Year: 1873

accepted lne lnVltaIlOn OF my FORMER pu-
pill, May Gordon, to pass a few of the
Summer weeks at Morton Hill.


May had been my music scholar in the
days when she was May Reeves, before
John Gordon came "a wooing." With
out being beauty, May was one of the
prettiest, most winsome lasses it was ever
my good fortune to meet. The great
charm to all consisted in a bright vivacity
that never degenerated into fast" ways,
but was the life OF home and social gath
erings. Strangers called her sunbeam,
or by some equally expressive term OF
compliment, and she was universally be-
loved. Her clear, musical laugh was the
very soul of joyousness.


When John Gordon came from Morton
Hill with letters of introduction for many
of the leading men in Willoughby, the
village matrons willingly consented to
extend all the honors and hospitalities OF
the place, 1t was known that he had
come to sell the old sawmill and large
tract of land adjoining to the new railway
company, and the business portion of the
community said that alone would make
him rich man. Stories had reached us
too, of the beauty of Morton Hill, his
home in an adjoining State. He was n
man of about thirty-fve, exceptionally
prepossessing in personal appearance,
with manner the very perfection OF
graceful courtesy. Most especially was
he deicrential to all women, and when
May Gordon won his love all Willoughby
agreed she had gained pearl of price.


l must confess joined in the good
opinion of Willoughby, for the BRIDE
groom elect had given to me, the little
old maid teacher, the same courteous at
tentions rs he had extended to the young
est and wealthiest Of my pupils, always
excepting sweet May Reeves, who cap
tured his heart from their first meeting.
1t was therefore with great pleasure |
prepared to visit Morton Hill, over which
May had presided for four years when
she sent for me.


The young girl had been a pupil who
gave me especial love, from the fact that
her dead mother and myself had been
school-mates and close friends from child
hood. One of the last hours Mary Reeves
spent on earth was passed in tearfully
beseeching me to love her child, and Mr..
Reeves had allowed May always to be
my pet pupil and dearly beloved young
friend. Still there had been circumstances
that prevented me from visiting her in
her new home until, as have said, she
had been married four years.


The carriage from Morton Hill was
waiting for me at the railway station, and
a pleasant drive soon brought me to the
large, handsome residence of my former
pupil. As the coachman opened the door
little figure in rich silk ran down the
broad stone steps, and was in my arms
in a moment, half laughing, half sobbing,
caressing and kissing me, with loving
words of welcome.


Leading me to a large, beautifully ap-
pointed room, May allowed me there to
get my first real look into her face. When
| had seen it last, it had been round and
blooming with the fresh young beauty Of
eighteen, the eyes overlooking always
with joyous pleasure in living, the sweet
mouth ever half parted in smiles, and the
long hair falling in a shower of golden
ringlets upon the shoulders. AS looked
now, l could have believed the young
wife had aged ten years instead of four.
Something was due to the matronly dress
of thick silk and the arrangement of her
hair in a fashionable chignon, smooth and
glossy, with no curl but still showing the
ripping waves of old. But the face was
thin and pale, the eyes full of mournful
sadness, the mouth grave. My sunbeam
was certainly in shadow, whatever the
cause. While | was dressing, the patter
of little feet across the hall, and sweet
treble calling Mamma" prepared me
for the entrance of the sturdy little urchin
of two and half years, the heir Of Nor
ton Hall, or as May proudly introduced
him, "Our boy Harvey"


But even the proud light of mother
love only lighted up tho pale face for
moment, as taking her boy by the hand,
May led the way to tho dining room,
where the bell had already summoned
us.


Here | met my host, courteous and
dignifled as ever, charming in conversa-
ton. and full of polite inquiry rs to Will
loughby and its inhabitants. And here,
for the first time, began to find some of
the cause of dear Mary's pale cheeks and
sad eyes.


1t may be | give my penetration too
much credit, in thinking my discoveries
came so early; but surely, too surely they
were verified in the weeks that followed.
John Gordon surely loved the bright-eyed
girl he had won from her widowed father
yet slowly and certainly he was killing
her. The stately courtesy that was
charming in friend, or even in lover,
never sank Tor rose)? into the familiar
tenderness that every wife Graves where
she had cast all her treasures of love.


II was evident to me, though May gave
no spoken confidence, that the four past
years had been passed in vain ATTEMPT
to win the loving praise that had been
her daily portion in her own home. We
had considered her a jewel of housewifery
perfection when she presided over her
fathers pleasant home: but at Morton
Hill it was absolutely painful to see how
hard she strove to make home an earthly