Rensselaer Union and Jasper Republican, Volume 8, Number 32, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 April 1876 — A LOST LETTER. [ARTICLE]

A LOST LETTER.

Wk must eater the fashionable church of a properous country town. On this particular Sunday, and contrary to the usual arrangement, Alice Lahnman, the contralto, and Arthur Gilbert, the tenor, sat together on one side of the organist, Mattel Strickland and Herbert Stacy, oprano.and basso, on the other. Of these four persons, Alice Lahnman and Herbert Stacy gave the usual amount of attention to their duties; and nothing save the small coquetries and whispered flatteries common to voluntary, ana perhaps to other, choirs, interrupted their enjoyment of their own and their mental criticism of the others’ performance. With Miss Strickland and Mr. Gilbert all was different. Miss Strickland probably could not have looked plain if she had tried, but she approached it as nearly to-day as Heaven had made it possible. In Arthur Gilbert a change had taken place since his entrance into the church, which could not have escaped the observation of his companions, had they not been entirely taken up with themselves. His manner then had been radiant with such a glad, bright hojiefalness that it ought to have been a pleasure merely to look at him. On taking his usual seat beside Miss Strickland, he had leaned forward and spoken to her in a whisper—an ardent whisper, it would have seemed —received in return the frieldly B[>okeu and very distinctly audible monosyllable “ No.” A hurt and hurried remonstrance had then been answered by the lady’s crossing over and taking the seat usually occupied by Miss Lahnman. Since then she had not glanced toward him. Amazement sat at first alone upon his brow; but its place was soon divided with die indignation of feeling causelessly outraged. During the whole service he waged with himself a terrible warfare. To leave her to a long repentance—bitter enough he knew it would be—was the resolution constantly combated by the belter determination to make at least one attempt to understand her conduct. At last the service approached its close. The solemn benediction was pronounced over the bowed heads of the congregation. The people slowly dispersed. Miss Lahninan paused to arrange her ribbons, and to permit Mr. Etacy to join her, it such should be his pleasure. With downcast eyes Miss Strickland passed quickly down stairs, evidently’ desiring solitude for a companion. But after a thousand struggles with pride, Mr. Gilbert had conquered himself. He met her at the foot of the stairs, and would have walked beside her. She paused with decision. “ Do you not intend to allow me to walk with you, Mabel?” Mr. Gilbert asked, in a voice of suppressed emotion; but already’he was growing angry again. “lam much obliged, but prefer to be alone,’’ said Miss Strickland, Is it true, then, that you-were wounded so deeply? Is it possible, Mabel, that you have not yet forgiven me?” “ I have forgiven you so fully,” replied Miss Strickland, slowly and coldly, “that I have forgotten both Hie offense and the offender, Be kind enough, if you please, to let me pass.” He stepped back a little, looking at her iu wonder; but ne spoke once more, in a intense by deep feeling. • Think one moment, Mabel. Do you tea I ize what you are doing ?” “ I quite realize that no gentleman, detains a lady against her will. When it is your pleasurb to allow me I shall be glad

to go on.” “And this is our farewell?” “That has already been spoken. I hoped it had beep final.” Mr. Gilbert bowed profoundly and stepped aside. Her face was an emotionless mask; but upon his, amazement, pain and anger were plainly painted. Before Miss Strickland reaches home a very few words will throw light upon the reason—or unreason —of her conduct to her betrothed lover. A lover’s quarrel had begun, as such quarrels usually do, about a trifle. Unhappily, in this instance, the impetuosity of the gentleman, irritated by the cola pride of'the lady, had widened the breach until it had grown to formidable dimensions, each dwelling upon their own particular grievance, and each declining to take that step that hurts—the first one. But three or four days passed in this way had plainly demonstrated to each how dear was the bond with which they were trifling. Miss Strickland waited eagerly for some token of repentance; Mr. Gilbert looked anxiously and in vain for a sign that repentance would be accepted. But, after all, he knew that the initiative was his part, and, love and generosity urginghim, he took it—in an unfortunate manner. Detained from church this morning, he sent to Miss Strickland a .note full of love and magnanimous selfblame; a note that would* have touched a very much harder heart than hers. But she never received it. Sitting in her place in the choir, before service, she saw doe—the unhappy wight who blew the or-gan-coming up the steps with a note in his hand, and upon his countenance, shining with the redent application of brown soap, a look of unusual perturbation. Joe had played Mercury ere this. Miss Strickland smllai with outward encouragement and a thrill of secret Joy,' and held out her hand. Joe blushed underneath ail hii tan and freckles, became confaapd, and stamuwred something. “Why, J* it not tor me?” said Miss drawing lack her hand as if aht'had touched a burning coal. Ho, ma’am. This !n* ain’t. This is ' ,l"*brTl" Mr. Arthur Gil- ' seat thia 'n' to her ”

