Democratic Sentinel, Volume 12, Number 48, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 December 1888 — RECONCILIATION. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

RECONCILIATION.

ND so Shirley,” said Mr. Grey, you say you love this girl ? I’slmw, nil young men say dhat. A passing : fancy, my dear son: fyou will soon get ! ovtr it.” . “Yes. we have always looked . forward to our making a brilliant marriage. You, our only son, who need only to ask to have, to throw yourself away ou

“Mother you need think so no longer: T beyond everything in the world; toy ’only regret is that I tlm not-worthy of her. See her yourself Itefoiy judging rashly, and just think if iffliad not l»eeti for her nev-er-ceasing care, day after day and night after night, I might never have loft Cairo," and Shirley Grey, captain in her Majesty's Guard*, drew hie handsome form up to its fullest height, as he angrily returned his father's glance. “ While quite acknowledging that the girl may l>e a good nurse,l refuse to acknowledge her as a fitting wife for my sou and heir,” «aid the old gentleman pon^po^sl.v. “ A substantial check is the fitting reward for her services.” “You don't know Marie Clifford, father, or else you x would not have made such a. suggestion," Shirley replied, trying Io subdue his fast-rising anger; " she is as well, nay better born than I."

“ I do not case what her antecedents are,” rejoined his father furiously. “No pauper shall enter my family! She is an artful, deceitful minx and has laid herself out to captivate you, and ” “Spare your hard words, I beg.” said Shirley, nervously-twisting his dark moustache and now deadly pale. “To be short and to the point, Marie became my wife six weeks ago in Cairo and is in lodgings in London, while I came here to—to” “To ask permission for an already irrevocable step.” broke in Mr. Grey, who had also grown very pale, and continuing with a satirical laugh: “ Well, sir, you will indeed find you have made a great mistake. You have jihosen you wife —stick to her; but not one Tpenny do you ever get again from me! Go, sir, go! I have done with you forever!” “ And you. mother,” cried Shirley, kneeling beside her, “ have you no .word of kindness for me? Father, mother, don't you know what love is?” “I agree with your father, Shirley,” said Mrs. Grey Stiffly“ all has been done by your own rebellious act.” “ Never return here till you can come with-

out one word of this woman. I will help yon to free yourself from this unhappy step if you will consent to forget this miserable episode in your life. What money can do shall be done.” “Sir,” said Shirley, rising from his knees, “you insult both me and her by such a condition. 1 chose my wife before al) the world, and as long as I have astrong arm to defend ajid work for her she shall never want. If you had not been my father your gray hairs should not have protected you to-night!’’ And with a bow Shirley quitted his parents’ presence. He passed slowly down the broad staircase, looking at each familiar object as one never to sec them again, and mechanically putting on his hat, passed into the bleak I>e<eml>er night. Looking at his v'atch he found that it was not yet 9 o’clock, and he knew that an express train to London passed Stonebury, the station three miles distant.about 11. and he smiled as he pictured his wife's delight when ho ret tinted so soon. A few paces down the avenue his countenance grew dark and gloomy; he stopped. and burying his fact* in his hands, groaned aloud: “To think,” he cried wildly, as tnrninghe saw the many lights from the mansion shining brightly through the trees, “to think that ft has come to this, my career blasted, and how have 1 lettered Marie, nothing is liefore us but starvation; but better that- than to comply with my father's stipulation and lie reinstated if 1 deserted her. Never, never! Marie. You are worth double such a sacrifice, and yet howhard. how very hard.” and blinded by grief Shirley stnmblgd down the avenue all unconscious of a dark figure which, concealed behind a clump of evergreens, had listened with widely-dilated ••yes to the words which grief had wrung from him. On he went, not stopping to glance at the familiar landmarks.not needing the snow which was softly falling, only thinking of the woman who must suffer for his sake. All night, as the train whirled rapidly Southward, his dear Marie filled his thoughts. Only once or twice the howling of the wind marie him open the window and look out. The snow was being blown mountains high ami the cold was piercing, so he drew in in his head with a muttered prayer for all who were out on such a wild night. When, his jouruey<jover, he reached the quiet Bayswater road where he had taken lodgings for his wife, ho was surprised that she did not fly to welcome him, and hastily running'to her room, he found that not only wns.it empty, but had evidently, been untetianted the preceding night-. In answer to his sharp ring at the bell his landlady appeared, and told him that in conformity with Mrs. Grey’s orders she gave him a letter. “She told me if she returned with you. sir. it would not- Is* necessary. but as she might not do so 1 give you this.” Shirley wildly snatched t he let ter from her, and rushing into the little sitting room, shut the door, and drawing a chair io the table, sat down and glanced al. the fatal letter. It was simply addressed to “Captain Grey.” He tore it hurriedly open and read as follows; My own Shirley: According to my inst ructions, yon will receive -tjiis from Mrs. Johnson. I have ItSoPypn for ever. Do not attempt to seek me tynt or follow me. I have committed a great sin, for I never should have married yon, my poor dear hoy; but when you came to me in Cairo and pleaded for love —ah! Shirley, it was so great!—l could not refuse you, mid ever since 1 have felt that through inc your prospects are forever blighted, an'd when you receive this you will acknowledge it 1 o Is- so Go back to •Sfotiebury to your father and mother, and tell them you and Iha ve parted. If I could untie the knot which binds you U> intvl would do so. Think what you 1 believe any word yon may hear itgariisl me. but by t lie love yon Iteitr for nu\ dx» bits seek forme; ifwill lie useless, for you wilt never find me. 1 shall watch your enrrer from nfiir with love and pride, ami who knows but- hope may yetdawn for von and me? Ah! Shirley, my husband, heaven keep you, Farewell! MARIE.

