The daily morning Astorian. [volume] (Astoria, Oregon) 1883-1899, 1894-05-17
WILL AND I.

Il
had been sitting at my desk for q
full hour engaged in the laudable occu.
patton of doing nothing. In spite of my
trouble, what wonder then that drifted
Off into reverie, and my thoughts re.
9erted to sadly pleasant retrospect?
Once more it was winter-the SUNNI
New Orleans winter-and Will and I
were together. | recalled the hours
passed in reading and writing and mu-
sic; the drives and walks and theaters.
The most minute and trivial incidents
recurred to my mind, and | found NY
self smiling at the recollection of q GER
tain long, narrow, phenomenally dark
passage or alleyway on Royal street, up
which we glanced one night, and which
Will, with his bright and quick sense of
humor, Immediately christened "Jack
the Ripper's court"
This is not sensational story that |
am about to tell. warn my readers
in advance that there is nothing star.
tling or wildly romantic in it. From
start to finish it is simple ''o'ertrue
tale" And yet it was romantic too.
There was tinge of romance, after all,
when Will asked me to become his wife,
to marry him in secret. We had been
betrothed for year, and he was far
from strong. His health was under
mined, and horrible fear oppressed
him that he would be taken away. In
the prime of his manhood, with life and
hope and happiness all his, it was an aw-
full thought.
Constance" he said one night as we
stood on the moonlit gallery, with its
luxuriant rose vines and the great yell
low roses Clambering up to shake down
their showers of fragrance in our faces,
my darling, be my wife nowl Why
should we wait, dear one? There is moth
ing between our lives and happiness but
the bugbear of poverty, and l shall have
a fortune when l am 30. | shall be 30
next September, Constance, if-if live."
Something inf the sweet, tender voice
made me glance mp swiftly into the
brave, dark eyes. Beautiful, tender eyes,
where are you now? Where are you
today, o viii? Hidden away forever
from the sight of my eyes, from beyond
the clasp of my arms-gone, gone-I feel
it, believe ito that
Beautiful, veiled, bright world,
Where the glad ghosts meet.
in his voice made my heart
lche.
"Why doyou speak so sadly?" Iasked
lim. "Never mind the fortune, Will.
care nothing for that, if you are only
spared to me-"
81 know it, dear, tender little heart"
lie answered softly. "You are the only i
rue woman in the world, Constance.
But wanted to tell you Il am supersti-
ions, admit iD it was prophesied that
shall die before am 3d."
"Nonsenser' l cried sturdily, ''that is
heer superstition, and it is very wrong
o believe in it, dear. No one knows the
uture. would never think of that
gain if / were you" l.
/ tried to smile as spoke-to shake of.
he strange feeling that would oppress
ie, try as might-but all in vain. Die
efOre 80! Ny true hearted, noble Will, I
nth his sunny smile and tender dark {
yesl / would not believe it. 1t was t
bsurd. So | laughed at his fears rs
Oolishness and tried to make him for (
ct. But he was far from strong, and
nat one glimpse of what might be in t
.ore for us-the awful parting that 2
light come-made me decide. So ! |
romised that night to become his wife
once and lin secret and silence" as Il
le old song says. A
Everything was made ready, and on
le following night-the night before his
were quietly married in
quaint little old church in one of the q
tired streets of New Orleans. And Il
ill and belonged to each other for 5
me and eternity. l
The sad parting came next day-and u
. vent back to his northern home, Is
hile returned tony work, Frightened a
lly by the hope of meeting in the sum u
er at quiet Long Beach. 81
am not IL superstitiOas woman.
ID laughed at VIII for his own dread g
the supernatural and his belief in q "
ophecy, but we had not been parted .
whole month when something very cu. Y
3us happened. Will had written to me 81
sFy day, such dear. sweet letters that '.
ey did my heart gool-kept it alive, in - -
ct. !
But for those letters would have given y
my hold upon hope and would have
ceumbed to despair.
But one day no letter came. felt
,ange sinking at the heart-an awful ~
use of depression: darkness gathered ~
er my life. Suspense-hope deferred, y
sse are the two emotions which serve ~
kill the human heart. TO darken and III
ght existence. That night ! went ont
the little gallery where we had pass. uo
60 many happy hours. The moon ~
IS blight, and one star shone in the !
le vault above my head-one that VIII na
d long ago designated ''our star" Ny vi
art was crushed and heavy. sh
stood leaning against one of the col .
Is which supported the gallery, the ~ ~
mt Of tho roses that he lou floating Os
around me. And as | staDod there, vi
r. III