This wm a piece of gratuitous mendacity, caused by Joe’s embarrassment. The note was indeed for Miss Lahnman, for, by an unfortunate coincidence, Joe had had confided to his care a communication for each of the two ladies. He had lost the note for Miss Strickland, and having no Intention of confessing the fact, jumbled np names in this peculiarly undesirable manner. Counseled by angeri Miss Strickland believed him. She saw\Misß Lahnman read the note —saw her shiile and blush. After that she saw very little more during the day. And Mr. Gilbert’s words at the church door seemed, to her no more than a gratuitous insult. ‘ Four weeks passed after that Sunday without a word of explanation. Nor did she once see her lover. Time forgot bis wings, and crept on leaden feet. Mias Strickland’s face grew noticeably paler and thinner; a look of expectancy became almost habitual to her eyes and lips. The postman’s ring startled her. A sudden voice, a step quicker than usual, cent a rapid flush into her cheeks, which, fading, left her paler than before. Instead of saddening, however, she* was even gayer and more vivacious than was usual or perhaps even natural with her. But her health sank under the effort, despite her courage, and at length her mother, becoming alarmed, proposed a sojourn among the mountains. So to the mountains they' went. But now, weakened a little by ill-health from which all her pride could not shield her, Mabel beggtd for quiet—some pleasant farm-house, not the great, crowded, noisy hotel. Money can find almost anything, and they discovered the farm-house, the ideal farm-house, large, pleasant, beautifully situated, and containing, as their hostess told them, but three or four boarders beside themselves. “It would be perfect,” said Mabel, sinking on the couch when the landlady had left them—“ it would be perfect, if there was nobody, mamma, but just you and me.”

The day following their arrival Miss Strickland was too unwell to go down stairs at all; but the next evening, feeling better. she went down to tea. Mrs. Kittrell, the landlady,, casually remarked that two of her boarders had walked that afternoon to the top of a hill famous for its view. Miss Strickland, she added would find them very pleasant, lively people, and she hoped would like them. “ Oh, no doubt of it ” said Miss Strickland, with languid politeness. “ What arc their names, Mrs. Kittrell?” “ The two that I have been speaking of are from your city, too. How pleasant if you should happen to know them! They are Mr. Arthur Gilbert and Miss Alice Lahnman.” There was a scarcely perceptible pause. Miss Stickland brushed something from her shoulder. ” “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Kittrell. I know Miss Lahnman very well indeed, and have met Mr. Gilbert several times, also, though so casually I can scarcely call him an acquaintance.” Then the poor girl seemed to think it necessary to resume her old mask of gayety, though, save the two mentioned, there was not a soul within a hundred miles of her who could have imagined anything of her affairs. After tea, Miss Strickland stood a moment alone on the gallery. She noticed a narrow, grass-grown foot-path leading down the hill-side. It jvas quite lost from view among the trees at the bottom of the hill, and bending an attentive ear, she thought she heard the soft sound of running water. The shadows, the solitude, the beauty promised, tempted her. Drawing her shawl close around her, Miss Strickland walked down the path unnoticed, and seated herself upon a stone at the foot of a great tree. This solitude, these sweet sounds and vague forest odors, had all the delight of novelty.

