Democratic Sentinel, Volume 5, Number 7, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 March 1881 — HALSEY’S STORY. [ARTICLE]

HALSEY’S STORY.

“You are a jolly fellow, Halsey, almost always jolly,” said bright-eyed Mrs. Steele. “Sometimes, though, I fancy that I detect an expression of pained sadness about you. But you are such a peculiar fellow that I have been afraid to say anything about it. ” A little pause, during which pretty Mrs. Steele eyed the “jolly fellow sharply, and then took up her crotchetiug again, while he gave two or three quiet whiffs at his cigar. Pretty Mrs. Steele knew how to manage tins man. Some ladies have a peculiar tact for managing old bachelors; Mrs. Steele was one of that kind. She was one of those lively, kind-heart-ed, middle-aged ladies, a blessing in her home, a dutiful wife, with some pretty ways left for her gentlemen friends, a good mother, with a little of her youthful coquettishness still clinging to her. A particular, good-natured bit of a body, whose smile brings sunlight into a gloomy day, and whose soothing touch and spicy talk is a good panacea for all the ills of life. A woman who can cry with you if she finds you in trouble, or laugh with you at your own misfortunes. A blessing to mankind in general, outside of her home as well as within it. Halsey, as she addressed him—more properly, Dick Halsey—was a fine,broadsliouldered fellow, a bachelor—or, at least, in his thirties, getting a little bald just where his long, sloping forehead began to curve backward before gradually ascending to form the bump of self-es-teem. A large, clear, blue eye, that looked you deliberately and squarely in the face, and turned to a sparkling violet when he became excited or spoke with more than usual animation; a broad chin, shaved smooth; a hazelcolored mustache, a firm, decided mouth —a striking, robust type of manhood. Halsey always spoke deliberately, and generally paused before making any remark, after another had done speaking, long enough to make it seem probable that what had been said was being weighed in his mind. After such a halt be remarked slowly, in reply to Mrs. Steele : “It is so. I am sometimes painfully sad.”

He gave two or three quick puffs, and then threw his cigar out of the open window, and turned his chair so as to face his friend. “ lean see it all again at times, and all the old heartache comes back. I see the soft moonlight, which filled our hearts with an awful stillness, a desolate, stinging pain. I see a beautiful, soberfaced young girl, crushed in her young heart’s best offering of love. Did I love her ? Yes, with that rich, unbounded love which can fill our hearts completely but once ; with that sort of love which leaves no longing of the affections unfilled ; with such love as makes prosperity and adversity welcomed by young hearts with mutual hope or care. ‘ ‘ What was her name ? Menard— Daisy Menard. This little miniature will give you some notion of her appearance. Dark hair, soft dark-blue eyes—a sober, lovable light in them—a small, shapely baud, a dignified, graceful appearance. Site was a little bit of a body, quiet and unassuming, but full of pluck. “For two years we were friends at school. I came to love her, but was unwilling to disturb our friendship by letting her know it. I hid the deeper affection within me, and we were friends. A beautiful friendship, frank and helpful, held us just so near during the two years of our school life. Day by day I felt that she was becoming more a part of my life; that I was happy when she was near and miserable when she was oway; that she brought out in me what was good; that my taste 3 were molded into better form by hers; and that I was nerved to greater exertion b, higher aspirations, by her queenly nature.

“ It seemed to me that everything was against any declaration, or even appearance, of a deeper affection than that helpful friendship. I was poor; I must finish my law course, or ‘woe was me,’ I felt; everything was against my getting myself in any position where I would feel hampered. I must have plenty of time. I must work patiently and industriously. Even with my most sanguine hopes, some years must elapse before I would be independent in my profession. We were young, too—scarcely at our twenties, yet. No, no! I must not let her see that she w r as more than a friend in my thoughts ! Then I stood somewhat in awe of this quiet little woman. There was behind her frankness, her exquisite naivete , a refined dignity which seemed to make friendship easy, but made me question with myself whether any appearance of a deeper feeling would have been received at that time. “But, during the last month of our school days, I sometimes thought I discerned a very marked change in her—something different from the old naive friendship. She was rounding out into a prouder, more-dignified womanhood. She became more coquettish, -and I begm to fear that our friendship might not always last. “My last term was finished. I graduated with honors and debts. I was determined to follow Bractan and Blackstone, and, in a few days, with the help of friends, had secured a place under an attorney well-up in the piofession. and began my reading at once. I earned something in the office copying, and added enough to my slender purse to be able to live and prosecute my studies uninterruptedly by giving lessons in French. “ I began to feel settled, and wrote to Daisy, mixing quotations from Kent with criticisms of the latest novel, and gossipy chat about the place, people and my hopes for the future. ‘I felt more settled,’ I said. ‘I was glad to have done with school and feel myself in the world. ’ I spoke with pride of my profession, and was sanguine of success. “Many letters followed this during the summer. Some were as hopeful, others despondent. Some pretty hints were thrown out. A little coquetting followed. One little suggestion followed another with great deliberation, before any decided declarations of real feeling were made. But it all came about at last, and we understood each other. “It now began to seem to'me that I was making slow progress, \ got disoour-

