Evening Star Newspaper, March 1, 1873, Page 2

- 7 . PIPLORA PACE. \ reet, even voice, inne ena are ali sorry a neve. There haint ene of is it Soatet, open me that T a — Belen The clouds that oop from yonder sky | “ . oe: a ae 4 : ‘he would En New Yor — Lows Globe from burdens, apd are free; 2, Tsai , “yen. tax: my misery with the next word, it there be any aatisfaction in popularity. b that take them ha 5 7 i notice Sa iz mca a f £5 Taoweiee rect frigadly to’rds tien pepe ey cease ‘ he as rye tedentably, ce se a ‘To find relief in lake and sea. 7, pos j hi soy d0eh nad se Enos we feel friendly aCe. And then the thought that I / lar wriur whe pre cee ce “44 Srapaeaes be wildest wind in © far ar: . ¥ tohearitctrack | sewer does is =p and reprodaced by th Siceps. pillowed on its rated wings; 5 out abruptiy, scarcely know- | me a = th . pres: ali over the isnd. His booss Beats into site oidtnaee, me, rubbing Bie * He tine tuid ge Motiine ite Mom | \Rotmoualy—the *Inmocents Abrond,” abo A ve OFercomes his yon what could - ¥ ‘me . ie - The te “his * Pe And tirst embition’s Hig table, looking pale and a, sora teams. ‘aek mo questio: in quite 5 sdhis name it’s Roger Leith, we By loved vonage 1 «st, | pet oe. oF bile“ Tenoce And ot ier adie on ween Sehr BS entrees, au then he broke the; — | m1 Y é ak eat the rest. For a moment deredigou bees than you kage fored him, sccd Tate Guateee, 3 we froma doe « ‘You will y,uhe began. d ame, I needed. ) Cushioned arms 0c at pas whole at flashed upon ms, and has been wretched through vour distrust ed it. He was then introduced thro a Our dreams and passions cease to dare, 1 eevanees thet 5 hav: it sorry quickly iT my feet, Dlindly clinging to Ralph | and coldness. It was his despair that iste him ary friend to the American Publish oy And homely patience !carns her part; No," I said, “You mistake. Ido not need y I could not understand this, but a risen too. “Come away,” I | seekume when be brought Jany to Men | pany of Hartionh and ie iace peewee 15 Vet still sms keen, pursuing cate any. Thank you.” draggi y So this oes pin Bro possession of — aa take me away somewhere—farther borough. He kw a Uat had covctal menthe befoce yo apna fos . ns Ma ceciameacrt, eyo the tant, | Tampon erica ster yt uy "GSM? | Teeataas cata Me oncec RPC. eked fu cages ore o> Uy hana oeacapae 0” | a sca oe on ml oe fs if | it was our . 5 ¥ Jost of hol “ . 2. ig Oe ees, eres Se ods; _ aan pry Peceandte so ‘anything—-I | cliged to speak. We both lstened to the moan , ess has been a great anxictytohim, | had half carted, halt deaggel me te theve : 1 unsonglit | king It, but toe Poet pd mtg gece ete ts aakeeetn” pe you will weite to me abut it of the breakers and watched the line ef 1/sbeth wenton still, with her face) rock shelter where wehadsal the day he hauded R > Grnite soul to | tound fh so very fanny that be nat boctoe aoe Tia ees of Cee eas. Thank you again,” Treplicd.. “I will write | foam ont st sca; and as last, both by ome actord | Gurmed pwr te the twilight—“and it bas | me my husbands letter, and there I dropper st Ger- | lishing it and an a ‘The spots upon the risen sual to you once cok wisethes I wish anything or stopped rctg.e Sorter. of ks sheltered cl jroabied him more since you came here. He ee ¢ sands, hiding my wretched face in my se7werw eae er him. nt, Feeut wy ' And still some cheaper service claims A - “i nui hi # a _ Idd notspeak in answer, but T was weak | «Teil me the truth,” I papteds “tell mv. "| huddering in my chais, my face | and it is altopemer ne, iy The wit! that leaps to lotier call; Sarees ees” oT minttes Jenene ond-snem |romsined ategding. ih Die Jongh Bb: spoke _ woman enongn toicel naccuer marl otmingied | ct tts iiaiaindaaeidlll Suried in'my hands!® And them tiers cre be. | mithion cane cane Beebe Pat Squares of yoni de wale ry von ny “Then, as T shall not see you again, t will bid E pain and pleasure. -Lostas the past irrevocably |” He 100! 7 tow the sound of man’s footst-ps, | He has already completed o To spoil each beckoning victory. A thousand pigmy hands are thrust And, round earh height attaiued, we se Our ether dim with lower dust. ald we breathe some peaceful air, all save purpose there forget, + courage learn to Sting, the pebbie’s fre gadily cher goal and harsher war, irtue, then com for idle ease we pra eedom for our task 5 [Rayard Taylor in Galery for Merck. THE WOMAN WHO SAVED ME. Monthly.) Pa L The medical mam was holding my wrist and og.and f wax not listening. In the tirst place, | knew more about myself than he could tell me; in the second, | should searcely have understood what he was saying it I had listened; and im the third, [ was in so listless and in- different a condition of mind that I did uot care to listen—did not care to answer—did not, even care to look, as I was half unconsciously roking at the dead brown leaves twisting in the eddying wind that whirled them down the How dail it all looked! how dal! the dragging “ays were! how I was begiuning to hate the | the clasped hands, Should [send them or not? I | t or, fe upa big, obtrusive stone houses, and dread the long welcome me, and my first glance showed me | Gervasc—one