Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1909-08-10

fence; they were more than neigh
bors, for she had given him rose,
and one evening he had walked home
with her, bidding her goodnight at
the door of her house; but she had
never invited him to enter that house,
had never encouraged him to recog-
nize her when they met by chance In
the street. Many time she had pass
ed without raising her eyes, without
even showing by her countenance
that she knew he was near. So, what
could be the meaning Of this bold rec
ognition? He slackened his pace to
let her walk on, and she walked slow
er; he quickened his steps to pass
her, and she moved along beside him.
Mrs. Fairburn," he exclaimed,
hastily, have you forgotten that L?
Don't you know that your friends
will-?"
Yes, 1 know" she replied. But
there are considerations higher than
the approval of friends. A duty can
sometimes be so strong and impera-
tive as to put every friend in the
back ground"
II don't understand, Mrs. Fair
burn. He glanced at her and saw
her eyes, full of a soft light, turned
toward him.
Governor, heard something
about you yesterday, and l determin-
ed then 1 would thank you, no mat
ter where 1 might meet you or who
might be displeased."
Heard something? Well, you
can't always believe what you hear,
you know"
But l can believe what 1 heard
yesterday. 1 know that you have
turned over to a committee of our
citizens-men whose honesty cannot
be questioned-two hundred thous-
and dollars to found an orphan asy-
lum for the state. l want to thank
you"
mo, let me thank you," he replied.
She caught her breath, and they
walked some distance before another
word was spoken. Our roads lie in
the same direction" she said. They
were going toward home.
Il hope that our paths may never
cross" he replied, without looking at
her, and they walked on a long dis
tance without speaking.
Mrs. Fairburn," he said, at length,
"a conscience encouraged to clear it
self of a weight, ought to feel thank
full. l know one that does"
Governor" replied the widow,
"the seed of reformation lies in the
soil of every conscience"
"Ah, but it may not sprout till wa
ter is gently poured upon it. Then
let that conscience thank the hand
that poured the water. Mrs. Fairburn,
conscience is sometimes a sort of
Central Africa and has not within 1t
the germ Of self civilization"
They were now at the gate. She
lence, said: Wont you-won't you
come in?" Had it cost her an effort ?
He thought so, and hesitated.
"Do-er-do you mean it?'
Il never say things that 1 do not
mean"
He stepped in at the gate, she be-
side him, and silently walked along
the paved pathway that led up to the
steps of the old mansion. There were
rocking chairs on the veranda, but
she did not ask him to sit down there;
she led him into the old-fashioned
parlor where there was cool, sweet
smell He glanced about the room,
so full of the wasteful richness Of the
past: the heavy furniture brought
from foreign lands, paintings from
Italian walls, and an old grand piano
which once had been the marvel of
| the community. The Governor fam
cied that he could almost smell the
music in it, and he sat down, with his
mind on the wheeling melodeon in
the cheerless best room" of the
farmhouse where he had lain, cold
and miserable, up chamber" listen
ing 20 a tune that was intended as
praise to the Lord.
Il used to think that all the sweet
tunes came like a perfume from the
South" he said. And they seemed
to come of a summer evening, just af-
ter a rain"
"Why, Governor" she said, with
Frightening eyes, you are really SEN
timental. Your old home must still
be warm i'm your heart"
| He shook his head. my heart
could have made home warm, but
| | had no home" He looked through
the window at the whtewashed ne
gro cabins in the distance. "Out
there they used to sing and dance at
night" he said: but with us there
was sometimes mockery of freedom,
calling upon us to get up and work
with the cattle. But it was great