The Virginia enterprise. [volume] (Virginia, St. Louis County, Minn.) 1893-19??, 1902-07-11
THE STORY OF AN HOUR.
BY HILDA NEWMA

And this is the end Of it all!
The sharp queries and sullen answers,
the sobs, tears and chickering's are over,
and in their stead reigns the cold silence
OF resolution.
How did it all begin? Neither could
tell. Yet the torture Of an unworthy
suspicion, and pride that scorns to
answer the doubts Of an exacting love,
have apparently suff1ced to obliterate the
memory of the happiness Of three un-
clouded years of kindness and love.
They are going to separate. There is
nothing else to do, she says, and he tao
lily agrees, for he knows it is impossible
to 60 on living in this atmosphere of dis
content. And they calmly arrange their
affairs, as though it were merely ques-
ton OF 9 few weeks absence instead Of
travel, and she will stay at their house
little longer, till her mother goes
abroad, when she will join her, dismissing
all the servants, excepting the old nurse
who looks after their child. All! it is the
thought of their child that makes the
last link between them is broken when
he yields that little life into the hands
Of the wife who does not trust him,
thinking bitterly in his heart that he
may be taught to hate him.
She sits in the drawing room, idly
looking out of the window, surprised
at the dead calm that seems to have
come over the house. An organ is play
ing IN the street, and the notes jar on
her strained nerves till she could scream:
but she sits still with her hands in her
lap: trying to believe that she is utterly
Indifferent to present, past or future,
yet qnconsciously listening to the hur-
Iled, heavy tootstens overhead, where
her husband is packing his portmanteau
She is quite anxious for moment as she
remembers she has put away his fur
lined coat that might be useful if he
goes travelling in chilly regions, but she
recollects herself with start, and does
not stir from her seat. She lets the
bitter thoughts come uppermost in her
heart now, for she is convinced, of
course, that this parting is the best thing
that could take place. Upstairs, he, quite
helpless as to the locality or many neces-
saries that have hitherto been prepared
for him by thoughtful hands, and not
feeling able to confront his servants in
curing eyes. is savagely thrusting linen
into an unwilling receptacle, whence ties
and collars stick out provokingly ut odd
corners, and trying to subdue a queer
feeling that Expresses him when he
thinks of her. stony Indifference.
80 the packing goes on, and the organ
grinds merrily, and is inwardlly but en-
phatically cursed by at least two un-
At last he is ready, and comes slowly
down the stairs. giving some very audi
BILE and offhand orders in the hall re-
speeding his particular belongings.
After all, it is great wrench for a
man to leave his-well, then, whose fault
is it? And the old arguments and sus-
picions rise again in her mind and dead
en- all other feelings.
BE comes into the drawing room, hat
in hand, very firm and very calm. She
does not move.
"Goodby," he says, holding out his
hand
"Goodby," she answers, taking it me-
chemically
He Dauses at the door, and their eyes
meet. 1T is much better so,' she says,
family. And he is gone.
Then there is a rushing and singing in
her ears. The notes Of the organ rise
louder and louder, till they swell into a
to the dim light of a church-she walks
up the aisle in a glistening dress, Oh
which pearl-drops shake and tremble
She hears dim murmur Of voices and
rustling of garments, and the scent of
white flowers is heavy in the air. There
rises clear voice, whose fervor moves
her Utmost heart, exhorting her to love,
honor and obey-and out Of the fullness
Of her soul she promises. Oh! God, oh!
God, she meant to keep that promise.
Then comes a confused din of voices
and rolling of carriages, but she is only
conscious Of the strong arm to which she
clings, and the dear face that bends so
tenderly over hers.
With little sobbing gasp she opens
her eyes. Has she been asleep? No, but
the organ has stopped and is rumbling
down the street, followed by crowd of
small boys and girls, whose ears are not
sensitive to the quality Of the music.
With beating heart she goes up stairs
The cosy, pretty nursery is empty. The
gardens as usual; she:passes on into their
bedroom. 1t is still in disorder, and she
has not the heart to put it straight,
though she feels that little occupation
would do her good. The SUN shines
warmly into the room, but she shivers.
house, and that she cannot bear, for it
brings thoughts, and she dare not think
Hardly knowing what she does, she
finds and puts on her hat and gloves.
and turns to go, but at the very thres-
hold she stumbles over something-why,
it is the little silver matchbox he always
uses-and loses. She must take it to him
woman, covers it with tears and kisses.
She hurries down the stairs, and out of
the house, and long way down the
street before she knows that she is hur-
rying, because she cannot bear to be
alone An awful feeling of restlessness.
Of reproach, will not let her be still, and
yet she was so calm little while ago.
On-on-regardless Of curious looks,
for her cheeks are tear-stained, and now
and then there is little catch in her
breath, that she cannot repress.
On-past the quaint old red brick pal
ace, whose history they read together,
past the pond with it's toy navy and anx-
ious captains, past nursemaids, children.
and incoming philosophers, she hurries,
feverishly longing to reach the chosen
nook where a joyous welcome awaits
her.
Now she is near-but the seat is empty.
and the nurse is gossiping in the dis
lance. She runs on angrily-and stops!
For, under sheltering tree, he stands
bidding their little child goodby. She
can hear his gentle words, and the soft.
cooling answers, and she dumbly
stretches out her arms, as a great wave
of love surges in her heart and downs
-. the bitter thoughts forever. In a little
,e while he will go, and then this tide Of
love, and repentance will have come too
late. -,
cSl l., all. NJ.