of the salesmen was struck down ped hand 0 F no fouchea my shoukler, for I did not look up at atay ‘h of November sky showing itvel! over the roof, and alternately drifting leaden clouds and drizziimg leaten rain that made the wide dagged pavement wet and shining with the slop ef passing feet! I had always dis- liked the English winter, but I had néver lost spirit im any other winter as I had during this one. Three months of its slow, dull birth had added a hundred-fold to the listless miser: which bad become almost a part of myself, anil mere than once I had almost hoped that its emling would end my life. If during that wretched autumn Ihad hoped for anything, { had hoped for this, however vaguely; but the time had often been when I had been =o utterly indifferent to life or death that I had not even cared to wishl@or eith I was in one of the day, and when the doc strongest; so, listened, but and dust in silence. Lstening, L could net h words. of these moods to- came it was at its ito me I scarcely the whirling lea nongh | ws hearing his last “Ami as I tokd Mr. Leith.” he was « “T cannot be responsible fur the result if y not go.”” I began tolisten then, though I scarcely knew wh i, “where am I to zo, and was his em: c reply. “To —to some 7 20 Yar- ndl—any where away irom Loudon.” “Bat why?” I asked again, beginning to wonder if the man not, 1, know something more than [ hal fancied. “Because,” looking at me steadily. “if vou remain here you will die in two months, and Mr. Li 1 blame me.” I muttered, ‘would he blame anybody Dr. Branaird looked at me again —keen!y this time—but he saut notaing. “And may L go anywhere out of London?” said, after a short pause. “Anyw ” he answered —“though [ shoyht anside, have alt anconseiously— yoken to my Lasband about did he say?" I asked this unwil- id that he hoped the change would im- Prove your health.” looked out at the leaves in the street again. Tt was se like him. I knew what it meant. mast decide for myself. He did not care. mignt live if Leared for life—die if L chose. “T have a friend in Bamborongh,” I said atter @ while, «I will go there.” Dr. Branaird rose and took his hat. “Do,” he alvised—-Bamborough is just the place I should have chosen for you, had [ not thought it best to let you choose for yourself. here is plenty of strong sea-breeze on the | Cornish coast, and your fricnd will improve the | tone ef your nervous system if she is anything | of a woman.” So he left me, and so I turned to the street again and stared blankly at the dead leaves aud the pateh of gray November sky. But I could not wateh it long. For the first time ta =~ long mouths se aiet oe ment rept upon me, brought al Ss Jace gy Mee my mind concern: my at Bamborough—concerning | abeth Grant. my We had been girls her and we had loved | each other. We had been to each oth-r wuat ye seldom are pre digi oo ars, though four years Lis! a en a wife, and though she was the mother of three chillren. I knew she was faithful to me still, notwith standing that sinee her wedding-day we hail seen each other. hands are full, Gervase,” she had written rat © me once—“and my heart is fall too—to th: | brim. Hugh and his children fill it as they fill the hands. They give me no tim> to stagnat They keep the hamls at work and the heart work too—loving, hoping, thinking for them and | am sure the beating is more in time for 4 or peo children ons Bat they have you out, Gervase, you may be sure of that. ‘there fs ail the more room be. cause they have made it larger. The children have made melove you more than ever.” “Ves.” I said to myself as I ap from my chair—“yes, I will go to Lisb Ulam Suing to die, better die with Lisbeth than here.” pf ' = peeve my husba: “un, I told myself. It was not even love that had made us happy in the first months of our only been @ weak mockery ° en the little child that had scarcely drawn a breath could not soften our hearts to- wards each other. And, worse than this, out of my wretchedness had grown a shadow of sin and despair. T looked backwards sometimes to a fancy | bad long left jtud—to @ faney that Ethought my husband had long bl “ and looking backward so, [ fell into a wonder at what now seemed my Blindness. That man would have loved me; there would have coms no bitter words from him—that man would have been true to me through life and death; his love would never have die I, burning oat the more rapidly for the very strength of its first me. & i did not often wait for my hushand, but { waited for him that night. I wanted ‘to tell him of my decision. Not that I fancied he would care for my absence or presence—he was past that; we were both past it. Sulll 1 would show just so much grace as to make a pretence of consulting him. “lam sang Bam)orough.” [ said to him, “to visit Lisheth Grant. Dr. Granaird ad- vises me todo so.” Aud I glanced at him care- lessly. " He had just come in, and toss» his hat apon @sofa in & carcless fashion, and now h> wa standing apon the hearth looking silently into the tire. the did not to raise his eyes. “I hope you will fad your health unproved,” “T hope so,” I returned briefly. But he was not quite easy, [ could see, and 1 must