Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1896-09-02

room, pointed to the portraits OF ner re-
jected lovers and weakly whispered
"Burn them. I hate them still Dear
God, who knowest why, thou dcst not
despise me-thou who madest me SOP"
Then her mind wandered, and she muir
INJURED, "a munifcent reward''- And
her lips, which still smiled scorn at
life and death as they had smiled ar
love, grew suddenly cold. Whel4 she
was buried, the world came, some to
weep, all to marvel and exolaim that
here, at least, VS. one woman who
could live and die independent Of love
w aioh is to say independent Of Eature.
This would have beer all were it not
for lie CID yellowed letters which have
been mentioned. They were not so old
and yellowed when the kinswoman
found them the day before she departed
for her own home, hidden in an obscure
corner Of forgotten piece of furniture,
and started as she recognized the dead
woman's handwriting and signature.
''To my dear love',- What was this?
No name on the superscription, but in
the letter the fondest terms of endear-
ment, the most passionate expressions
Of love and trust and womanly cling
ing. She read the other letters, all writ
ten in the same vein, as from woman
who gloried in showing her whole heart
to her lover, to whose name and identity
there was given, however. no clue. The
kinswoman brought them to the writer 8
friend. "Here, she said, "look and SEE
the living proof that your woman who
said she had no heart was human afteI
all. There are more Of these letters than
I can count. They are of all dates, re-
mote as well as recent-cne was writ
ten the week before she died-and they
are all addressed to some man, some
lover, of whom no one ever guessed. "
''There was no such man, )" POSITIVE
" asserted the woman friend. IT kne =
all her secrets; I saw every enc who Il
she saw; Twas aware Of every letter
she wrote or received; was as insepa-
rable as her shadow, and there was no
lover to whom she ever listened.'
Nevertheless, when she was alone
with the letters, she read them, know
ing that there was no counterfeiting her
friends handwriting. aud as she roat'
ner W. lder grew, for she read wom-
az heart-Warn, tender. glowing.
poured ont for Loves sake on these pages
as willingly as the soldier sheds his life
blood for his country. and never did
hereto recant his errors at the stake
more absolutely than she denied her
own denials and scorned the scorn
which she had professed for love. "They
believe me when say have no heart, -
she wrote, 'but I do not care. You
know-you only, and that is enough,
| for no one will ever see these lines. If ]
ceuld not write to you i would sicken
and die Of hope deferred. or my teart
| would grow heavy in nc and break FOR
lack of anything on whit.l, 70 spend its
gold. Dearest. am saving 1t for you
| am spending it IN you ly-you OF
all the world who know my secret.
Though, is not my desire that of all
women's hearts?
II hate those men, whose licensees ]
keep to remind me how different you
are. You guess why? 1t is because they
are not you. Of each hoped he might
be you. and when found he was not ]
could not forgive him. I did not wrong
them; they wronged and defrauded me- -
The reader gave cry and gazed fix
eddy at the letter, which bore no name.
"There was no name," she whispered.
'There was no lover. Oh, lonely, lonely
woman, to cheat your heart with shad-
ows, as you have cheated minel Had you
known, as have known. the face. the
voice, the touch Of flesh and blood
lover, you could not have staid the i'm
perious cravings of your soul with this
poor pretense-with letters written to,
but never read by, the unfulflled ideal
of your unacknowledged dreamsl"
The letter written last, before her
death, was briefer, less hopeful in its
tone, and showed the traces of bodily
| weakness; but between the lines the
loving, longing heart of her who wrote
it throbbed with almost painful eager
ness. "Alas, dear love-" it finished, Il
sometimes become weary Of writing let.
tiers and wish you would-come-
stead The last page was blurred.
Fresh tears blurred it still more-the
tears of the wolnsl, who ut her bidding
had given mp all that would have made
two lives worth living, aud who bowed
her head upon the letter aud echoed hei
words:
Dear God, thou dost not despise ue
thou who hast made women sol Is
not our desire that of all women'a
arts?"-Philadelphia Times.