The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1901-05-17
A Winter Story.

| of the parsonage gates. Soon he stops
short, and look of wonder creeps over
his features in the rudy light. A
pony trap is driving out of the parson-
age gates and turns briskly down the
road to the valley, and he catches sight
of Bessie's red cloak as it whirls away
from him into the gloom.
His last night home, and she knows
it! She must know, too, that he will
come to say goodby, yet she can go out
just at the time that he usually came
to the parsonage.
He turns on his heel, with bitter
sigh and retraces his steps along the
YEARLY winding lane. Hope has gone
from him, and life looks as dreary as
the winter landscape to his young eyes.
|
The freight fickers cheerily in the
cozy parsonage parlor and adds
fresh charm to the quaint, old fashion
ed furniture. Outside the wind bowls
drearily and brings the snow with a.
light, continuous tiutter against the
window panes. 1t has a mournful
sound, somehow, as if the snow were
covering up dead hopes and withered
aspirations instead of nursing the ten
der plants for fresher growth in the
spring.
Bessie Aytoun kneels before the fire
and spreads trembling hands to the
CHEEKY blaze. 1t is year since Godfrey
left, a whole long, dreary year! She had
thought, she had hoped, that he would
have come to see her before he left
home. 1t would only have been polite
to bid her goodby before he went to
London, yet he had not been to the
/; house. He could not have come while
she was out fetching her father from
the town, for she had left message in
case he should call, and he had never
called. Then she had hoped he would
write and explain if he had been pre-
vented. But no; all through the IL
weary months there was never word.
He must have forgotten her, and for
gotten the dear, happy days he had
spent at the cozy old parsonage in the
lee Of the hill. All, we'll! 1t is the way
of men to forget.
There is one man who never forgets,
however, q man who is always true,
who will love her better than Godfrey
ever could. There is letter from him
in her pocket now, letter which asks
her to reconsider the decision she came
to over year ago. before Godfrey left.
| She must answer that letter tonight,
yet she hovers 'twiNt yes and no.
With trembling hand she pulls
down the blind and shuts out the desc
late landscape. But a tear fills her eye
as she turns to her writing table.
Yet when she has finished her letter
her face is calm and bright. She is
thinking of the happiness it will bring
to another, neutrality-suspicious. to her
! self.
1t is a dreary November day. Over
head great masses of gray red cloud
block the sun from sight, and UNDER
foot the black London mud squelches
! and sputters under the traffic.
Godfrey Lambert walks modify
along the slippery pavement, angry
with himself and all the world. LON
don is hateful" he says to himself, and
| he nearly adds, November is hateful"
but he bethinks himself in time. No.
vember in London and November in the
country are two very different things.
| The vision of lost paradise leaves
him gloomier and more disconnected
than ever. Oh, for one breath of coun-
try air, one sight of face from the old
home! If only he could have a glimpse
of some one who had seen Bessie, he
would be quite content.
!. He wanders into Bond street and
goes into a picture gallery to while
away an idle hour. For a time he
strolls listlessly from room to room,
feeling gloomier and unhappier than
ever, for he is in little mood for the
pictures this evening. Then all at once
sudden animation comes into his
face, and he strides hastily down a
long room.
At the far end a strangely familiar
figure reclines on one Of the broad
lounges. Surely, surely it is Bessie
herself! At last, after two years, he
will see her again; he will hold her
hand in his and look down into the
clear depths of her eyes.
He has almost reached her side when
suddenly she stretches out her left
hand to point to a picture that has at
tracted her fancy, while the man be-
side her bends down to listen to her
remark with strangely appropriative
air. Godfrey stands still and holds his
breath, for a broad gold band shines
upon the slim third finger Of the out
stretched hand.
Bessie married! His heart seems to
stop beating and his face to grow sud-
denly gray and old.
Yet, after all, it is only what he
might have expected. He pulls him
self together and walks as unconcern-
edly as may be past her bench toward
the door at the far end of the room.
He must have one glance at her before
she goes out of his life forever.
So at the doorway he turns to look.
The subdued light from the roof falls
softly Oh her face and brings every
feature into sharp prominence. She
has seen him, and her eyes are fixed on