confess to some slight surprise. The black tines came out ow lis forehead, bat they were not a1 lines, they weresomething new expression. He was z te. | at TL had never loved | mt we had both learned the truth too | pity not return three years to-day," he said, “since you | was, it had yet a strong r over me. As | in hiseyes, and though I knew that he woald there never was a hu colder than mine, | have forged a lie te suit his Mis words mi ~ | of bis new book, “John Bull.” ck he f | said to have presented English custome Ss Ad interrupted. “If Bam~| The sudden, hurried beating of my heart al- so there had neyerbecn a bridegroom more im: | titat this was no lie, ha believed ‘li cee vib’, but that tie See SS Sareciorisin ie en ae tend No better than London | most suffocated me. Thad forgotten until this’ passioned in affection; and, even in this winter | wore steadfastly than Edid. 1 il the other the voice certainly has had am admirable field tor rd says I shall die intwo | moment, and the rush of old memories over- of indifference, 1 could remember days in the “Yes,” he answe “f shrew id peculiar observation over thers, an! done anything Hike Justice to himss muing volume cannot fail to be nv. Gervase!” atph Gwnane My strengih w z not have spor ft | ye. powered me. T remembered the very day—Jjust dead summer when his untiring love lind wak- | «4c th chtaeta nace *T somecth knew ci ferling of desperation | such a day as this, with sunshine watmiugeven ened me to a happiness almost divine, epheme- | _—s Prompted mec to make speech =) reckless, but it | the leaden November sky, and whitening the | ral as it had proved. “Glancing at Lisbeth, ¢ was a feeling desperate enough. piled edges of the clouds. 4 thought it | thought struck me that undet her quietspeechos Thad nev at even im my miscry 7 a Mark Twain isd and more pop we! he exctaimed. bri then. I remembered, too, how the d: and quiet manner there ny a deeper fhouzght f with a delasion. T knew that [ ¥ rose and went to the window w'ar than ever. Mis literary as well astinaucial I ‘woul not took him, but in the mirror I | had closed in as I stood at the window of my | for me than J had fancicd, and theu there flach- s man, even as I faacied Laid, throw womanly strength of purity as ¢ stablished. Worth erm saw reficeted on his face s pallor as ashen as tie | new home with Roger’sarms folded, about me, | ed across iny mirmt a remembrance of tim: his warmuess with my husband's | in her calm woman's lite has, in her own riget, pallor of death. Sometimes, in after months, f | and bis heart beating against mine. I could | when she had sile cit steed between me ; I knew that throngh all T had been “Ra Sf he were ta wi-hed that [had looked at him more straightly. | scarcely speak steadily, but 1 managed to do | man who was my evil genius. _ fi ea an the weakest of women, for I loved ould candy chowt But he said nothing more—only waited a m>- | so at length | At this moment I recognized the man’s pow. ; nd, and I loved him still. ar by lecturing, and 0 it is uocioe ment, and then came to my side. “So long?" [sald, coldly; “yes, I believe you | er for evil over me as I had uever done before, iuto a low, wretched, lyst **Good- me as y (urther sympathy on the unfurian he said. ave right. Where were you? How did you learn | and a curious sense of Fepngnance came upon He did not rept ier” “Good-bye.” Tanswered. And the next m z | me with my recollection of something I ed me this much,” I] uttered betw me | 7 : menthe had touched my cheek lightly with hi He did not leok at me; his eyes were fixed | sometimes seen sleeping in his quiet persi- i vrance Was not bliss, it was | as his footsteps did a nt, Sr Alexts ta has the honor of beim lips and was gone. | steadily on the far-away white line of foam. | ence. I conld not understand the induence that wiser than [ was—to know more of | found me shivering from head to toot, ret bura- the first fore ‘3 reduced to the wit he it was late when T reached Bamborongh, and | “i was in Calcutta,” he auswered. “Tne | stung me to ahger and roused my pride, but T | my humiliation tian I did ing with su or. Japanese Mikado. the tide was coming in under a red, fog-ob- | news had been @ long time on its way and! never failed to succumb to it, nevertheless, |p it would have been folly to tet you add to] “Better to have let me go, Lisbeth,” T sald || @a7Miss Sarah ort, of Chardon, 0., seured son. I looked out of the carriage win- | reached me on this very day—the day that | itinvariably roused me to some fresh rash the humiliation by relenting towards the man | wenkty, “better to have let me away and | ¢ assumed the log: ate ayome wo j dow asi dr from the st: through the | was to be your wedding-day. Ishail not forget | of speech of action. But tho igh L said little to has trampled yon in the da aut pass | lie. tor I should have died, Lisbeth—t am dying | by matrimony at the age of twely | Barrow streets, and looking, I saw little more | it easily.” | th, the pang of remembrance softened my | xionately. “I swore that you showld not seud | wow.” Aud as she cai a 87" Minois has givon married women the ri, than an —— expanse = sea, and