The citizen. (Frederick City, Md.) 1895-1923, 1896-10-23

way. His heart was buried in newlv-
made grave on the cliff side, and moth
ing seemed real to him but that.
Hepzibah watched him from under
her white eyelashes, and kept silent:
but his pipe was always ready for him
when he came indoors, and his favorite
food simmered on the hob.
Hepzibah's hair grew brighter as the
days went on; her cheeks had comelv
flush; she began to take thought of her
dress. She bought blue bingham
gown in the village, and muslin hand.
kerchief for her neck. Her voice took
a softer note, she began to sing about
her work.
But Tom would sit in the churchyard
through the long summer twilights.
and when he came in to his supper his
feet dragged YEARLY, and his eyes were
dull with misery.
"You should not grieve so," said Hep
zibah, softly, one night after supper.
She was knitting in the freight; her
head was bent over her work.
Tom woke as from dream; he looked
at her with unseeing eyes.
"Ah, it's we'll to say that to a man
whose heart is breakingl"
His voice grew husky, he turned
away his head to the fire.
''But you shouldn't grieve as one
without hope. Time must soften things
bit-you have your life before you"
Tom laughed short, bitter laugh,
not good to hear.
'She was all had-my Nellie. The
apple of my eye. What goods life to
me now? Such pretty ways she had,
too he went on musingly; "such low
ing, tender ways"
Hepzibah's needle flashed in the fire.
light.
There are other women in the world
as fond as Nellie" she said, softly, with
her eyes on her knitting.
There was long silence in the room.
The fire fickered; a cinder fell on the
hearth. Hepzibah could hear her heart
throbs; she slowly lifted her eyes TO
the mans face.
He was not looking at her at all, but
at china shepherdess upon the little
| table against the wall. His eyes were
troubled, he was trying to remember.
MY Nellie did not keep that on there.
| No, it was on the mantlepiece, here,
that she had it,"
| He brought the ornament over, dust
| ing it with his handkerchief.
1--WE must keep the things as she left
them. Hepzibah," he said. But Hep
zibah had slipped out of the door into
the summer darkness.
She rested her arms on the little gate.
| and stood looking far out to sea. Her
face shone white and ghostly in the
dimness. She shivered in the warm
| air.
You dead woman-you Nellie" she
whispered, tensely, "why will you not
give him up to me? You have your
Jack, you do not want him-and I-oh,
my God!"
A great fearless sob choked her; the
shimmering waves Knocked her; her
! face hardened.
"Why should not tell him! shall
| do you no harm. How can one hurt he
dead. You are asleep in the church.
| yard; and love him-I tell you I love
| him.
The man was sitting smoking mood
lily, gazing into the glowing fire, when
| Hepzibah glided in and stood behind his
| chair.
"Tom, l can't bear that you should
| grieve so. She wasn't worthy of love
like yours
"Hepzibah!"
II have thought you ought Il
know" she faltered, because l can't
bear to see you spoilin' your life for
love of her-her who did not love you at
| all, but Jack"
woman! what do you mean? What
lies are you telling me?"
''It's true. Don't you remember her
calling out about the letters the night
she died? She gave me a packet
| Jacks letters to her."
"My God! Give them to mel"
"You must not mind so much. Tom. "
1.-THE letters!"
Hepzibah laid the packet on the table.
and crept away up the staircase to her
room.
The still hours passed by. Night
waned, but Hepzibah, wild-eyed and
numb. crouched by the bed. straining
her ears for any sound from below.
An hour before dawn came the sound
/ OF q CI1dIr ScThplHB Oh the HdSS Cu AhOOA .
then drawers were opened and shut:
| his footsteps echoed to and fro. Then
silence and the scratching of pen.
1t grew unbearable. Disheveled.
wan, fearful. she crept down the stairs
and peered in.
Tom Thurgood sat at the table. writ
ing by the dim candle light. He had on
his rough pilots coat; bundle tied
| in a red handkerchief rested beside
him. He rose and came towards her. .
I'm going away-back to sea again"
| he said. gravely. you're welcome to
the cottage and the bits of furniture.
| There's no home for me now-the place
would kill me. Get back to bed. wom-
an. !, Good-by: there. COL
He turned back to his writing and
the room was quiet again. Presently
| he threw down his pen and passed his
| inky fingers through his hair.
"The wind means terrible tonight,
! he said. II
| 1t was Hepzibah above, crying for her
lost Paradise.-Chapma Magazine.
! Army Discharge for q Dog.
| Charles +. Gillet, of Cleveland, o., has