Year: 1868

wrong, but I must always like you
better than any one else. But
father says l must not marry you,
and that / must give back the ring"


l felt it drop into my palm. l
clutched it fiercely. There was a
fiat stone, among the grass close
by the fence, and l dropped the
ring on that and ground it to atoms
beneath my heel. She only Sob
bed the more.


'Don't he angry with me, Ezra"
she said. "It is not my fault"


But l would not listen to her.
I turned from her and walked
away. Judging by myself, she
could not care for me, if any
thought of obedience could stand
between US.


That night l packed my port
manteau and left home. l could
not stay there so near her and yet
have nothing more to do with her.
/ never forgot her for moment,
but 1 did not talk of the past to
any one.


had an uncle in Letroit, and
I went to him. He was a farrier,



had taught me his business, and
soon I was able to make money
at it. But money was nothing to
me now, except so far as it was
needed to enable me to live from
day to day. l sent it to my pa
rents, and they, needing nothing,
put it away in the bank with the
little store they were saving for
my good.


"But we are glad to have such
an industrious son" said my moth
er; "and when you bring home
some pretty Canadian girl, you
will be glad to have a little nest
egg to start with"


| had no thought of any girl,
however pretty, for a wife; but
mother could not guess how deep
ly l had been wounded.


Day and night l kept thinking
of Gretchen, and always [ kept
on my bedroom window-sill, in a
china-pot, one of those pure white
lilies, which always reminded me
of her. But / never asked a
question about her, and five
years passed by-fve anniversa-
ries of our betrothal day, and l
did not know even whether she
had married, or was yet Gretchen
Werner.


1t was the sixth anniversary of
that day when l went home to
my little room earlier than usual.


1 had been strangely nervous
all day, starting at any sound, and
feeling as though, every time the
door opened, some one had come
to bring me evil news. And l
had thought of Gretchen a good
deal, and it seemed to me that
writing a long letter home to my
mother would comfort me-.


sat down to my task near the
window, the shadow of the lily l
always mentally call Gretchen
falling over the papers when the
evening wind swayed it. The
sun was going down, and all was
very calm and peaceful. A kind
of Sabbath hush seemed to have
fallen on everything, and | won.
dered why it was.


I told you l had never asked a
word about Gretchen, before; that
day I added postscript to my
letter:


'Is Gretchen Werner well, and
living near your" l said, "Tel
me something about her."


Just as / said those words the
lily shadow swayed more darklJ
over ny paper, and ! looked up
Beside the lily stood Gretchen
white as the flower itself, and rob
ed in white. Her long, fair hal
dropped over her bosom, and be
tween her crossed hands lay
; bunch of lily flowers as they arr
laid on the dead.


She smiled as / looked at her
but never stirred.


| "Gretchen!" l cried, "Gretchen
Gretchen !" and she smiled again
and seemed to vanish in the smile
, and [ fell on the floor in swoon
, for l knew that / had seen GretcE
ems departing spirit.