The News-Herald. [volume] (Hillsboro, Highland Co., Ohio) 1886-1973, 1895-02-28


the old village postman coming slowly
down the street. She threw up the win
dow. and reached out an impatient hand
for the letters he brought. They were
oil from schoolgirl friends, she saw, a.
she glanced at the handwriting on the
envelopes. She was not in the mood to
care much for them. 'Drearily uninter.
esting," she said to herself as she open.
cd one. A slip Of paper dropped from 1t
unheeded. Eleanor read ON listlessly.
Suddenly her eyes kindled. She had
come to this sentence: 'T used to hear
You speak Of Tom Rhodes-an aspirant
of yours, was he notP Can this marriage
notice inclose be his?''
Eleanor picked up the bit Of paper
from the floor and studied It. 1t was
cut from the Denver Times, and it read:
Thomas J. Rhodes of Connecticut to Mar.
garet Eliza, daughter Of John Riding, Esq.
president OF the Wheel Of Fire Mining COM
pany.
30 that was what had become Of Tom.
She had not remembered the j. in his
name. bnt Of course it must be Tom.
There could hardly be another Tom
Rhodes Of Connecticut. It sounded pros
perous-this marriage to the daughter
Of the president Of mining company.
So this was the end of her one true Low.
er. She had never said before, even to
herself, that she knew Tom loved her.
But she acknowledged it to her own
heart now. It was as If window had
been opened into the past and great
food Of light poured from day whose
sun had long since set
Yes, Tom had loved her, and Tom
would have understood. He and she
might have been one if only she had
known, il only that weak ambition she
used to think so strong and fine had not
held her heart in its thrall. She had the
New England conscience, and it was
borne in upon her mind that she ought
to wish Tom to be happy in this new
love, this new life. Did she? She tried
to cheat herself into thinking so, but
her soul defied her. "You know well,"
cried the voice of conscience within her,
"that you don't want him to be quite
happy. You wouldn't like him to be alb
solutely miserable, but you want him
to be something short of satisfied, to
say to himself every day and every day:
'Ah, Eleanor would not have done this
or said that! Eleanor would have un-
derstood BETTER )"
And then conscience cried aloud,
"Oh, you poor, small soul! Is that the
best of which you are capable? You
would not care for him when he might
have been yours. He was not grand
enough for you then, and now you would
wish him something short Of life's best
good" And she listened to the voice,
and, afraid Of herself, she cried out for
strength, and it was as if her guardian
angel leaned from the heights of heaven
and drew her quivering soul upward to
a purer air. Then the impulse came to
her to write letter which should con-
vey to Tom her wishes for his happiness
wishes wholly honest now.
She fingered over it for some time.
She began it Dear Tom. - Then she
bethought herself of propriety and be.
gan over again and wrote:
DEAR Mr.. RHoDEs-I have Just CHANGED to
see in n Denver paper the announcement of
your marriage. Oddly enough just before 1t
game to me, had been especially thinking
about you. am 80 years old this day, and it
seems natural that my thoughts should be busy
with my YOUTH which somehow feel ends
with today, and of which, until you went
away, you Were part. For you new life is
just beginning. Mine is but the same old story,
only it seems as if the rest Of it would be what
they call in books an "appendix." I.write this
letter to wish you joy and peace and all that
your heart most Graves.
/ think know you well enough to be sure
that You would not have married without love,
and love is the greatest thing in the world.
May all its fullness and blessodness be yours
now and in time to come, 80 prays the friend
OF your earlier years, ELEANOR GRAY.
She addressed this letter to Thomas
care Of John Riding, ESQ.,,
Denver" She sealed and posted it, and
then the 3O-year-old young woman felt
that she had indeed turned the last page
Of her youth and the appendix" of
her life was already begun.
1t was not long after this that new
conner to the quiet old town of Ryefield
made Miss Gray's acquaintance. Here
at last-so it seemed-came the verita. |
BILE knight Of romance of whom Eleanor
had dreamed. Austin Bland was poet
and painter both. One glory was not
enough for him. He had come to the |
little Connecticut town to paint some of |
Its beguiling bits Of stream and meadow
land, some Of it's famous old trees that
seemed fairly human-they had lived so
long and were 80 full of wayward indi-
His pictures, he said, were
Tor sale. His poems, OH the other hand, !
were not the property of the world. He
supposed it was unfortunate. but the
truth was 'he was utterly subjective.
His verses. such as they were, were the |
very cry of his heart, and surely they
did not belong in the market place.
From the first Bland seemed to take
an especial interest in Eleanor. Nat
nrally this interest flattered her. It had |
been many years since any man had SO
sought her society. and |