Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1908-05-21
JRMONT. FREDERICK COUNTY, Md THURSDAY MAY 81, 1908

| JuHcS uO yOu hhoN thoS ""S "~'A
ried once?'
! A faint tinge of color came into
James face-a faint look of interest In
her eyes.
r"Yes, Mr.. Follett, have heard that
you were married in your youth"
II was married for just one year,
and had one little child. Would
you care, do you think, to hear me teal
the story of that part of my life?"
| eyes," she answered, she would care
to hear whatever Mr.. FOllett liked to
| tell her. 1t was very kind of him to
trouble himself about her at all; and II
1t would give him pain to speak about
! the past he must not attempt to do so
| for her sake.
| And then her head sank listlessly
down upon the pillow of her couch, and
she turned her white face away toward
| the window.
"It won't pain me to speak Of the
past now, Jane, and to you; but you are
the only person in ChesterfOrd to whom
! have ever volunteered such conf
dence. Most people, find, when they
are in trouble like great deal OF posi-
tive advice or positive pity"-Jane
shuddered-"apd. of course, In all such
cases long habit makes one know
pretty we'll how much one is expected
to say. Now, when was in my grief
my desolaton-I could bear neither ad.
vice nor pity. Pity could not tighten
my burden; advice from people full OF
the comforts and hopes and vitality OF
life could not in the remOtest degree
affect or serve me. You may feel as
! / did, Jane. You may know, as knew,
what it is to be in place where no
friendly voice has power to reach, and
where, for a space, Gods light even
seems to have gone out, too"
She turned round quickly; she looked
at him very full.
"Yes, Mr.. Follett, have been in that
depth-I am there now! No other soul
can ever have been as dark as nine is.
I 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.. FOlletts face gave no sign
that he 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, listless
mind into attention.
81 am speaking of great many years
ago, Jane-of time before | had ever
seen yOu-when | speak Of my mar
riage. We were both very young, my
wife and l. We married. mean l
married-for love. Our income was
sufficient for the remote country VII
lage of which l was then curate.
had everything l coveted in the world;
and for 4 ycar-yes, for one year, Jane
I believed | knew what happiness
was. My wife's health was always
delicate. and at times, even from our
wedding day, | thought there was
something wearied and detected In the
expression of her face. But looked
forward to the future. to the time when
she should have grown more used
to the mOnotOny of my quiet life, to the
time when Il child's voice should fill
the silent little parsonage with lifc and
suppose saw less plainly than others
did how pale and thin and spiritless
my poor child really grew.
"Great love blinds us, Jane. and my
love was very great-idolatrous. my
best friends took care to impress upon
me afterward. Margaret was the only
woman | had ever cared for. In pos
scssing her l thought l possessed all
that could make my life worth holding.
| could no more have admitted to my
self the possibility Of losing her than |
could have realized the terrible thought
that she had never loved me.
"As the first year of our married life
drew to a close she grew more cheerful
than / 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 | sometimes think see
her as she used to sit with the soft
evening light falling upon her trans
parent face through our 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 1t was
only afterward l came to know that.
early one fair June morning my
child. my little daughter, was born to
me. | remember, as I walked abroad
i'm nv garden soon after sunrise that
day, I thanked God, almost with rap
ture. for the mercies with which 1t had
pleased Him to crown my life. felt
in that state of happiness, of love With
out fear, which | 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 dic!'
IT have tasted such happiness, too"
broke in Jane 81 have known what 1t
is to look forward to life without n
single cloud"
"And, like me, you have known that
such state is only to be tasted off,
answered the vicar, gently. Like me,
only in q 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 own soul.
even think that, when you have heard
me out, you will say that my expert
ence of disappointment has been
harder, q more fiery one than yours.
To be contlnucd)