Shirley’s first action was to place the ' search tor Marie in the hands of a detective; he could not obey her and remain passive, , though he felt, by the gravity of the sharp officer’s face, that it was indeed a hopeless task.for theonly information lit could supply was t hat Marie had left the hotike alniost i'mmedialoly after his. own departure for Stonebury. His next step was to apply for active service. The days dragged wearily on No news of Marie Orders value to proceed to Egypt on December 24, now only a week distant. and the saniT l post brought a letter from Mr. Grey promising forgiveness and begging Shirley to return, for his mother was very ill. He replied thus. My wife, hearing of your prejudice against our union, has left me. I leave England De eember 2-1. Till you find lor me my wife I shall not return. SHIRLEY GREY. Mr. Grey.was a seif-made man. and round his only child centered all his ambition. At nineteen Shirh-.v had joined the Household Cavalry, and for eleven years led a ’gay and careless life, showing no intention of bringing a rich and High born wife to Stonebury Hall. Orders for the Guards Io proceed to Egypt were hailed by Captain Grey with delight. During his first engagement he received a dangerous gunshot wound, and was sent to the hospital at Cairo. The old, old story began for Shirley. The golden hair ami beautiful gray eyes of the staff nurse did greater ej< ecution than the Arab's bullet. He soda drew from her the short. sad story of her life. Her father had been a naval officer, but early in life she was left an orphan and wholly unprovided for. and having no inclination towards a- governess’ vocation, she became a. hospital nurse at the age of eighteen. Five years afterwards, she. with a staff of skilled nurses, was sent to Cairo; and thus Marie Clifford and Shirley Grey m,et. Three months passed, and the Guards were under orders for home. Shirley pleaded so passionately that Marie,casting to the winds all other considerations, became his wife. On their arrival in London, Shirley, who knew what a blow his marriage would be to his parents, who had always looked forward to his making a brilliant match, installed Marie in Mrs. Johnson's lodgings, and started one morning for his northern home, promising!* return to his wife the following day, and, with many a fond embrace and a few tears on Ma He's > side they parted. Traveling all day Shirley reached .Stonebury about four that afternoon, the stormy interview with his parents supervened: and his return, only to discover his wife's flight. Gradually it had dawned upon Marie that, she had done an injustice in becoming the wife of Shirley, and. it might l>e, estranging him from his parents, and after his departure this idea so gained upon her t hat she formed a desperate resolve. She would follow Shirley by a later train, conceal herself near the house and watch him'leave it. If happy and radiant she could picture his delight at seeing her and in taking her to his parents; but ns she feared it might be, and if she saw Shirley crushed and broken down, she would go away and never see him again, leaving him free, and in the favor of his parents once more. She hastily penned the letter we have seen and gave it to Mrs. Johnson, to be delivered to Shirley if he returned alone. When, at the end of a long and dreary journey Marie reached Stonebury, no one noticed the slight, girlish figure which, heavily cloaked, had to stop and repeatedly ask the way to the hall. When all alone in the dark she groped her way up the gloomy avenue, the shadows of the bare trees adding to the weirdneps of the scene, she almost wished she had nev&r come, but nerving

