The Louisiana populist., 1897-02-05
A QUIET LIFE.

It was the third of December, and the
fourth was fixed for my wedding day.
For some weeks the weather had been
bitterly cold, we had had one heavy
tall of snow, then few days Of hard
frost, and now the air was again filled
with large feathery fakes. AT four
o'clock. when went to my own room.
wearied out both in mind and body, II
was nearly dark.
My uncle's house, of which had been
an inmate for many ycars-for / was
an orphan-was in remote part OF
Cambridgeshire, five miles from a
town, and it may be easily imagined
what an event wedding WAS in such
quiet village. Everyone, including
myself, the bride elect, had to work
hard for days beforehand, and my aunt
had little sympathy for the weak or
Idle.
Two or three guests had arrived, and
as there now seemed nothing more to
be done excepting to entertain them, l
was sent UP stairs to rest until seven
o'clock, when my intended husband
and his groomsman were expected.
The dog-cart was to be sent to meet
them at Eldon station, about three
miles off.
I found the unusual luxury of q
bright Ere burning in my CRATE, and an
easy-chair costly drawn up to 1t. For
moment or two l warmed my frozen
fngers, and then went up to the win.
dow, and leaning my cold forehead
against the colder pane, looked out upon
the dreary landscape Now the mo,
ment was come in which to realize my
position.
For weeks had been in dream
passive, hopeless creature, carried
along. as it seemed, by the will of
others to certain end-now on the eve
Of my wedding day l felt miserably
awake. Could there, then, be no re,
spite nothing to hope for?
.''Ah, Harry! Harryw 1 exclaimed,
where are you now? Why this long,
Icng time without q word? Have l
not, in spite of taunts and entreaties,
waited the seven years promised and
more? Was it not only when the bread
Of charity grew too bitter, and no
means permitted me for earning my
own livelihood no hope re.
manned Of seeing you again--that l
gave way?'
Twice l had refused Mr.. Denton's
hand. What could do when he offer.
ed 1t the third time? Heaven knows
nlean to make him a good wife. | am
grateful to him, for why should he
choose me--a girl without penny, and
no heart worth having? They say /
have a pretty face; suppose it was
that. Harry used to like my blue eyes
and wayy hair years ago.
'"This is the last night may think OF
you. Harry, the bUhny lad l loved SO
we'll! Where are you now? Still be,
yond the wide Atlantic, striving for the
Z money to enable us to iharry? or, as
they would wish me to believe, dead:
am in sore distress, Harry. Surely
bound up as we were in one another
my spirit can hardly thus be moved
without stirring some chord in yours
wherever you may be-whether in far
America, or In that still stranger and
more unknown country from whence
no traveller returns?
AGod help me-" cried in my anguish
God help me, sorely need it,"
Then opened the window and looked
out over the fat country lying so still
In its white shroui; and gazed up into
the gray, stony sky, but 1t was OBJ
scured by the flakes of snow, which
came down thicker and thicker unit
at last nothing else was to be seen IN
earth or heaven.
Ten o'clock came, and the groom hat
not returned from the station. Ole
Wilkie the gardener, who had man
aged to struggle in from his cottage
about a hundred yards distance, gave
1T as his opinion that they would no,
come that night.
"Lor bless you, sir" he said, "Jame.
knows what he's about, and he'd neye,
risk crossing Eldon Moor such weather
as this; it's as much as their lives ar,
worth"
My uncle kissed me again.
Never mind, Nellie. " he said. sThe,
won't hurt in the station for one night
with big fire, and we win have then
over the first thing in the morning,
Z and so at last we retired for the nigbt
To bed, but not to sleep. A new hon,
had sprung up, which | hardly dare,
acknowledge TO myself. II the storn
would only continue until after lively,
o'clock the next day, so as to make III
wedding impossible. who could 10,
what might happen next. might b.