Audubon Republican. [volume] (Audubon, Iowa) 1894-1925, 1901-07-11
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Houote, ASb...
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BY MARGARET BLovNr

| his pride and haughtiness, though
these qualities had been kept in the
background by the gentle teachings of
her aunt; and when he attempted to
thwart her dearest wishes SO openly
and determinedly. her pride and will
were aroused, and her soul opposed
| in all It's native fierceness to his own.
That night she fed! The morning
| brought letter from her, saying that
she had chosen to share poverty with
her lover. rather than enjoy wealth
without him. At the same time she
| prayed her father not to cast her ut
terly from his heart. but to think of
her in kindness and mercy, for the
sake of the long and happy years they
| had left behind them forever.
Marion was by no means one to be
discarded and forgotten where she had
| once been loved, and though at first
her stern old father forbade all men
ton of her name and threatened to
disinherit her at once, her memory,
| gentle, kind and loving as she had al
ways been till that fatal night, grad
| ually disarmed him, and by degrees
| they came to speak of her again around
| the home hearth, and to send many a
| loving wish and thought to follow her
| in her wanderings.
1t may be that her father felt that
! he had driven her to desperation by
| his harshness, for as time softened the
first sting of agony, he grew more kind
and gentle, and often encouraged his
| faithful housekeeper to sit and talk
| for hours with him of her they had
both loved so we'll At that time, If
she had returned, he would gladly
have welcomed and forgiven her. But
ali! as the poet says, ''if only the dead
could know at what hour
| "To come back and be forgiven"
They do not know, nor do the liv-
| ing, till the appointed time has gone
by, and either the forgiveness or the
time for receiving it has passed away.
No tidings came directly from Marion
her father did not even know the
exact place Of her residence. A flying
rumor reached him now and then;
but all was uncertain and mysterious;
and at last even this scanty informa-
ton ceased, and her name was spoken
softly and tenderly, as
THE household name
| OF one whom God has TAKEN"
Her father mourned for her silently,
but sincerely: and all could see by the
bending Of the stately form and the
silver threads that glistened in his
| jetty hair, how the estrangement, aud
silence, and separation were eating his
very life away!
Her life should have been happy
gentleman who is supposed to be
mixed up with the affairs of mortals,
who must, think. have laughed in
his sleeve when chance sent young
widow to dwell in the vicinity of the
newly married pair.
She was woman of good birth and
high family, though so reduced in cir
cumstances as to be Obliged to add to
her scanty income by private tuition
in the more genteel families around
Barley. She was fine classical schol-
ar. an artist, an authoress, and, in
addition, danced like a fairy, played
and sunk like an angel. and rode like
Die Vernon herself. Her tall, elegant
| figure, her deep mourning, the easy
grace of her motions and the dignity
of her manners had already moved
George Vernon strangely, and though
she was brilliant rather than a beau
| tiful women, with her wondrous smile,
her flashing eyes, her bewitching
manners and easy grace, she placed
him where she had so often placed
his betters-at her feet!
The dusky gentleman of whom |
have already alluded, having his i'm
plements upon the ground, lost no time
| in using them. Mr.. Vernon and the
governess met often, and 1t needed no
spoken word to tell the enchantress all
he was feeling. His words-his signs
the long ardent glances Of his hand
some hazel eyes, told the story only
| too well, and smiling sometimes to
herself at this new proof of her power
of fascination, she gave him some
slight encouragement from time to
time. He did not love her, and yet,
at last, he walked up and down his
room at midnight, thinking, while she
was sleeping quietly and would haze
laughed heartily at his employment
had she known it. He was only doing
what thousand men have done be-
fore him--what thousand more will
do after him-fiinging himself at the
| feet of a woman who would lead him
through tempest of passion and leave
him at last bankrupt of faith, Of feel
ing and honesty, and all else that to
the noble heart makes life at all worth
| living.