ht ae |, dropped my glove, and as I stooped to pick | heart, and before she left me I had made w pmy | this letter—am I to keep my oat rk room seemed to to be sued atlaw, instead of their pr each, where fishermen were lowng- up a sudden recoliection flashed across my | mind to write a few words to my husband, at | eld out my hand | ing, fshermen’s children shouting and playing? | brain. One day, threo months after our mar-| least; ahd when sue had gon Tdrew my desk | Sd fishermen's boats drawn up and fastened | riage, Roger had come home with a budget of | towards me and wrote thein-—-only a few word ite handed it to me, and ‘as T touched it the upon the sand with chains. { had always felt | news from Calcutta, and among other ‘hinge “Your wife, Gervase. remembrance of what it contain ind how T | drawn towards the sea with a curious sense of | had referred to the intense heat and the pre Thad not ended a letter thus for two year: i been duped, rushed u; light and then fade out, and ‘lesed around me I felt Unat the ¢ come. condition of dep ‘o!” Feried ont sharpiy, “give it to ine." rminable wanderings in some < i atches on each other's arms, and don't ack | fascination, and this evening the fresh salt air | alence of sumstroke among the foreign inhabi- | and I hesitated a moment before I wrote tho of a whirlwind. 'I tore it into a hundred piece . ont of misery—weeks of | SY . iC aioe se | blew so coolly upom my cheeks that I had a | tants - Signature. But despite the lingering of peu, | and seattered it on the sand, if interminable watching hideous pinoramas mat | “Bether you will be ogee sedans meee aiet, Wali-delined feeling that L was NOt SOFT |, aly informant is one of the travelers for. Am- | over paper, they were wrote at last, and as T'| “There,” I said, “it le gone forover.”” seemed t pase and repass and pass again— |, €27-Nine democrats im the North Carotims had come to Bamborou: Bas boyse & perig,) he said, ‘‘and he telis me that | looked at them I felt the warm blood beat into He came and bent over me & little later, as T y, it appearcd ages, of se. ng legislature agree with the rv Wbliow ms that it is | And at her open door, Eisbetn stood ready to | the very day he left—the day. we were married, | my cheeks, and my head drooped sat with my face buried In my hands, avd he | through old’ wrongs, and loves and bates —anl t vet quite time to “ict ap” om the kuklux weeks of waiting restlessly with frantic impa arauders. ‘ Nees eer imucthing which never came and | | @7-The Pottevilie Minors’ Journal, whic nd yon will listen to me, Gervase!” he | never would come—for sume stop ping-place or | takes a profound and benevolent intersat Yn th | the same handsome womanly face and hand- | with it. He was talking to oye of our clerks | thought of Ralph Gwynne, and of what I had | some womanly figure, nefther face nor figare | who had just arrived {tom suffered, and my letter’s fate was almost sealed. | « a whit unfamiliar or a whit less perfect for the | about our wedding too, Hegblase says and he | But even as | paused, a soft little cry from! | said: shutting out of the crowding Tdid not | temperance movement, truly says: “No mae | crown of comely matronhood. Two of her chil- | saw the young fellow change color and stag-, roke upon my ear. It was | [chook his hand off quickly, for his touch au- | know and was constantly scanning and striv! should vote so that his children cox y, “Our dren clung to her flowing skirts, her handsome | ger, aud ina minute more he fell like a shot. | bushed the next moment, but the tiny voi i | gered me, but [had made up my mind. fo remember—weeks of such suffering, with | father yoted to make drunkards of us?” And | baby clasped her neck, aud as she stoodthere | Gwynne his mame was, I believe—italph | turned the seale. 2 “Yes,” Lanswored him, ‘Ef will listen.” ; blank or a dim sense of strug- | what adds great weight to this pathotic Injanc | smiling, I thought of Cordelia, and my heart | Gwynne.” _, L put the letter into its envelope and sealed * * * * * day a tong is the © of Pottsville whisky. warmed —Listeth’s strength and beauty always!| | S@ one man had suffered for me at least—one | it with a mew resolution. 1 would. try to re- | I sat crouched betore my window, feeling colt 2 os warmed it love had not died a uatural death ina few | trieve something of the past, at least. ‘1 would | and sick and weak, but still with my mind fall Pc ve ez ught me im the one arm. her child left. | briey months. do no new wrong. I would ‘cherish no bitter- | of e ; written my fare- hb | “The Werk Goes Brarcty On"’ + and drew me into the hall, pressing her | Ralph put his hand into his pocket and drew | wess against my dead child's tather. It L could | 0 " : er—Tcould not. My weak- warm red lips to mine. | forth a letter. not be happy I would endeavor to be patient.’ v NESS Was SO great, my power over my “My dear!” she said, “my dearest! ‘This was handed to me last night,” he said.’ | It might not be for long—it could not be fur | heth and told her all, in the faint ho} limbs so utterly lost, that I gaz | Semed as thongh she had tug the moment no | “It bears a London post-matk.”” long. knew. beth would believe what noone clecon earth | without en trying to addrem’he | other words to utter. Her voice warmed m: I «lid not ofier to take it for a moment. I| ‘I will give it to Ralp! une to post in | would believe, in the faint hope that Lisbeth OUR COUNTERS NEARLY CLEARED | And puf lite into my veins I clung to her, en- | knew he had searched ime to the core, that he | the morning,” I said aloud; *-it will snow him | would believe, ‘my solemn word, when I told her | 1 | Joxing her tonder carceses, but searcely speak- | had seen avery fruitless pang and ister humil- | that" that even at the worst, | should not be so ut- | the spiri ng & word for at least Lisbeth understood what on of the past two years. My letters to m: I did not finish my r L terly lost as the world would deem me. Thad | Wastin such a tra ; my silence meant, and would not reproach me | hustand had been regularly sent, but his an-'| not, even in the silence of my room. E Jaid my th'ngs all back into my trunks, even to | speaking to me and [ co her quite dis- | with it. She did not ask any questions. It | swershad been few and far between, and my | the readers of this receed I Lave not to | the merest trifle. ‘The very dress I wore was | tinctly, thoush 1 co | THE IND UCEMENT Ji seemed that fi an instant she comprehended | pride had forced a fresh sting upon'me even that my reckless misery drove me to. [co one [had myself purchased. I had not retained n must not try to speak, Gerv: she everything. for she carried mo to my room, and | while I was otherwise indifferent to the neglect. | not justify my weakness, and otherwise in sbeasion a single thing my husband had | was saying—you must not try t ven. | took off my wrappings as if [ had been a child | So I hesitated now, and the next moment a} better be silent. flv " ct i over given to me—not even the sapphire ring | You are and she my mother. { could not help noticin wy ne came to my sige asit drawn ther The sun was shining bright and warm into | that had been the pledgeof our betrothal. Am m her touch in her strong, gentle hands s uncontrollable impulse. A gleam of light | the breakfast-room whea I went down now that all my preparations were made, I was i 2 A full ALL-WOOL SUTT. to matoh, for only § 13 mother ton: he! lice. ot over his dark face. letter in the morning, and the salt sea wind | waiting at my opened window for the ‘sign Fine ALL - Wool sUtrs Se gis 1 show you my children as soon as yor! ou lo not eare to tke it,”” he said. «The | blew fresh through the open window up from | that-was to come for me from the bench bern, Hart prion, B20 to G32 she sa t you must first rest ht of it isa new torture. Let me throw | the beach. As | had lain awake in the night | I had thrown myself adrift on the broad ocean This was my first awal g aft ’ Fine ALL-WOOL SUITs, ¢ 3 t . Nu slegram did not pr 8 a change seemed to have come over me, and | of chance, and the waves might fling me apon | had falien into her arms;and a: Fine ALL-WOOL SUITS six” i Z you look so changpd.”” My startled mo into setf- | under its influence U forgot the dull Novem- | what shore they would, for the momenta y pas- no more of the inter: ? 4 Fim «$20 to gse Isation of the heart. ‘That’ would be @ new reading of old | ber days, and pitiless November skies, in th | sion of misery had settied into passive despair. tings, though I seldom was strong “Wi id he I i. ‘No; give it to me." one rate chance of morning warmth and & m doing,” Chad | cnongh to open my eyes. But as I lay there We tore Smal! remrant of our wi veh He submitted without a word. But didnot | light. ai ne that night, “they gene- | with my eyes shut 1 grew strong enough ina | of for RUSINESS SUTTS lof, st “Ye this morn- | read the letter. It had come too 2 alph Gwynne was alone in the room, bis iy have something at stake, some lute or two to listen to the ly : | carry @ sitgle garment over, ar ing, to were coming. rusal, I said to myself. So I held it in my hand | stubborn persistency showing itself as it always | but I have none; I had risked all I had to who were in my room, the end to |" Tans aword. Why had he done this? ly, making a show of an ease I could | did im his waiting for my coming. Tab re I had to lose. You are guish them one from another. 1 heard ri If we had love: re known I went to him at ouce, hoidivg my letter in my | ing to pe if you think to win m ¥ h’s oiten, calm awl low iswe-t that it was bee: h E 1 in my hand when we retarned, and f | hand. > | in the course of time. I tell you I shali c Hugh's softened anti it was like a wo- ceed ant OF muy meeting even the momentary | sat down before the ire in Lisbeth’s room. The | “Ihave aletter hore 1 am anxiousshallreach: | toys cont witt leave England with you a voice that I knew to be the chill of an unexpected reception; bat now the | sea Wwreeze had done me no good this morning . | London to-night,” I said, looking straight into | jecaime I love you, but bee: love my hu I beard oth, news only startled me. I was tired and worn out, and droo; his face. “If thought | would give it into band, and cannot be: face in. bat first of all But though she spoke no