“Ah, delicious!” she murmured. “ Here it would be possible to be almost happy!” She was quite wrapped in her own thoughts. And not until they were just crossing the brook did she notice the approaching figures of Mr. Gilbert and Miss Lahuman; they were then within two or three yards of her. Too late to retreat, she could only hope that they would pass without observing her. Arthur was talking in a lowered voice, rapidly and fervently, Miss Lahnman listening with downcast eyes and attentive, interested face. Two or three phrases 'reached Miss Strickland’s ear. “ If I have offended you,” he said, in a voice of pleading, “ still you can forgive me; because you know—you must know —that my heart belongs to .you as absolutely as my soul to its Maker.” Ah me! Miss Strickland had some glaring faults, which you have perceived ere this; but her sense of honor was real, and not worn for show. Unable to nyove away, she lifted her fingers and stopped her ears. And never was sense of honor more unhappily obeyed than in this instance. For see how it was. During these months Miss Lahnman’s comedy had had a tragic conclusion. Mr. Stacy had left for newer charms. The coquette’s heart was not much wounded, but her vanity was sorely hurt, and she was ready for any thing that would help to reinstate her good opinion of her own fascinations. By an accident she had happened upon poor Arthur’s retreat during the summer. Something she knew of the estrangement which he suffered, and more she guessed. Arthur was decidedly a catch. She made use of her beauty, her Madonna eyes, her aureole of hair. Arthur, like other sensible, candid men, was in some respects very near a fool, lie believed all her expressions and glances and timidities perfectly natural. Every day she looked prettier than the day before; the logical conclusion was, of course, that so much beauty indicated every moral excellence. Then they had been much together in happier days, and he could utter the beloved name to one who knew its wearer. All this Miss Lalinman quite approved, having no doubt heard the wise proverb respecting confidantes.

This afternoon a step had been taken which, slje felt, was leagues long. Simple Arthur had told her the whole story. And just as they had reached the brook, with a man’s egregious egotism, he even repeated the unfortunate note which he had written, and which Mabel had never received. “If Lhave offended you, still you can forgive me; because you know—you must know—that my heart belongs to you as absolutely as my soul to its Maker.” Here, as you know, Miss Strickland stopped her ears. Arthur paused a minute. Miss Lahnman lifted her blue eyes, swimming with tender pity. “ Even that," he said, “ did not move her. Ido not blame her—Heaven bless her!—but I still must think I had done all that I could do!” “Ah! how could she?” cried Alice Lahnman. Her white hand rested for one brief minute in mute sympathy upon his arm. Then she blushed and looted down. It is really true that some women can blush at will. And though Miss Strickland could not hear, she could see. She somehow did not or cculd not turn her eyes away. “Uh, pardon me!” murmured Miss Lahnman, with confusion as natural as her blushes. “ But I feel so sorry for you! If she ever had loved you how could she have treated you so!” “That is Just what I say,” said poor Arthur, very disconsolately—he had never strhl it at all, by the way, for he knew that she had loved him well. 4 ‘l think, alter all, that she may have mistaken herself. It was possible, was ft not, Alice ?”

Arthur, who had long ago worn out resentment and anger, merely wished to hear himself contradicted; a pleasure he did not enjoy. He had no weapon lo match the untaught subtlety of mademoiselle, lhe born cbquette. They did not stop above three minutes beside the brook. When they were well out of earshpt, Miss Strickland released her hearing from prison. Al this moment she did not look like a proud woman. She sank back listlessly against the tree near which she had placed herself, and covered her face with her hands; a few tears trickled fthrongh her fingers. All nerveless, her altitude spoke more eloquently than words. She knew at last that her hope had not been dead, but sleeping, for now its death-throes rent her bosom. But effort and resolution accomplish miracles yet. The days.rolled on, and autumn was past; Christmas drew near Miss StricKland had long since returned home, and to herself; she recognized the fact that the grace and bloom of. life were gone for her; and also she recognized the more important fact that life’s uses aud duties remained. The feverish gayety that had marked her conduct for awhile was gone. In its place shone a steadier light—the cheerful acceptance of things as she found them. She went into society as much as ever; was perhaps more than ever admirCfl there. And it is certain that her mother and herself were drawn nearer together than ever before. In the performance of certain routine duties Miss Strickland found hersClf at the church the day before Christmas eve. The ladies of St. James took infinite pride in their Christmas decorations, and half the feminine congregation were gathered on this occasion, with a slight sprinkling of the less ornamental but perhaps more efficient sex. Mrs. Grey, the rector’s wife, was there —a little woman, chirrupy as a bird, selfimportant as a honey-bee queen; well liked, pretty, and full of suggestions more poetical than practical. Miss Lahnman was there, Arthur Gilbert, Herbert Etacy, Joe—the dirtful spring of woes unnumbered—aud fifty more, with whom we have nothing to do. “There!” said Mrs. Grey, finally, turning to the group about her. “ I think, al last, that it promises to be really beautiful.” All agreed with her. There was quite a chorus of satisfaction, with some looking toward the door, for it was growing

