Democratic Sentinel, Volume 20, Number 16, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 April 1896 — CHAPTER XXVI. [ARTICLE]

CHAPTER XXVI.

Sixty-eight and five make seventy-three. When I wrote the last few lines my age was sixty-eight. This day is my seventythird birthday. The whole signifying that all things come to an end; and happy the life that closes in mild sunshine like this October day! In July this year, having a matter of a hundred pounds saved, and no one to leave it to, I thought to myself, I ought to take one more holiday before I lie down in the churchyard and draw the green coverlet over this poor old body for the long sleep. Accordingly, I packed my little matters up, took ticket per steamer to Ilfracombe, and stuck a notice on my door that Dr. Book would return in a fortnight from date. The Water was smooth, and as we glided past mile after mile of coast, and it went behind and vanished, a little girl of three years, I should say, dressed like real quality, just able to run on her feet, came to my side and looked up in my face. “Well, little missy,” I said, “what may your name be?” She looked fixedly at me, as young children will, but never spoke. Then up came her mother, whom I had not seen before—a lady dressed beautifully—and she took the child’s hand, and was smiling at me pleasantly, when- —- “Bless me! Miss Hardware!” said I. “Why,” exclaimed she, “you must be Dr. Book!” Do you know, there and then she sat down beside me, and told me all about it “My husband’s name is Pembroke.” “Indeed!” I said, making believe to know nothing. “And we live in New Zealand.” “Bless my soul!” exclaimed I. “And I have a baby beside—a little boy!” she said, almost like a child herself; “and we are so happy!” Just then her husband walked by, a tall, handsome man, and he stopped and looked at me. “This,” said his wife, “is an old friend of mine.” After a time he sat down beside me, just as affable as she.; and while the mother played with the child, he told me so much that, putting what I heard together with what I knew, “Why,” thinks I, “'here is the end of the novel put into my hand !” I may as well tell .you all I learned then, and at a later time. The good lady Sister Catherine had died, and left her property, which was comfortable, to Vanity Hardware for dowry; the bank failure had not been, after all, a complete break-up, for Mr. Pembroke had in the end secured five hundred a year; they were living in New Zealand, farming; and I may remark that I never in all my seventy-three years saw so happy a couple. I never saw a wife -so proud of her husband, so happy and satisfied in his love. I never saw a husband, after four years of marriage, so unaffectedly a lover and.admirer. The steamer turned into the little harbor 1 , and Mrs. Vanity Pembroke fold me as follows: “My husband has a sister named Mrs. Neville, who has taken a house for the summer at Gombe Martin, about six miles from here. We are going to stay with them.” And there, sure enough, was the carriage waiting at the landing place. Grand ■carriage enough, handsome horses, polished harness, coachman, footman, all as emart as you please. Nurse and baby got in; then dark-eyed beauty mite; next Mrs. Pembroke; then her husband. How handsome .both looked—quite carriage company. “Good-by, Dr. Book!” they both said; and I was raising my hat, and the horses were prancing away, when the strangest thing happened that I ever saw in my experience. Mr. and Mrs. :Hnow were staying at Hfraeombe just .then. Being still on friendly terms, William had kindly offered to meet me on my return and take me home to tea. Now, just.as my hat was in the air to bid the grandfolk good-day, I saw the eyes of William Snow and Vanity meet William had maintained an excellent character always, but I am bound to admit that be has grown rather stout, added to which he is not particular as to his shaving, and sometimes wears his collar more than otne day; and when you meet him, as on the present occasion, on a hot ■summer evening after a hurried walk, he scarcely looks his best. He by no means suggests the idea of love in a summer lane among the wild roses. Now, if I eould only describe the look of Vanity’s face when she recognized him! There was nothing of pride in it, or anger, or contempt. Was it self-reproach? Was it sorrow? Was it —why, before I could collect myself, carriage and all had driven away. Only, just as the carriage turned the corner, I observed Vanity put her hand into the hand of her husband and look up into his face. The light of the sunset was upon her, and I never saw her in her full loveliness until that instant, when she vanished from my view forever. William and myself went home to tea. He took the meeting with his former sweetheart tolerably cool; only he was curious to know how she got that fine carriage, and spoke pettishly when he heard of her marriage. Somehow Mrs. Snow seemed different to me that evening, her manner striking me as awkward, and her dress and appearance clumsy, which I had never noticed before. The tea table, too, was rather in a mess, and the children had been eating jam pretty freely. William was very hot, and what with his being somewhat dusty in the face, and his beard and collar as before, and he having also taken off his boots and put on a pair of carpet slippers, although things looked friendly, still, you observe, there was something of a contrast. After tea William put his legs upon two chairs, and had a nap. (The end.)