The Camden chronicle. (Camden, Tenn.) 1890-current, 1896-06-26


we're things unknown, or
comparatively 50, IN our region, and
The journey from Boston must bo per- /
formed ia an old-iashionod stage
coach. Saturday oame-a clear, cloud.
less day IN April, and by special invi.
tation 1 went over 10 pass the time
With Helen until Arthurs arrival. She
was flushed and smiling, little anx-
ious, but very happy, and so beautiful
/ could scarcely keep my admiring
eyes of her face all through the cool
bright afternoon, and when, at even
tide, she arrayod herself in the brown
satin, and with crimson shawl
around her stood by my side on the
eastern piazza waiting the coming Of
the stage, i could not refrain from
clasping my arms around her, and ex.
claiming: Dear Helen, how beautiful
you arol" She smiled her own sweet,
gentle smile, as she replied:
81 am glad OF it, Mary, for his
sake.
The sun set-the shadows deepened
and thickened. remember that the
wind, which had been all day a western
zephyr, changed to the east, and blew
up cold, white columns of mist from
the river, and the blue translucent
heavens we're clothed in the vestments
Of purple gray.
We both went down and leaned on
the gate that opened upon the high
way. Not a doubt crossed her mind
she looked for his coming with the
tender faith with which a child waits
its mothers goodnight kiss. The
numbering old coach came slowly up
the hill.
But the coachman's CHEEKY Good
even, girls" fell on ears that heard
not, for as the vacant stage ratified by
a cold trembling seized upon Helen,
and it required all my strength to
support her into the house.
From that hour hope was dead in
her heart. She gave all up. But
contrary to the expectation Of every
one, just a year from the day she had
expected to be welded, she rallied, and
in time she was once more able to
move about the house.
Two years afterward, Helen, by the
death of her parents, was left alone.
Mrs. Richardson had died some months
previously. There was no tie to bind
Helen to Melville, so she disposed of
the old homestead and came back to
this city. Arthur Richardson never
came back; the vessel in winch he
sailed was never heard from after she
left Singapore, and in all probability
his grave was made in the ocean
depths.
Though many wealthy and gifted
men bowed before Helen Marchmont,
she remained faithful to her first love
and every Sabbath, in memory OF this
lost love, she wore his parting gift
the brown satin dress.
Two years ago, while was a visitor
at Mrs. Greene's house, I remembered
the story of Miss Marchmont, and
hastened to inquire of my hostess
concerning the beautiful heroine. A
smile lighted up the lady's face as I
mentioned the name.
''Miss Marchmont no longer exists, -
she said.
"Dead" I exclaimed, shocked by
her reply.
"Not dead, but married aud more
than that-she is the wife Of her first
and only Lowell"
''But he was lost"
$50 we all supposed. But it turned
out quite differently. He returned
about twelve months ago. The shir
in which he expected to sail to New
York was captured By an Algerian pi-
rate and Arthur Richardson was hel(
in slavery, from which he did no
make his escape for ten years; and
then he was taken to Australia by the
captain of an emigrant ship. There
he labored necessarily to retrieve hi
shattered fortune, writing often t.
Helen letters full Of love and trust
which, Of course, owing to her chang
of residence. she never received. AT