Bennington semi-weekly banner. (Bennington, Vt.) 1894-1902, 1895-07-26
A MORAVIAN BRIDE.

the bOiStCrOuS winds SuDSldG to gentle
zephyrs and the tumultOus ocean, SEEM
ingly entranced, rests from its labors and
lovingly laps the shore.
In one of the broad channels between
the thousand rocky isles which grid the
main large brig lay bGcalmed. Her sails
hung idly from the yellow yards, and the
helmsman no longer maintained a pretcnsc
of directing her.
In the vessels waist the captain, a
bachelor of 40 years, promonadcd back and
forth with u young woman, who lightly
rested gloved hand on his arm.
$50 you have never seen his photo
graph?" he asked.
"No not even that, " she answered alb
sently.
"You know no moro Of him than merely
this; That he is yet in his novitiatc, acting
as keeper of the mission store; that he is
24 and wants wife and is willing to ac-
ccpt the bishops choice. Yet you come
across ting sea to share his lot; to sacrifice
your inclinations and desires; to bury
yourself for life in this wild land"
"a sacrifice it may be- sir, W she said
GLOW great did not feel when we set
SAIL
A wavo of hope and passionate longing
flooded the captain heart. 1t shOnc from
his clear brown eyes as he turned to face
her.
at is too great q sacrifice, " he said with
warmth. 1.-THE pity of it, and there is one
would givc"-
She looked at him strangely and with
drew her hand
"You forget, sir!" she interrupted. cit
=, 1 =; I,l
made before the church. l did not know
then all it meant to me, but l had time
for thought and was not urged. 1t is my
duty and my work in life.
"Thc sense of such a duty is absurd'-
"No, nor she broke in hurricdly.
"You are valued servant of our church.
Your Christian duty is to help me-"
"My duty as a mani
But she disappeared within the compnn-
ion way, and veXcd, he turned inpatient
ly to the lounging homsman, severely re-
calling him to his neglected post.
In the solitude of her cabin she flung
herself upon the cushioned locker, the cap
tains words still ringing in her ears. He
loved her! OF that she felt assured. And
She But no! She must not, dare not
think of that
Could it be mistaken sense of duty?
She was the daughter of missionaries, gen
Grafton upon generation, and following in
the very footsteps her mother traced Il score
of years before. Although she had lived at
home but till the age of T. she remembered
as though it were but yesterday the story
of her mothers early life, as she herself
had told it, and narrowly the girl compar-
ed that life with what her own had been
seeking to find some jot of difference.
She knew the harmony Of her parents
lives, each kind and thoughtful of the 9TH
er's veal, their only sorrow the parting
from their child, and this they both agreed
was wise and best. How else could chill
drcn of the wilderness be fitted for useful
lives? 1t was rule dictated by the church,
to which they owed obedience as saliva
TONS price.
These mission born children were cdu-
Gated by the church in the belief that duty
to it was paramount. The wishes of it's
clergy were commands, the bishops will
an cdict from ON high. The boys were
trained to fill their fathers places, the girls
to make the missionaries wives, the men
to take what wives the church bestowed,
y
husbands as the bishop might award.
And that the church had wisdom on its
side was proved by the universal happiness
to which those thus united testified.
And yet she could not reconcile herself.
Her innate mOdesty revolted at the gross
idea Of surrcndoring to a perfect strangers
will. How could she fail to hate him, to
despisc this man, who, without one spark
from the flaming altar of true love, would
willingly forfeit all noble sentiments of
mind and heart and selashly debase him
self and her pure young womanhood?
And she herself would make this union
possible
An overpowering loathing of herself
possessed her with the thought, a terror she
strove vainly to CONTROL and the pcnt up
torrent of her dread burst forth, sweeping
her away upon its turbulent waves in
paroxysms of despairing tears.
An atmosphere Of fcycrish expectancy
pervaded the usually quiet surroundings
of The Post. People were hastily gather
ing from all quarters upon the little
mound beside the church. The oil depot
and factory were deserted, and the wolish
dogs might pass the unguardcd door and
drink their fill from tho uncovered watts of
oil
The missionary's tidy children jostled
with the crowd of natives unnoticed by
their nurse. The baker and brewer stood
on the mission house porch, putting vigor-
ously at his long Dutch pipe, while his lit
tie frau beside him conversed eXcitedly
with the gardener S wife, who leaned from
an open lattice.
A rising hum of eager voices came from
the hillock, where the throng of dusky
Eslimos was steadily increasing, and every
eye was strained upon the entrance to the
little bay.
The cause of this unusual agitation had
been a signal gunshOt from the hill, fired
by the sentry stationed there to keep a
lookout for the long expected ship. 1t was
TO bring them news from DER the sea, the
history of the great worlds doings for
year-letters from relatives and friends,
presents and messages, supplies and
stores, their first intelligence for long
II months. What wonder, then, that they
looked forward, anxiuusly counting the
months and weeks and days and hours,
until the ime the vessel might arrive.