herself poshed on till many light* shining through the trees warned her that she was near the walla which enclosed all she had to love on earth, so she hastily lookup her pos behind a large clump of evergreen. Her watch told her it was 8 o'clock. The moments dragged slowly on. and Marie grew cold and cramped from her crouching position, heedless of the fact that the snow was falling heavily. She had not long to wait. The heavy clang of a closing door and the

grating of a well known footstep on the gravel warned her that the supreme moment had come. Her heart beat wildly. The footsteps Stopped close by. Had she been discovered ? No, the darkness was impenetrable. At that moment, as if in answer to her thoughts, the moon emerged from the clouds and she caught a glimpse of Shirley s face, haggard and changed. Could that countenance, pale and drawn with mental pain, belong to him who a few hours before had left- lier flushed with brightest hopes? The words wrungfrom Shirley, all unconscious of his trembling- listener.sank into her heart like letters of fire.but as she heard what voluntarily lie would never have told her. she felt thankful for the course she had adopted. Shirley slowly left the spot, and, its his form was lost in the gloom and his faltering footstep was heard no more. Marie struggled to her fret. and. wildlv stretching out her arms, cried, “Shirley'! Shirley!" No sound broke the intense stillness of the winter night, and asall the horrors of a great darkness and a great despair seemed to overwhelm her, she sank unconscious to the ground. It must- have been an hour afterwards that Marie awoke, and rising, staggered a few steps onward. With bodily move-, men I came some measure of mental activity, and she had a. dim feeling that she must make for the station, her plan being to take refuge with an old servant of her family, who lived in Males, ami of whom Shirley knew nothing, and there bury her broken life. She was unconscious of her wet and drip ping garments, all unheeding the hurricane that raged around or that every now and then she sank knee deep into the drifted snow—hours of ceaseless searching seemed to bring her no nearer to the desired end, for she was simply going round and round, as people so often do in a severe snow-storm. On, on she went, blinded by she snow, every limb raked with pain. She gasped for breath, everything swam before her dizzy gaze. Oh! heaven! was this death ? She struggled on for a few paces yet. and then with a and wildly throwing up her arms as if for aid she fell senseless on the snow.