aged. I saw before me several years of self-denial and close application to study before I could hope to build up a profession such as I anticipated. I wrote more and more disoouragingly to Daisy, but still the little woman clung to me with cheerful hope." She was never afraid of my abilities, never impatient with waiting, and her quiet, indomitable trust renewed my courage, as often as I found it wavering.” “ A year soon slipped away and I grew more impatient, more discouraged. I fancied that I was making little advancement, and was continually galled by the thought that this lovelv woman was clinging to me, when, if she would let me go, she might make for herself a brilliant career in society; might arrange her prospects for life so much more satisfactorily. Little stories began to reach my ears, that she was amusing herself with all sorts of flirtations. I said to myself, that she was becoming tired of me, as I was of myself. I began to speak deprecatingly of an engagement that promised so little happiness. Daisy, on her part, began to fancy that I was becoming tired of her ; that I was impatient of the bonds with which I was bound. A sort of formality and coldness legan to creep into our correspondence. A little iciness damped the affection which had never before been marred by an unkind thought or word. Every letter now widened the breach. “ Another half-year passed and the estrangement had become intolerable. I had heard several stories of inconstancy on her part. At last I heard that she was about to be married. Afterward it seemed probable to me that these stories might have been started with a particular design that I should hear them ; but no such thought occurred to me at that time.

“I felt unwilling to let the matter go further, and so I wrote Daisy, telling her that it scarcely seemed possible that our engagement would ever result in anything satisfactory to either of us; that I did not believe, after all that had taken place, that we could ever be happy together, and requested her, if she found it agreeable with her own feelings and wishes, to release me. “Ah, but you can have no idea of what that brief letter cost me ! I loved that woman with all the fire there was in me. I still clung to the old love with passionate longing, in spite of the estranged feelings which had sprung up between us. All night I, walked the floor of my room, and again and again I took up the note I had written, with the thought of destroying it. How could I send it ? How could I give lip deliberately all that made life or success dear to me? It was a terrible stiuggle, a fight for self-mastery. As daylight came creeping through my window, I felt more decided ; and, lest my determination should finally give way, I put on my hat, sealed and stamped the letter, and walked around to the postoffice and dropped it into the box. As I retraced my steps and felt the cool morning breeze fanning my feverish face, it seemed to me that my heart stood still with awful loneliness. All the light and joy of life seemed to have vanished. “A week was like an age to me before I received a brief note from Daisy, with just these words ; ‘ You are free. I send you the ring which I have so long worn for you. I have been foolish and inconstant, but I never willfully deceived you. I have been so tortured with doubts and fears that I have allowed myself to give others, whom I ought to have repelled, too much reason to hope. You have been so cold, and have spoken so discouragingly, that I have felt self a hindrance to you, rather than a help. You placed an insurmountable barrier between us, and met my love with such formality that it chilled my heart. But I shall not plead a greater excuse. Forgive me if I have seemed inconstant. God knows my heart, and He knows that it has been true and right! Oh, darling ! darling! I have loved you always, though my heart has sometimes ached with such bitter, lonely pain ! Good-by, and may God bless and prosper you. ’ “ I remember every word of that letter ; it has burned its way into my memory. I felt a death-like pallor creeping into my face, and knew it was with difficulty that I was able to breathe through my clenched teeth. Again and again I read the note—trying to persuade myself that it was as cold and formal as my own. But I saw the truth as I had not known it before, and every word brought a stinging reproach. The bitter and estranged feeling, which had been corroding my heart for months, all left me, and I shook with a great, overwhelming grief. At one moment I would resolve to write and try and undo what had been done ; but pride ruled the second thought, and I determined to abide by the consequences. ‘ She had allowed herself to give others too much reason to hope ;’ I could not forget that, and again I said to myself, ‘We could never be happy together.’ If I had known then, as I did afterward, how much I was loved; how much a poor, tired heart was crying out in bitter anguish against my unreasonable action and cruel words, perhaps I should not have been a bachelor to-day. “A half-year passed, and I was a fullfledged lawyer. I had banished from my thoughts as much as possible all painful reminiscences, and turned my attention to the present and the future. But, with all my efforts to keep myself from becoming disagreeably melancholy, I "'felt that all the years to come would be wanting in what makes life fullest of joy and fraught with manliest deeds. “ I had settled down in a thrifty place and formed a partnership with an attorney some years my senior. I had been in town only a few days and began to look about me for a client, when a telegram cam® ‘ Daisy may not live till morning. Come! ’ was what I read. I was on the next train, and at midnight was left alone with the dyings woman. I could not live with this wasting grief in my heart, darling,’ she whispered. I had not the strength nor courage to wear out this fever which fastened itself upon me. 1 wanted to see you just this once before saying good-by to all.’ “It was too late that I rained kisses and tears upon her cold lips and cheeks, and whispered, ‘Forgive.’ !She only smiled with a beautiful light in her eyes, and pressed her cold lips to mine in a last long good-by. I raised her slightly from the pillow, as her friends gathered around weeping, and then laid her head gently back, for her beau tiful spirit had left us. “ This is why I am sometimes sad, Mrs. Steele.” The “ jolly fellow, ” as she had called him at the beginning of his story, took up his hat and walked deliberately away, leaving the brighteyed little woman to have her cry out by herself.