Shepherdstown register. [volume] (Shepherdstown, Va. [W. Va.]) 1849-1955, 1907-06-13

wrapper III siiA anu WIN WV Ho'
heart. The second year brought only
silence. The third she knew he was
dead.
The villagers grew little timid of
her white face with its frame Of black
crepe, but the good old minister who
had baptised her admonished them
thus: "You have no cause to be afraid
OF Unice Lee. Her face is white, and
her eyes have that look because she
has drunk much of the bitter waters
and eaten of the bread of sorrow.
Her voice is tender as her soul is true.
| understand her and want You
to.
Gradually the children. who by
some secret clue behold things as they
are, not as they seem, accepted her
with trust and love but, dear me all
this happened years ago in the fall of
1884, Since then Unice had passed
the radiant summer Of youth, had left
behind the splendors Of fall, and now
her feet were pressing the cold winter
of life. Her heart was home OF
memories, sweet, haunting, tender,
precious memories that bridged the
girlhood and the middle-aged woman
across bare stretch of lonely years.
CHAPTER II.
Lately there had come to Unice a
strange longing. Day after day in
her round of village duties her heart
beat a restless refrain. Sometimes in
the middle of the>night she Weakened,
startled from dream of the past. An
overwhelming force seemed to lie urg-
ing her to go somewhere, do some
thing, but go where, do what2 She
would start up in bed, stretch out her
arms in the blackness and almost break
herself against the hopelessness Of the
enigma. She would think and think,
rocking back and forth, emitting little
heartbroken means, and when the i'm.
pulse grew uncomfortable she would
spring out of bed and dress herself,
spending the rest of the night staring
out at the purple heavens. AT length
she could stand the strain no longer.
1t was better, after all, to move, travel,
anything, rather than to remain here
with her own thoughts. Then, sud-
denly, like one who sees far of ray
of light in a dark cellar, she knew
what it was. She must find John
Schuyler's grave. Some where in this
big world he was buried. AS she
pictured the green mound with its
tiny gravestone at the mead, the awful
loneliness of his fate overwhelmed her.
She must 60 at once. She could not
bring him home, but at least she
could stay near him, to share his SOL
ltude. 1t took but two hours of
further thought to arrange her small
belongings. In her strong, charac-
teristlc way she planned out her move
quickly and clearly. The first thing
she did was to get list Of the ma
tional cemeteries, and, before the
neighbors had awakened to what
was going on, the moment had ar.
rived to act.
The next four weeks were misery
of disappointment. She visited ten
national cemeteries and found no
clue. She was now Thoroughly dis
heartened. So far she had been car
ried away by the strength of her con-
victions, but after 80 many defeats
her courage was beginning to give
out. She would have turned back
but that inward voice would not be
stilled and on she went.
The keeper of the national cemetery
lived quite alone, except for small
negro boy who cooked his meals his
house OF stone, kept vigil at The gate,
small square cottage, iyy-bound,
with an inviting little porch in front.
The house boosted of FIVE rooms and
Kitchen. One room used as an of
fee was devoted to the relics of the
dead soldiers, and book of reference
was kept open for the visitors. It
was. to this room Eunice turned first.
AS she left the dusty carriage at the
gate, her breath failed her at every
step. She had to stand still to
steady the giddinsss in her head.
Was it to be another disappointment 2
She didn't think she could stand
many more. She leaned heavily
against the railing, her loose black
veil hung in limp folds behind her.
She could smell the honeysuckle and
hear the twitter of the birds In the
trees. She saw faraway white stones