Year: 1873

. 4


{ dear?


Two weeks after that, news came


to him Angeline Wilmarth's be
trothal to her cousin - the city brec
young man whom he had eeen riding


beside in the May twilight. fhl'


was an unexpected blow, something
which, knowing the man was her
cousin, he had never feared. The
news sank into his heart with dull,
dumb pain. She never Sould have
cared for him, then-never had. 1t
was we'll he had not gone away and
left those two who did love him to
mourn, After all, perhaps, this exis-
teuee of plowing. and planting was
all he was good for. Fate had placed
him rightly, had gauged his capaci-
tiles better than he could have done
himself. So he settled back into his
old grooves with grim resignation
which vas not yet content. Still be
felt himself at odds with the life
which did not offer him what he
wanted.


When autumn came, and it was
time for him, if at all, to make the
change plannedi in the spring, he was
surprised to fud the incliration 10
make it gone Some healing minis
try, to call it of nature or Of grace.
God knows, what had been at work
in his soul; aud, unconsciously to
himself, through the long summer
days aud short summer nights he
had been learning the sweetness of
duty pure and sinple-duty for its
own sake. He had begun to ask him
self, not what be wished, but what he
ought 10 do; and he felt that in the
very fact of his being on earth, God
had called him to certain duties on
which he would never again turn his
back. Reconciled at last to the sp
pOintment of Heaven, he was at peace
also with his own soul; aud new
light came into his eyes, a new vigor
and manhood into his life.


He could think Of AugeIine Will
marth in these days without pain
There would always be in his heart
for her the tenderness good mau
feels for a woman once beloved, but
whether she was his or another's, he
could not reckon her loss pr gain
among the "all things he was con-
tented to leave with heaven"


He had beard in the summer that
she was to be married on Christmas,
but be heard no more about it after
wards. Her Preparations were going
on, he supposed, but be seldom saw
her. lie had never spoken with her,
more than passing good day, since
her engagement.


One afternoon in November, be
brought home from the village post
office a bundle f papers. his Boston
daily among them. Sitting by the
Gre and turning them over, his eyes
were caught by the heading in large
letters;


ANOTHER CASE OF DEFALCATIoN


lie began to read the article with
the kind of half careless interest peo-
pie iu the country feel IN the excite
ment Of the city, which cannot touch
them personally; but suddenly he star
ted up, clutching the paper tight, and
straining his eyes over it as if he
doubted his own vision. The name
Of the deraultiDg and run away bank
teller was Angie WiImar,hs cousin.
Thank Heaven that 20 mean selfish
ess stained his soul in that hour.
Fl was honestly aud heartily touch
ed at the thought of Angles sorrow
Poor GIRL If there were only any
thing he could do TO aid or comfort
her. He took his hat and went out
with some vague purpose of offering
his help, which the fall wind shat
tered as it blew across his brow. OF
course there was nothing he could
doshe could not even speak to her on
such a subject Her grief woul Id be
sacred, and he-had not been used
this many month to the idea that
be was nothing to her ary more?
Sill he weot on In purposeless
sort Of way toward her house; went
on until he saw a slender figure com
ing as if to meet him, under leaAess
elm boughs, over the dead and rust
liug leaves which lay thick upon the
wood path. He had meant to pass
with just "good evening"" but when
she put out her hand to hin, and be
looked into her face, the words came
before he knew it to his lips.


Il have seen it all in the papers,
Angie, aud l am sorry"


Yes" she said gently; lit will ruin
him, | am afraid"


And you thought most of you.
You we're 10 have been married so
soOu."


"Not to him." she said hurriedly,
never to him. That was done with
TWO months ago. | had never loved
him. 1t was vanity which made we
consent to marry him. He was
ha udsome and gallant, and he pro
missed ne all the good things Of this
life. But,I found, after a while, that
none of them would pay ue fer my
self, and l told him the truth


Something in her hurried, earnest
tones, or the swift color that stained
her cheek, or her shy, half veile
ewes, or all together, gave John Os-
good encouragement, aud he said / hold
ing ber hand still.


"It was because | had one of th'
good things Of this life, Angie, ths


| dared not tell you how dearly


loved you and always should. Ior
seemed too bright and fair to settl
| ko-a inst as tba Wife of RVe