word. Lisheth’s eves | chair before [ removed ‘my wrapping i. | your charge at once, as you generally go into | will be honest with you. I take all to give noth- | band’s. T did not hear it lost nothing. I knew that she wax searching me | tent. resting my chin upon my hand and hold. | Bamborough earlier thait any one else. Will | HABLE BROTHERS, FASHIONABLE TAILORS. fetetr COPNER OF Trm AND D Sie mm Theard my bu > or twice, ar | ing. If you love me enough to hele me, well ervals: day and night without au hour | ottce. @xer when se spokeof otherthings, and Tkuew | ing fhe letter loosety. j you post it for me?” and good. if not, leave mehere ant T will go bine I felt Lisbeth tonch otter: Ttalt | on that she was searching me when, after she ha | | Lisbeth came in to find me sitting this, and |” He held out his hand and took it from me. | ser SQ tt wnot, leave tent were Wanaie ned COLORED SOLDIERS AND SAILG! se ta haw Children into the room. she stood near | at her first glance at me L saw a straiige shadow | slipping it into his vest pocket with scarecly a | “And he haa hog a purpose and agreod. ch, but there was onc hand that me in her royal mother pride, with her little one | cross her face. glance, but I knew that he had seen the super- | Of course he did not believe ime strong er touched ine without drawing me farther in her fair, strong arms. “Tired, Gervase?” she asked. scription by the instantaneous change hi his | to battioaswen he bc ; from the grave and wearer to life, and this bi | “ccPhis is Hagh's boy,” she said, tou “Yes,” I answered brieily face, It was a very slight change, almost sap a teaubore persistence, and | tre ae ee ft an | of course he false i honest; | wa my husband's, | All Colored Soldiers or Sailors, or their | ercmpled brown curls of her eldest. She crossed the room to the fire eit | imperceptible one in fact, but I saw it not- | bat Nutone one ee nd . eee issued j bat I knew my own steady strength of obstin- | And at length T found myself awake agal 1 tives, | Lawrence. See, Gersave—Hugh’s eyes. down, on pretense of brightening. the le withstanding and caught its meaning. | ate endurance: and he dil noe, Chm here to | fattnto the whew cond myselt So gre pe Legal Representatives, | “They were i little with the brash she held in ler hand. The | | “Kenvy your husband,” he had said to me | the dim mooslight thee deena through the | first upo: nd seated at my bedsid: Daverecotved notice fromthe Treasury Dopart | perfect, healthfal nature hadvowered them | next minute she turned her fair, gracious face | once; “I'pity him—T hate hina.” curtain of sea tos into my window, I was wait- | and when 1 made an effort to speak I found that cortificates ba ing for his sigual, and th was sleeping in | strength enough to utter a single word: = r = ge scitlernaat = = mawareed) Le pieen ee or ig Pe a . : Kahand" int seipatone ee went this fora pa “s | their chitdish eves. 'A degplate ac! led my | | “And you have not real your husband's let. | ate speech, which was only one of many s the next room with her baby on her breast, and ; UNTY. : | breast as Lisheth stood near me with them. Her | ter?” she said. “Why, Gervase? | was embodied in the fainf change that passed | ner Title children near het. Tthonght of the | Ie bronght her to my side with a gesture, and | “2AEMS FOR PAY, BOUNTY, Prize | life was so full—mine so empty. [had never | ‘Because I am not going to read it,” T replied | over hisdark face, as he lean upon thé win- | abasement had seen in the handsome girl. | es he turned towards the light bis haggard ta MONEY, &e., or deguildren vers much—had sen very little | and then, ruled by some wretched impulse, 1 | dow ledge and looked out calmly enough at the face a few hours before, and I thought a wonder to me; but !had only power, WED | and who have not received the amou ot the m—and of ~~ own baby I had seen noth- ng it into the fire. tishermen sergio dis 2 the beach. _ child who had looked at me over his mother's | Lisbeth bent over me, to say to her one thing, | are directed, im onder tw speedy payus | ing but the poor little cold body I had for o: But Lisbeth said nothing. I wondered at the He did not even refer to the letter in the com- | shoulder in his fearleas bab: way. in a whisper so weak that I searcely could hear | >5 this Office, and | Moment caught a glimpse of as Roger bent over'| time whether it was possible for her calm, | monplace conversation we drifted into The | “Roger's baby—Roger’s it myself. it, shaken with a man’s terrible weeping. healthful nature to comprehend the morbid momentary shadow left him so entirely that I I hid my face in my hands, stisling the low “it I live,” I said, “he must kmow. If—t die, Without farther expense by Claimants, | thought of this when I looked at ‘s that possessed me. I fancied not. The | found myself wondering if hé had altogether | cry that burst from me. I remembered the one | it—cannot matter. Let him love—me—if he nd their § | children, but no tears came into my eyes. | broad, even current of her life's affection had | forgotten it. But though he did not refer to | moment, en the night of my baby’s birth, when y. toncnt