Year: 1876

however, in appearance. l sacrificed
myself for friend" Miss Jane looked
at him eagerly-every word of excuse he
uttered, whether true or false, was only
too welcome to her.


"I frequented the house of Marie
with my friend, for he had resolved to
marry her in defiance of the anger of his
father. You supposed it was I who
really loved her. All, Jeanette, if you
had only been less precipitate, how many
years of suffering it might have spared
us both |"


He sighed deeply as he looked into the
fire, perhaps for inspiration.


"You would hear nothing, and you
refused to see me. In vain l called,
wrote and sent messages. You were
decided. You left Europe. You left
me that cruel note. tried in vain to
follow you, to write you, or to explain.
All was useless. In desperation mar
ried Marie; my friend had died and left
the poor girl half heartbroken. For ten
long years 1 have wandered about, now
stationed in one place, now in another,
till last month, when Marie died. 1 met
your uncle by accident in New York,
whittier 1 had come, resolved to make
still another effort to find you. He gave
me your address, and so soon as I was
able, after an attack of illness, 1 wrote
you, and here, at last, am with you,
my Jeanette.


How much of it all she really believ-
ed, it is impossible to say. One thing,
however, was certain: she had tenderly
loved him in her younger days, and long
separation, with nothing in the mean
time to occupy or distract her mind, had
hallowed and strengthened this love till
it had become a part of herself. She
knew his narrow, small character; she
knew how plausible and truthless he
was; but there was a certain romance
and sentiment about her old affection
for him which was powerful still.


There was as much of sadness as of
sweetness in her smile as she turned to
him and said: edward! 1 do not
know if you still love me; l am much
older and changed since we parted; but
this l know, that my old love is still
strong, and that nothing has ever alter
ed it,


This she said musingly, more as if
speaking to herself than to any one else.


"Ah Jeanette" he rejoined, "you
may think i'll of me; you cannot think
worse of me than I think myself. But
with your love to guide me for the fu-
ture, have no fears. Tell me, dearest,
shall it be. then, at last3 Can you SO
far forgive me as to marry me9"


"It may be Weakness" said jean
nette, with a melancholy in her tone.
"My life, for years past, has not been
happy one; its one happiness has been
dreaming of my younger days. God
forgive me if do wrong You will
love me at least, Edward, and in So
Der II friendship, more suited to our
ye rs, we shall be happy"


Her eyes glistened in the red fire.
light, and were moist.


He seemed to misunderstood her.


81 spoke of marriage, Jeanette, and
you speak of friendship"


81 mean the same" she replied.
"The word seemed too full of happiness
for me to utter"


That was their bethrothal.


A few days later the'neighbors were
somewhat surprised to hear that Miss
Jane had been married quietly in the
morning to Lieutenant Edward
Arton.


For while Miss James life seemed
to glide on as smoothly as before, and
one heard or saw but little of her.
Sometimes, early in the morning or later
in the evening, she was seen walking
with q tall and handsome gentleman,
whom all knew to be the lieutenant,
and looking happy and pretty. Soon,
however, they were seen rarely together,
then not at al, and the inmates of the
low stone house were as mysterious as
before Miss James marriage. No one
knew the sorrow shut up there. The
lieutenant went off for days together
and returned as suddenly as he left, and
generally in the night. His wife, with
the blind devotion of woman, was al
ways ready to pity and forgive. She
soon found that her dream was over, her
hopes delusion f; but she still chung to
the memory. He squandered and
wasted her fortune, and treated her
with the contempt and insolence a mean
and selfish nature feels for those who
sacrifice all to them.


Years passed on, and told their sad
story of breaking heart on the face of
Miss Jane. She still clung to him with
devotion.


One night there was a noise, late,
which reused some of the neighbors, as
a carriage drove up to Mrs. Arton's
door. Two days after, early, there was
quiet funeral there.


Mrs. Arton was widow.


She lived on yet many years, but
much changed. Now she was conspicu-
GUS for doing good and relieving the
necessities of those around her. She
could be seen almost daily, her hair per.
fectly white, dressed in gray, and going,
with basket on her arm, to the poorer
portions of the town.


Elizabeth still lived with her, but
grown into pretty young woman, still
with an inordinate love of dress. She
regarded men with great aversion, and
was model of fidelity and devotion to
her mistress, whom she regarded at any
moment as likely to be carried off like
Elijah or Enoch, and only wondered, as,
of course, she must do at something,
that the aerial journey should be de-
layed. Her eyes had never lost their
look of amazement, but she had lost all
her taste for sitting at the kitchen win
dow, except about the time when Miss
Jane, as she always called her mistress,
was wont to return. She met her at the
door then, with smile. "You must
be tired, miss" she would say. "No,"
Miss Jane would answer; "not tired,
Elizabeth--one cannot be tired when
one is occupied doing good, and forget
full of oneself. 1t is the fruitless dwelling
on the past that wearies, or the pursuit
of something which God does not in
tend us to have"