Iowa County democrat. [volume] (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1877-1938, 1895-04-11

! yet 80 strange 10 HIS prlSO0-WOrD eyes.
Now they passed Swaynestone,
where Sir Lionel reigned no mere, hav-
ing been gathered to his fathers: and
there, on the left, stood the sham
Greek Temple, it's colonnade cleaning
white in the sunlight, and it's archi-
trave sharply outlined against the
fatal green coppice cresting the hill
behind It. Everard could not see this
spot, the source of so much misery,
without shudder, not could the ten
derer associations of his walk there
with Lillian efface the horror If it
from his mind.
( And now that too was left behind,
and there were only a few fields be-
tween him and Melbourne, and his
pulses throbbed. All these pleasant
home scenes We're the same as in the
old times, only the eyes which looked
upon them were changed. Not a
homestead or cottage was removed;
there were no new buildings. The
work shops of the wheelwright were
now in sight. He could see a man in
paper cap hammering in it's dark
interior; then the cottage, with it's
wicket opening on to the road, and its
two lime-trees arching over the path
in front Of the porch; then a yard,
numbered with litter of timber and
brOken-down wagons, the scene of end
less games with Cyril and the wheel
wrght's boys; and then the corner
was turned, and the well-known village
street, with the square, gray tower at
the end, lay before him.
He stopped at the Sun, to leave his
portmanteau. He felt that he could
not 90 on: IA sudden horror over
overwhelmed him at the sight of the
and all the degradation and suffering
of those eighteen years seemed to rise
mp and stand between him and the
woman for whom he had dreamed so
different n destiny. He had pictured
this moment so often in the solitude
of his CELL and dwelt with such repture
upon his reunion with Lillian as the
end Of all that bitter misery, that he
had not thought of the terrible change
time and suffering had wrought in
him till now, when it rushed in upon
him like flood
Love never grows old; the lover is
always the same within, and Everard's
mental pictures of Lillian and himself
always portrayed them both in the
flower of youth ard were filed with
youths tender glamour. Perhaps he
even thought unconsciouSly that their
meeting would eiface the ravages of
those weary years from his life, with
all that was sor'owful and Distressing.
And now he stood within sight Of
the roof that sheltered hey, face to
face with the Sorrowful fact that
youth had vanished forever. and that
the best part of the life they should
have spent together was gon" beyond
recall. Only the fragments Of life re-
manned now-only the wrecks and
floating spars of his own ship of life
and Of Lilian's.
He now remembered that she too
must have changed. Her youth was
also gone; incredible as it appeared,
she too had suffered and borne the
weight of sorrow laden years. What
If they should not be able to recognize
each other? What if each found
stranger in the place of the beloved?
Would not their meeting be too severe
II test for human consistency?
Shaken by these half-morbid
thoughts, the broken man entered the
little hostelry, and, taking pen and
ink wrote to apprise Lillian of his ar
rival, and to appoint an hour for call
ing at the rectory: for he felt that he
could not go there unexpectedly, and
drop in like Il chance visitor, with the
possibility of seeing her for the frs;
time in public. He wished also to
warn her that she must not expect to
see the Henry of old days again. but
only the shattered wreck of Il man
who had long left youth and hope be-
hind.
Having dispatched the note, he sat
down and waited in the little parlor
assigned him, in Il state of tense eX-
element. which made the slightest
sound, the ticking of clock. the
sound of wheel or hoof on the road.
unbearable.
At last he sprung up and passed
through the open French window into
the old-tashioned cottage garden.
where stood rude summer-house.
with Il table and wooden settles. in
which the village parliament was
often held on summer evenings. A
side-window of the bar gave upon the
garden, and, pacing restlessly up and
down the tagged path Everard heard
through the easement. which stood
open to the summer air, the familiar
twang of the local dialect borne by
rustic voices upon his ear.
He glanced in rs he passed and
recognized n face or two through all
the mistS and shadows of those years