their numa, Wie Post Overs wpeees to | L was wondering vaguely if 1 were a wicked wo. | swept’ on undisturbed, bearing on its smooth | the letter, befgre Lisbeth came in he spoke of mists had | adjutant General U.S. Army, W , Washing. ] ton, D, C, = Ane w the delirions cleared away from my The weak tears began to rot! down my cheeks, life were surface many flowers. She coukl not under. | husband. is brain, and I had seen my husband bending over | and I could not stop their flow, and 1 saw that a ink stand me and my weak miseries and weaker ‘I did not know,” he said, after an inter- | the tiny form that lay upon the white pillow. Lisbeth’s tears were falling too, , Or wept for it_R hi c | Tegrete. | val of silence; “until yesterday I did not know | “aqragy baby had lived,” I said aloud, “if my You will not die,” she said; “you will tive to They should elec etate tn before its birth, and I had learned to hid my face in my hands when she left the | that your husband had ever visited Bambo- | bab had lived, I might have been like L ast. He knows all—he read your what a mistake I had male. room, and abandoned myself to thought. 1 | ec, beth. » Speak to her.” What Company and Regiment the service But { lived again that day as [ talked to Lis- | could nut explain why it was that during this | The words were so unexpected that I glanced 1 got up after this and walked across the floor bacgard face near mine upon the ‘was rendered. . We sat by the fire after tea—she with her | month at Bamborough I had scarcely once | up quickly to see what they might signify, but | and back again a dozen times. I was wonder- glow of our bridal days was child on her breast, and Ion a loungi thought of returning to London and my h B.D. TOWNSEND, tame Gon to jud; m his careless, averted face, they it he would when Lisbeth gave him If ever my mind had recurred to the | mi; he heve held bem Sperry the letter, amd ‘whother thes wonls be pehadow “you cannot die ora! town, hi thought, I had shrank from it with a misery al- G y | of self- h in his memory of the past. I I have followed | Wa Derarrurss, | most intensé. I felt that I could not back | husband had visited Bamborough at ‘all. If he Ps myself how my life Yas to be: nt. valley of death, and brought a Gener i sey ‘ | Were alone together for the first tim pow unless, as T had hoped, in a cofin, shut out lias been here Chave been kept in ignorance of i at teoould net inet youback, and 1 claim ou, a6 God ts mercital. SA | had parted, four a Hi al it | forever from his sight | the faet. hundred ave love mn thro: our miser; wi UL DISCOVERY OF | om business, and the children had’ gone tr ben | As tant ty wondering “He has been here,” he said indifferently, Sot was not fit to understand your womees here, | ['2® MOST ONDE ENTULY. i years &gain—but un- | how | “often. ' The Lisbeth said nothing 1 did not make any reply. I knew well | might make hi tenderness. Dr. &. D. Howe's Arabian Milk Care my husband. At le: . after a silence, she our mar- | enough that he intended to force me to ques- | Hy bon wehed af least fcciod Cee |S ing him, but 1 tin the mood to Setesoctine 2 nui wed oreo hh from fi ked 2 , when we least fanci we lo jon! im, but I was not e mi ates. | tenderly, scarchingly,sadige noe Sm | Cee others tion, and so was silent. If my husband had pares ordinary Coughe eed Oside ia «few hourejtike | ‘And happy, Gerrase?” she said. 1 Two hot tears falling upon my hand startled | been to Bamborough in secret, whatever his Dr. 5. D es bien 7. B nswer her at first, but after a silent | me sreus por Kye ‘led a her in epreemeg eave might Leche} had hemor ese Ine 4 : . Mow ‘omic Blood . I cond comin, wn stairs wi el in arms, ie mystery was only a new in the wel J | Se ne Fea ane al Sie eee ing to it softly. Should we have loved | of his divtrast, so it might pase. It was only | monse’ f woot as ar Shteoper Rie: bale eth noes oon atm ot | Tam wretched. each oer better— and i se my baby a ating, but E fete it at tae ume all open ed ‘me: Not mee; pty woh “ts . . “ moment longer with a pang. leeply becaese of my Py '3 resol my hus! “General Debility,” “Lost ” eo pe eae, ans neat meagain, | the three words with which £ feed cnded soy tet ee eee Il singing softly, stili holding. h T 1 did not Kk in th d S tepenee at be .” she said, “| Wi hild had | still ly, stil er baby upon | ter. I made no comment, not even speak | of my face “4 Cnallense the Neneteenth lived—" I broke tute tel eee ai selt-con- | her shoulder as she rocked her chatr. Z of it to Lisbeth when she came. I buried it | there was a ope! me. | trol. im a wild, sudden passion of unoontrulable | envied her her strength and happiness! She | in my own heart, as I was prone to bury my | eyes, and a — | weeping. was so strong and happy her handsome baby | miscries. my husland’s let! rice | oo no!” { cried out. ‘Better as it is—far, | was so hg&¢a burden in her arms; het quietly When breakfast was over I_wa ndered out on | tothe door; as F laid old wl | far better as It is.” busy ways so womanly — I looked at | the beach alone. 