For long after Shirley quited his parents’ presence neither spoke; the silence, save for Mrs. Grey’s solis, was unbroken. At lust herose. and laying her hand on her husband’s shoulder, she said: “John. I think, perhaps we have been hard and too hasty. Just think I of pool-Shirley traveling in such a dreadful, storm. I his has been too much for me; I feel very ill.' and with these words the old lady quitted t he room. When his wife had left him Mr. Grey moved restlessly to the window ;ffid drawing aside the thick curtains looked out. It was indeed a fearful night. Ever and anon the inoon emerged from tluu-louds. only to show the snow, in blind streets, eddying round the house. He shivered as he drew the curtains close once more, and placing an armchair before the fire threw himself into it and thought long and bitterly. He took no notice of the hours as t hey dragged on. till suddenly he started from his scat, for above the howling of the wind rose a woman's shriek, wild and piercing. Without a second's hesitation be rushed down stairs, roused the butler, and taking a lantern they sallied forth. A few steps from the door the lantern threw its light upon the figure of a woman lying huddled up on the snow. They borehercarefully to the house, whore the half-frozen girl was tenderly cared for. “How came she to be out on such a night?" said Mr. Grey to his wife. “So young and beautiful, and a lady one can easily see.” Alter n long while Marie opened her eves with a lAng-drawn, shuddering sigh and feebly asked:'"Where am I?” "You are safe enough, my child: you’re at Stonebury Hall, and .here you'll stav till you've got. over this night’s work,” answered the kindly housekeeper, in whose charge Marie had been placed. Her first impulse was to spring from her bed and leave the house in which all hei happiness had been so ruthlessly shattered, but her exhaustion after all the cold and exposure. joined to the commands of Mrs. Smith, kept her still, and for a few days she was a prisoner to her own room, where for the first few days she was visited by Mrs. Grey, who inn kindly way tried to elicit some portion of her history, but Marie’s lips on everything personal were closed. “1 am an orphan—homeless and friendless." she would sob, but beyond this wire would not go. But the old lady’s visits ceased, and on inquiring the reason, Marie was informed byMrs. Smith that her mistress was not verv well. “Shejust sits brooding over her trouble with Master Shirley—that’s her only child," she explained That, night, as Marie lay awake, thinking of the strange fa te which had brought her to Stonebury Hall, she suddenly heard hurrying footsteps passing to and fro. Wrapping a cloak around her, she went into the corridor, and there met Mr. Grey. “What is it?” she asked. “Mrs. Grey has had a stroke,” groaned the poor old man "I have-been a nurse; I will goto her," replied Marie very quietly; and taking ,up her post by the sick bed. for ten days she hardly for a moment quitted the invalid’s side. At first the doctor demurred, but after a few questions he was perfectly satisfied that Mrs. Grey could not be in better hands. And Marie was thankful that in some measure she could repay the shelter which bad been so generously given to her, and longed for the time when she might sue for Shirley’s parden.

On the tenth day the doctor warned them that a crisis was at hand and advised that Captain Grey should be sent for. He added that if Mrs. Grey did v recover it would be mainly through the devotion of her nurse During those days of trouble Marie had, unknown to herself, crept into the affections of her unacknowledged father-in-law, and, trembling, she heard the verdict of the doctor. “My dear,” said Mr. Grey to her when the latter had gone, “I musttell you what trouble lam in. My son has already refused to come. He married a woman to whom we objected. Since J know we were too hard on him, but we parted a fortnight ago with bitter words on the very night on which we found vou, poor child. Now, what shall I do? For if his mother does not—not recover, I know I shall never forgive myself if he does not see’ her.” “ Wonld he not come if you promised to for-

give both his wife and him?” asked Marie* timidly, a flush rising on her pale cheek. He says till I find his wife, who has left him. he will never come home again. Ah! child, if he had married some one like you, how gladly would I have forgiven him.’’ “Mr. Grey, forgive us; 1 am his wife!” Marie sobbed, falling on her knees and pouring forth the whole story to her bewildered listener, who raised her with many a kind word and fond embrace.

On Christmas morning Shirley and his wife stood looking out of the window at the sun, which had been hidden for many days, but had now burst out as if to salute not only the birthday of the Prince of Peace, but the birth of their own new-born hopes. The crisis was passed. Mrs. Grey was gradually tending towards recovery and many were the hours passed by Mr. Grey at his wife's bedside, where they could never extol enough the virtues of Shirley's wife. “Shirley, how happy I am!” Marie murmured fondly. “Just to think that you might have t»eeu spending your Christmas Day on your way to Egypt—far, far from me and home!” “Ah ! my darling,” said Shirley, as he drew the golden head nearer to hisown, “theshadows have passed and the sunshine is indeed falling on our path !” Christmas comes! he comes, he comes Ushered with a rain of plums. Hollies in the windows greet him; Schools come driving home to meet him; Every mouth delights to name him; Wet and wind and dark, Make him but a warmer mark. —Leigh Hunt.