told
me, two short weeks after, Clarence
Withers was not expected to live.
|
then prevalent in our midst, and on ac-
count of which only that day l was to
have gone into purer air. And now
the physicians said there was no hope
of his recovery. Ill, dying Well,
what did it matter to me? Did | not
say the world was broad enough for
both, and, if our paths divergd so
| v{rlH al hot hut ha oil
which severed them still further alart2
All, no! At last knew he lived IA
least l sometimes caught the music of
his voice, the sunshine of hts smile.
But where was his betrothed? BY his
side? No; she had gone, too, leaving
a kindly message. That was al. Sure
ly she could not have been hispromised
wife, else she would have stared. Oh,
my poor heart! At last l knew the
truth, and scarce knowing what did 1
drew sheet of paper toward me, and
with binding tears wrote:
Before you die, Clarence-before you leave
| me desolate-at least send me one little word
| one token OF forgiveness. My pide has all
| gone, dear know how wrong was with you.
| but you WILL forgive me, will you not? And
] y
| as your betrothed you will sometimes think
lovingly, If we can think there. of ALICE"
There came no answer to my note,
and when ! heard Clarence Withers
was not going to die, that hopes were
entertained of his recovery and slowly
hope gave place to certainty my first
glad, unreasonable happiness was sue
ceeded by agony of shame and by the
breathless query: what have l done?
Oh, if / could bury myself anywhere so
that | might never see his look
of whitening scorn! Oh, l wish l had
died!' was my thought one afternoon a
few weeks later as l sat alone, and,
burying my head in my hands, the
tears, which had for so long refused to
come, burst forth in bitter, choking
sObs. | had not heard a sound until a
hand was laid upon my shoulder, a
tender, plying voice said:
Poor little girl! Have you really
grieved so, Alice?'
Springing to my feet, l confronted
the man of whom had been thinking;
but even through my tears saw how
i'll and worn he looked
Have you come to triumph over my
weakness, Mr.. Withers? l have suf-
fered sufficiently, can assure you, over
my poor folly, without you adding to
my misery. l wish, l wish that you
bad died!'
Listen, Alice! Be calm, darling!''
he said, as he drew me down in the old,
tender, willful way, which made his
very mastery sweet. 81 wanted to die,
too, until, one day, little, white
winged messenger of peace and hope
came and nestled in my breast. was
too i'll to answer it, but kept it there;
and when the fever ragged it's highest
and l almost let GO my hold of life, it
whispered of the sweetness the future
held for me. And SO l battled on. And
when l grew stronger and knew |
should once again look into your eyes,
| would not let impatience master me.
| feared to trust my own great Joy, and
waited, darling, until, face to face,
l could tell you this. All has been
mistake between us. No other
woman has ever touched my heart.
Irene and / were only friends, and l
told her of my troubles in all that
dreary time. Alice, have l found my
wife at last?'
| could not answer, but he kissed
away the tears, and l sobbed out my
confession on his breast; but when l
had fms he'd he only drew me closer,
whispering sweet words of glad, for.
giving love, while l was well content
to lie nestled in the strong arms of my
bear. Jenny Wren, in n. Y. Ledger