The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1905-12-27

to say. Now, when 1 was in my grief
my %desolation-I could bear neither nd
| vice nor pity. Pity could not Tighten
my burden; advice from people full OF
the comforts and hopes and vitality OIL
| life could not in the remotest degree
affect or serve ME. You may feel as
I did, Jane. You may know, as I knew,
what it is to be in a place where no
| friendly voice has power TO reach, n
| where, for a space, Gods light even
| seems to have gone out, too"
She turned round quickly; she looked
at him very full.
Eyes, ri. Tollett, l have been in that
| DEPTH am there now! No other soul
| can ever have been as dark as mine is.
l can't hope-I can't pray-and l don't
want to do either. Oh, my God"
1t was the nearest thing to passion or
to life that had passed her lips for
weeks. Mr.. Follett's face gave no sign
that be had observed her emotion, but
his heart beat quick, and he felt that
instinctively he had fallen upon the
best way of rousing the inert, Astiess
mind into attention.
81 am speaking of a great many years
| ago, Janc-of q time before l had eVer
seen you-when I speak of my mar
riage. We. were both>very young, my
wife and I. We married. mean l
married-for love. Our income was
sufficient for the remote country vii
]ase of which I was then curate' l
lad everything l coveted in the world;
and for q year-yes, for n year, Jane
II believed l knew. what happiness
was. My wife's health was always
delicate, and at tines, even from our
wedding day, / thought there was
something wearied and detected in tine
expression of her face. But I looked
forward to the future, to the time when
she should have grown more used
10 the monotony of my quiet life, to the
time when a child's voice should NIL
the silent little parsonage with life, and
l suppose I saw less plainly than others
did how pale and thin and spirltless
my poor child really grew. ."
Great love blinds US, Jane, and my
love. was very great-idolatrous, my
best friends took car to impress upon
me afterward. Margaret was the only
woman l had ever cared for. In pos
sessing her 1 thought l possessed all
that could make my life worth holding.
I could no more have admitted to my
self the possibility Of losing her than l
could have realized the terrible thought
that she had never loved me.
LAS the first year of our married life
drew to a close she grew more cheerful
than l had ever known her, and took
pleasure in getting ready all her work
for her expected child with her own
hands. In the long May evenings,
Jane, when the laburnums and lilacs
are in flower, I sometimes think l see
her as she used to sit, with the soft
evening light falling upon her trans
parent face through Il little parlor
window, her work upon her lap, and
her patient smile ready to meet every
word, or: look, or faintest wish of mine,
Patient-not loving, Jane; but it was
only afterward I came to know>that.
early one fair June morning my
child, my little daughter, was born to
me. I remember, as I walked abroad
in my garden soon after sunrise that
day, I thanked God, almost with rap
ture, for the mercies with which it had
pleased Him to crown my life. I felt
in that state of happiness, of love with
out fear, which I know now is not
meant for any man or woman to DO
more than taste of. If we look upon
the face of some gods, child, we die"
II have t,sted such happiness, too"
broke in Jane. Il have known what 1t
is to look forward to life without a
single cloud"
And, like me, you have known that
such a state is only to be tasted Of"
answered the vicar, gently. Like me,
only in a. different degree, you have
known what it is to have done with
life, even in the very height and full
ness of life-to lose in n day, not what
you loved only, but all hope, all capac-
ity Of loving, out of your OWL soul. l
even think that, when you have heard
me out, you will say that my expert
ence of disappointment has been a
1nrv MN Thor Tn11rC