Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1894-01-03
WILL AND I.

WILL AND l.
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-
verified to sadly pleasant retrospect?
Once more it was winter-the sunny
New Orleans winter--and Will and
were together. l recalled the hours
passed in reading and writing and mu-
sic; the drives and walks and theaters.
The most minute and trivial incidents
required to my mind, and I found my
self smiling at the recollection Of 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
Ting 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 q year, and he was far
from strong. His health was under
mined, and a 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 now! Why
should we wait, dear one? There is moth
ing between our lives and happiness but
the bugbear Of poverty, and I shall have
fortune when am 30. shall be 30
next September, Constance, tiff live"
Something in the SWEET, tender voice
made me glance up swiftly into tho
brave, dark eyes. Beautiful, tender eyes,
where are you now? Where are you
today, o Will? 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, yelled, bright world.
Where the glad ghosts meet.
Something in his voice made my heart
ache.
"Why doyou speak so sadly?" Iasked
him. "Never mind the fortune, Will.
care nothing for that, if you are only
spared to me-"
81 know it, dear, tender little heart"
he answered softly. "You are the only
true woman in the world, Constance.
But I wanted to tell you Il am supersti-
tious, l admit iD it was prophesied that
shall die before am 3d."
NONSENSE cried sturdily, that is
sheer superstition, and it is very wrong
to believe in it, dear. No one knows the
future. l would never think of that
again if I were you."
l tried to smile as spoke-to shake off
the strange feeling that would Cypress
me, try as I might-but all in vain. Die
before 80! Ny true hearted, noble Will,
with his sunny smile and tender dark
eyes! would not believe it. It was
absurd. So laughed at his fears as
foolishness and tried to make him for
get. But he was far from strong, and
that one glimpse of what might be in
store for us-the awful parting that
might come-made me decide. So l
promised that night to become his wife
at once and Sin secret and silence" as
the old song says.
Everything was made ready, and on
the following night-the night before his
departure-we were quietly married in
quaint little old church in one of the
retired streets of New Orleans. And
Will and belonged to each other for
time and eternity.
The sad parting came next day-and
he went back to his northern home,
while l returned tony work, frightened
only by the hope of meeting in the sum.
mer at quiet Long Beach.
| am not a superstitious woman. !
had laughed at Will for his own dread
of the supernatural and his belief in q
prophecy. but we had not been parted
q whole month when something very Gu
rious happened. Will had written to me
every day, such dear, sweet letters that
they did my heart good-kept it alive, In
fact. Il
But for those letters would have given
up my hold upon hope and would have
succumbed to despair.
But one day no letter came. | felt a
strange sinking at the heart-an awful
sense Of depression; darkness gathered
over my life. Suspense--hope deferred;
these are the two emotions which serve
to kill the human heart, to darken and
blight existence. That night went out
on the little gallery where we had pass
ell SO many happy hours. The moon
was bright, and one star shone in the
blue vault above my head-one that Will
had long ago designated ''our star" My
heart was crushed and heavy.
stood leaning against one Of the col
umt which supported the gallery, the
scent Of the roses that he loved floating
al oro,,ud mo Aud NJ uto~S ithaca