The Opelousas courier., 1902-02-15
IN AN. OLD GARDEN.

ling, there need be no more Waltlns
for you and me-"
The letter was dated from Chicago,
and signed Sydney. 1t was a passion
ate letter. A cheerful earnest letter
the letter of a man who loved deeply.
and saw within his reach at last, the
paradise for which he had toiled and
striven in exile. And the woman who
loved him read it for the twentieth
time, with tender eyes, and cheeks
aglow with happiness.
"a week after you receive this l
shall be with you, and then
Eight days had dragged themselves
slowly away since the news had
reached her. The arrival Of his
steamer at Queenstown had been re-
ported yesterday, by this mornings
paper the vessel was in dock at Liver
pool. From Liverpool to Threegates
was but a question Of hours. He
might come at any moment. She had
been faithful to him in word, and
thought, and deed for three years.
For three years she had worn his
portrait in a lochet on her heart,
and prayed for him among the roses,
where they had spent SO many pleas
ant hours; where they had parted, and
vowed, If all went well, to meet again.
1t was a sultry summer afternoon,
and very quiet and still in the old
garden. Scarcely g. leaf stirred, and
the silence was unbroken a by the
droning of the bees in the rose
scented air.
The girl sat down on a rustic seat
TO wait with a book, which she had
not the patience to read, her ears
strained to catch the sound of IA
miliar footsteps. An hour passed
two hours. The sunlight pierced the
foliage overhead, and fell upon her
cotton gown, and touched her I'M
covered hair with gold. Would he
never come? The book had dropped
on her knees, her nerves were
strained to breaking, and every minute
seemed an age.
At length a firm tread crunched the
gravel and she started to her feet with
his name upon her lips.
$'No, it isn't Sydney, my child"
An elderly man, whose likeness to
the girl betrayed the relationship, ap-
peared round a curve in the path.
His face was pale with a great
trouble, and he crushed a telegram in
his hand.
mo. it isn't Sydney, my child" he
| repeated huskily. His eyes wandered
to the grass, the trees, anywhere to
avoid her questioning gaze. I'm fact,
he won't be coming here at all today.
I've just had news Of him"
"Father!" The girl went white to
tie lips. There Is something the
matter. What is it? Speak"
He is ill-very Ill. Agnes, child,
don't look at me like that! I-oh!
how can I tell you! He will never
come, neither today nor any other
day. He is dead"
Dead"
HE died on the voyage home"
Then, like a binding fash of light,
her d~esolation came hclne to her.
Dead! Oh, father!" she walled.
He caught the slender, swaying
figure he held it close against his
breast, and smoothed her hair.
"Cry, little one; why don't you cry?"
But her eyes were wide and dry.
Her grief vas too terrible for tears.
She felt as though the shock had
numbed her. and that no trouble
would be great enough to make her
feel again.
Before two days were over the girl
was tossing in the delirium of brain
fever. For weeks her life hung in
the balance. and then youth and "a
fine constitution proved the conqueror,
and she rose, q pallid, little ghost,
with sad eyes, to face the long years
Of loneliness and regret.
"She is young, she will forget" her
father tried to believe, and he said
it to the man, his nephew, who had
loved her since her childhood. But
when he suggested as much to the
girl, she shook her head.
II shall never forget" she an
swered, "and | shall never marry an
other man"
She meant her words. but fate was
too strong for her. The cousin was SO
kind to her father and herself. and
they told her that her coldness was
spelling his life.
"But for his generosity I should be
q ruined man today" her father said.
HE 10 a good fellow, he is rich, he
Worships you. Make him happy! You
have had q great loss, but you are
too young to sit down and brood over
the past for the rest Of your days.
It is q wrong thing to mediate; you
will grow morbid, old before you are
young. Agnes, believe me, that I have
your welfare at heart when | say
that for your W sake, as much as
his, you ought to marry Ralph"
She was still weak from her ILL
ness. She thought she had no interest
left In life, no desire save to please
those who loved her. So she listened
to persuasion, and when her cousin
spoke one day, she answered Eyes"
II have no feeling for you" she ex-
planned, "other than affection and
gratitude, my heart froze when he
died. But If it will make you happy,
! will be your wife when the spring
comes"
MY ~unselfish angel, 1 will teach you
to care for mel" he said. Heat
melts Ice. The fire of my love shall
warm you back TO life."
She did not like to damp his ardor,
hnf she knew fill wall how vain his