The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1904-05-25
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questioned my elders-grandmother
aunts and uncles-but all TO no pur'
pose. Then l tried the neiShbors.
They would gladly have answered my
questions, had they known anything to
tell. The family Lad moved there
when Aunt Eliza was bride, and
she had always been the same.
The years passed. but / never lost
nv interest in Aunt Eliza, and as
grew older began TO study her. she
was q beautiful woman, but there was
something strange in her expression
She was happy, in way, but never
manifested interest or enthusiasm in
ANYTHING. We were 4 high tempered
family, but she never showed any
emotion. Her voice was the sweetest
I have ever heard, and her tones were
especially tender when she spoke her
husbands name, Godfrey, and occa
sionally she would use his full name
Geoffrey Craydon.
Uncle Geoffrey seemed peculiarly
conscious Of his name, and especially
when she fingered over it, as she loved
to do. At times there was a light in
his stern eyes that seemed to suggest
irritation, at other times remorse, but
he never gave utterance to his
thoughts.
For a long time I envied her this
impassive demeanor. and wondered II
1 would ever become quiet and self
possessed like her. but at last this dead
calm began to worry me, and ! deter
mined that if she had any feeling
would rouse her.
Up in the garret there were some
old trunks and boxes that the family
had brought from their old Virginia
home, which they still owned, but
which we had never been permitted to
visit.
waited many days before I had a
chance to explore the attic. i had gone
to town to spend the day, and the rest
of the family were at a picnic.
found it convenient to return on an
early train, and then had several hours
to myself.
had a guilty feeling as I ascended
the creaky stairs to the attic, and q
struggle between conscience and curios
ity began. The latter won, and l was
soon kneelihg before the trunk that
felt sure was Aunt Eliza's.
! had taken q bunch of keys from
grandmother's cabinet and I tried one
after another. until the lock finally
yielded. had to stifle many pangs OF
conscience as I took out the dainty
dresses, slippers and elegant bridal
trousseau that had lain here undis,
turbed for twenty years.
Nothing remained but a large paste
board box in the bottom. My search
was rewarded. 1t was filled with let
ters. / took them out one by one
What scores Of admirers she must
have had; Aunt Eliza had certainly
been popular. There seemed to be
nothing from Uncle Geoffrey.
l tossed letters here and there, look
ing for his peculiar cramped hand
writing, but in vain. + picked up the
last package. They were in bold
masculine hand. l glanced at the sig
nature of the first in dismay. There
In firm, even strokes-such o. contrast
to my uncle's labored efforts-was tht
name, Geoffrey Craydon. hurriedly
looked through. All bore the same
signature.
l began to read them. They were
impassioned love letters that nigh
have won the heart Of any woman
Could it be possible that my stern
selfish Uncle Geoffrey had writer
them? Had he ever had the heart ant
soul which warmed every page of these
letters?
In the last three letters the ton.
changed. The writer pleaded, ever
commanded, her to discourage the at
tentions of George Reynolds. / ha<
never heard the Iane mentioned BY
any Of the family. I would question
Aunt Eliza.
found her sitting alone on the porch
one evening. She answered my com
monplace questions in her usual alb
sent-minded way. At last l rose a!
If to 60, but turned and said:
Aunt Eliza. did you ever know
George Reynolds"
The effect was like magic. She
sprang from her chair, opened her lips
!vainly trying to speak, and before
could catch her, fell heavily to the
porch.
The whole family rushed out They
looked suspiciously at me and just a!
/ was wondering what explanation t.
give. grandmother drew my arm
through hers anu led me into the sit
ting room.
Her sorrow overcame my resolution
not to tell and she soon knew the whole
story.
There was long silence At las
she said:
Mary, you nave done very wrong
Your curiosity may cost your Ann
Eliza her peace O. mind. 1t may ever
be the means of her DEATH
She paused. but l did not reply, an(
she continued:
'"rhcre is q secret, but this mus
never be repeated. Your Aunt Eliza.
death is the only thing that will breal
our silence"
I had to accept this as final. and
was content to do so. as Aunt Eliza
unon regaining consciousness. seemed
none the verse for MY unWairantet
interference.