The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1904-04-14

II was your face"
MIR. Verney opened the little door
and together they went in.
1T was as if | were looking at my
self when life had gone. | wonder who
he is. These accidental resemblance
are very strange. | have never seen
the man. Poor fellow, How sad that
he should have come here to-day. Gin
ezra! | hope she has not seen. We will
never tell her of what has happened.
Let me go to her."
When Alan entered the room where
the bride sat in her white robes she
arose and bowed, graciously extending
her hand.
You are welcome" she said in a
voice whose low music was sadder than
sobs. Il await my bridegroom. When
he comes he will give you welcome to
our wedding feast"
Sweetheart. Do you not know me?"
She drew back in offended dignity.
1T is not fitting that a stranger should
call me by that name. You jest, sir
If you have come to do honor to our
nuptials you should not speak light
Words
She sank back into her chair, lifting
her gaze upward and waiting with a
smile of happy expectation on her lips.
All the answer she gave to his en-
treaties was a gentle: 81 await my
bridegrOom's coming"
The days and the weeks and the
months went by and drifted into years
and still the maiden waited for the
lover whom her dazed mind could not
recognize, though he watched over her
with tender care until hope was
gone and he knew that his presence
could never bring anything OF pleasure
to her heart Then he went away.
The years passed on and the maiden
waited in radiant expectation and time
dimmed not the springtide bloom of
her loneliness. She was ever the fair
and loving child-womaD, waiting for
her bridal
Lieut.. Alan Warrington had re-
turned from the Philippines and was
stationed at Fort Milford. Life at an
inland fort, with its routine drills and
dress parades, may be more comforta-
bic than long hikes over tropical is
lands, but it leaves something to be de-
sired in The way of variety Lieut..
Warrington found no outlet for his
changeful tempers and rowing tenden-
cies except in long walks and rides
about the country. Homecoming
meant less to him than to most island
exiles. He was the only child of his
father, for whom he had been named.
In his absence his father had died and
there was no tie of kindred left to bind
him to his country.
Sometimes in his walks he passed a
knoll, sloping to the south, on which
stood a large house built of cream
colored stone, contrasting wildly with
the green of the line of trees beyond
and the pale turquoise of the sky.
In passing he had seen a beautiful
girl at the gate, always with an older
woman at her side, who seemed to be
less a companion than an attendant
He had noted the girls waving amber
hair and the brown of her great eyes
and the fairness of her delicately pink
cheeks
One morning he was riding along the
road thinking of the beautiful maiden
and wondering who she was and why
she looked out upon the world with
such wandering, restless eyes. AS he
drew near the great house he saw her
come alone down the garden path,
glancing back now and then as if in
fear that some one would steal upon
her solitude. When she reached the
gate she stood for a moment, looking
longingly out. Then she raised the
latch with a swift movement and ran
out into the road. She lifted her arms
high above her head and laughed in
clear musical tone.
AS Alan watched her poised grace
fully, swinging her arms like slender
wind-swept boughs, he heard the sud-
den harsh jangle of bells. Down the
road came two automobiles racing at
their utmost speed. She did not seem
to hear the warning, though the fore
most machine had almost leaped upon
her.
Alan dashed forward, seized her by
the arm and drew her from the track,
the automobile touching her swaying
garments as it flew by. She uttered
a sharp cry and passed her hand over
her eyes as if to push aside a veil. A
look of terror came into her face and
then gave way to an expression of
dawning consciousness, as of one who
wakes from long sleep. She looked
up and saw in the face of his son the
Alan Warrington of her youth.
Il am so glad you have come, Alan
| new you would, but the waiting
seemed an eternity. The train was
late, they told me-"
yes" he said, with a puzzled ex-
preston.
Then there came the memory of the
old story he had heard long ago of the
girl who had waited for his father
through the years which had brought
death to the faithful lover, but had
left the maiden still the fair, loving
bride, unconscious of and untouched
by the passage of years. The love of
the bridegroom of years agone leaped
suddenly into the heart of his son and
I've seemed always to have known the
dam inf whit ho