1 did not often walk alone, | heard a it footste} HAS. | | She moved her seat nearer to meand drew my herlovel ly, clear-browed face, and at the coro- | but this morning even Lisbeth herself would ona | head down upon her jap with that tender mo- | nal of thick light-brown braids across her state- | have been unwelcome. backward with oa | tner touch. ly head; I looked at her ful eyes, and thi Down upon the sands where the rocks clus- | fuce with Lisbeth. % “Gervase,” she said softly, ‘you think you po mouth that made for children’s | tered ther, and where the boats oftenest | We looked at each other breathlessly for an | do . isses, and, remembering her girlhood, gave the | came up to the little cove, wae my favorite rest- | stant, in dead silence—I at her with a wild, | “eek tore reer hasbecd. she seemed to nnder- | palm to the beauty of her lite: = ing-place, and there I took my seat as usual | intense, unreasonable longing for some Stand me in an instant. I Her calm, radiant face struck me to the heart upon a large flat stone. The brawny fishermen | that might rescue me, even at this late hour— | midst of my passion: core. Often during the last year I had told m: ki barelegged, shou! ‘children | she at me with nothi in her tender, dilated “Tsaid. “Te has | self that I was only one of many, tyat my t there there were few | eyes but pity and wot and love. ‘Then she ake—it was all | mistake was only the mistake all women suiter P broke the strange stillness tna hurried, territied he is wretched | from—the mistake of hoping for a heppiness : amused m; volee. . the world cannot hold. But Lisbeth broke down “i _ bored Key = ae mae ered BR. Poco 94 she said, “Gervase, what does It was all told then_the miseral r t | my theory. dull and wre! again. It was a trivial thing mean |b toltsfull strengths tn my ows heart | T did, Bot write to Loudon again. ‘The cor- | tetera ae slight concealment, | “T'met her gaze steadily. I do not think Iwas | alone. ft was all told in one rash specch ono. | res ce had only been a matter of cour. | which have had no motive, but it had dampen- | in my right senses. not quite all. =~ rest would be a secret for- | tes! i first, and a shadow of neglect could | ed aya and made me indifferent and mis- “C am going away,” [ said, and my voice ‘beth. end erable once ad tat a a> oe Poorer, <=> G®45DEsT SCHEME 0: ever, even from L. more. brown, _bare-! strange annatural, even to-my- But I had wept myself into calmness at last. Ralph Gaye did not away, as Lisbeth | fishermen passed to and fro, ——- ts | self. | and we had been talking togetheragain, though peg net —— doing. He had — - | in the sun, and wading in and out of the water, Another moment, and she canght me in her th a es wal betw as . Bi ‘agreed with | but I scarcely saw them; the children shouted | arms asif I had been a child, aul so drew me pall (a Og PL prolonged bisfur- | and chased each othe: like happy, enonan sed the deur, into the room and closed the lences I heard the front door open, and felt a | lough in consideration of his past ee and but I did not notice their play. i at $500,000 @asu GIFrTs! $100,000 for enty $10. riot dot d, nit ill-health. He did not ut the sea and sky, and a boat roam te read at ag ey At home ers ntood, it i rush of the boisterous sea wind, | prese! -health. sea and a enoug! read ata e : End there were sounds of a man’s footsteps in | and I told him so. But he sta; B; y sail Diet | “larger as it | but her purely heal natare could not af cg the hall, and a man’s voice dung out ascrap of | ough from day to day, and the longer he stayed | neared the shore, until a w fell bet me, | once comprehend a recklessness 80 desperate. GRAND GIFT CON ‘son, the more strongly his old power reasserted it- | mena up, half impatientt nd “What do PUBLIO LIBRARY OF “Ta Not that I loved him. TI was past that. wynne. He took a seat ai — at Liberty Hall ‘ me. its leops are learn cn ther Ribaiught ton g, Gould not come back to me, bu then spoke to me eareletsly. T answered 5 Ma ves with mine have met, + y °, 5 5 } Side Oh. That my day, ee nud at looek ne loved mo and hat not {ntolanr then,” was | know=I one wen care. [am going TUESDAY APRIL 8, 1873 Margaret, Margerct? forgotten the past. my cold comment. from aguas at I was trembling trom head to foot. “No,” hesitatingly and slowly; “I thonght I | away wi “The rash of the night wind has made you would see you first.’ ver. You shiver.” Lisbeth said. i peace. 1 looked out at the boat again. absently; it | beth, But I scarcely heard her. was coming nearer to the land ana I felt faint upon me “Who is it?” Lasked breathlessly, though I sort of interest in it, because I saw a woman at «agNo matter about the name, MTL is. Hagh’s cousin.” was her answer. «1 | vem ir th (he reow, aed tho woman hed a chil thrown bar fgenn TE Pon Lo ‘way. & oy s 104 fas a “You are a or out rd | surgot to tell you. It is Ralph Gwynne.” a onWhy?” Tesked. 4 Cereal ents Saray?” she cried oui The clerk suggested that he might describe aes 1 to He di bat turned on | Nothin, but the fullness of divine a : aes, used wonler wt A Ses ig more; pity that of the net-mending | and _{ haa been, nearly a month at, Bamborou from us. your | Son wher clasved Brainard had ed, Lisbeth ad ; . 2 myself. .