Wausau pilot. [volume] (Wausau, Wis.) 1896-1940, 1905-10-31
CHAPTER VII

Isabel Sleaford was engaged" Her
life was all settled She was not to be
a great poetess or an actress. She was
not to be anything great. She was only
to be a country surgeons wife.
1t was very commonplace, perhaps;
and yet this lonely girl-this untaught
and unfriended creature-felt some little
pride in her new position. After all, she
had read many novels in which the story
was very little more than this-three
volumes of simple love making, and a
quiet wedding at the end of the chapter
She was not to be an Edith Dombey or
a Jane Eyre. oh, to have been Jane
Eyre, and to roam away on the cold
moorland and starve-wOuldn't that have
been delicious!
No, there was to be a very moderate
portion of romance in her life; but still
some romance. George Gilbert wouid
be very devoted, and would worship her
always, of course. But for the pure and
perfect love that makes marriage thrice
holy-the love which counts so sacrifice
too great, no suffering too bitter-the
love which knows no change but death
and seems instinct with such divinity
that love can be but its apotheosis-
such love as this had no place in Isabel
Sleaford's heart. Her books had given
her some vague idea of this grand pas
sion, and she began to think that the
poets and novelists were all in the
wrong, and that there were no heroes or
heroines upon this commonplace earth.
She thought this. and she was content
to sacrifice the foolish dreams of her
girlhood which were doubtless as i'm
possible as they were beautiful She was
content to think that her lot in life was
fixed, and that she was to be the wife of
a good man and the mistress of an old
fashioned house in one of the dulIest Of
towns. The time had slipped so quietly
away since the spring twilight on the
bridge, her engagement had been taken
so much as a matter of course by every
one about her, that no thought of with
drawal therefrom had ever entered her
mind. And then again, why should she
withdraw from the engagement? George
loved her, and there was no one else
who loved her. There was no wander
ing jamie 10 come home in the still
cleaning and scare her with the sight of
his sad, reproachful face. If she was not
George Gilbert's wife she would be moth
ing-a nursery governess forever and
ever, teaching stupid orphans and earning
hundred dollars a year. When she
thought of her desolate position and of
another subject which was most painful
to her she chung to George Gilbert and
was grateful to him, and fancied that
she loved him.
The wedding day came at last one
bleak January morning, when Convent
ford wore its barest and ugliest aspect
and Mr.. Raymond gave his nursery gov
erness away. He had given her the
dress she wore, and the orphans had
dubbed their pocket money to buy their
preceptress bonnet as a surprise, which
was failure, after the manner of art
fully planned surprises.
Isabel SleafOrd pronounced the words
that made her George Gilbert's wife,
and if she spoke them somewhat lightly
1t was because there had been no one
to teach her their solemn import There
was no faint of falsehood in her heart
no thought of revolt or disobedience in
her mind and when she came out of the
vestry leaning on her young husbands
arm there was a smile of quiet content
ment on her face.
The life that lay before Isabel was
new, and being little more than a child
as yet, she thought that novelty must
mean happiness. She was to have a
house of her own and servants, and an
orchard, two horses and a sig. She was
TO be called Mrs. Gilbert; was not her
| name so engraved upon the cards George
had ordered for her in a morocco card
| case that smelled like new boots and
was difficult to open, as well as those
wedding cards which the surgeon had
distributed among his friends?
There was nothing beautiful in the
| Gilbert house certainly. There was
narrow mantel- piece, with few blocks
| of spar and other mineral productions;
and above them there hung an old-fash-
Toned, engraving of some scriptural sub
| iect, in a wooden frame painted black.
There was numbering old wardrobe
or press, as 1t was called-of painted