late. ‘ r There is one thing more that must be done, however—that certainly must be done," said Mrs. Grey, with her usual dainty emphatic utterance. “Poor Joe’s bench must be furbished up a little. The cushion must have new material. As it is, it is simply disgraceful.” “ But, dear Mrs. Grey, what does it matter? It doesn’t show’.” Thus remonstrated a practical one. “ We must not make clean only the outside of the cup and platter,” returned Mrs. Grey, smilingly, but still feeling herself the rector’s wife. “Mr. Gilbert, will you loosen the old covering for me ?” As in duty bound, Mr. Gilbert would turn upholsterer with much pleasure. “Here is a hammer—heavy, but I think you can use it.” —lt strained Mrs.—Grey’s muscles, and, you perceive, she thought those of Her cules would have been tense beneath the weight. Arthur, laughing, took the weighty affair, averring that he thought he could wield it by the exercise of all his strength. He went up stairs. “Or no. Miss Strickland, pray be kind enough to take him this one. The one he has has no—l don’t know the name - nothing to take out tacks witlf.” —777Miss Strickland did not seem to hear. “ I will take it, dear Mrs. Grey,” said Miss Lahnman, with great obligingness. But this little lady always preferred her own arrangements, however trivial. “No,” she answered. “I want your sweet taste about the placing of the calla lilies. You will oblige me, Miss Strickland, will you not?” “ I will, take it to Mr. Gilbert, since you wish it,” said Miss Strickland, not without annoyance. “ Thank you. Come, Alice, my dear. Joe, come and help me lift the vases.” Miss Btrikland walked up the steps very slowly. She hoped that Mr. Gilbert’s task would be accomplished before she could reach the top. For, in addition to other objections, she elt her errand rather ridiculous. But he did really experience some vexatious hindrance through lack of the proper instrument, and was swearing a little, very softly and unconsciously, under his breath, when Miss Strickland said, just beside him: “ Here is a better hammer, Mr. Gilbert. Mrs. Grey told me to bring it to

you.” “Thank you,” he answered, coldly. “ I am much -obliged to Mrs. Grey, and of course to you, also, Miss Strickland.” “Not at all to me. I would not have brought it but that she insisted.” It was only about a hammer and a piece of green cloth. But so oddly is life compounded that this was the most overpowering moment of their lives. Never since that fatal Sunday had they stood one moment alone together. Never since then had either spoken one voluntary sentence to the other. I have not the art to tell all that filled their hearts as they stood silent. For silently they uia stand a moment. Miss Strickland-had tried to turn and go down stairs-again, but bor hnad was n little giddy, and, raging at herself for her unnecessary agitation, she still found if would be wisdom to remain an instant where she was. Mr. Gilbert did not glance toward her again. He was afraid to do so. She stood so near him! Her dress touched him. That meaningless contact thrilled to his very soul. He, too, called himself a fool, and invoked inaudible anathemas upon himself. But his heart was ■ one wild pain. He took the hammer she had brought, lifted it _with pnaecssary force; and brought it down—upon his own fingers. “Oh!” cried Miss Strickland. It was hardly more than a breath, but the tender monosyllable, surprised from her lips, spoke so much! She stretched out her baud instinctively, and drew it back with a painful blush. “It is no matter,” said Arthur “It did mot hurt me.” And indeed he scarcely felt it. He used the hammer oqge more, with better effect, loosening an odd, roughlooking piece of wood that held the faded cloth. The cloth fell down, and a little cloud of dust rose. Something rustled and fell on the floor at his feet. “Ah!” said he, “ here is an old letter. How long has it been there, I wonder? It is yellow with age.” He was thankful to the letter for being there. It gave him something to say. But it was only with dust it was yellow. Eight months had it lain there, holding its little secret against the time of disclosure. And the time had come. He glanced at the address, and saw, in his own bandwriting, Mabel's name. He opened the note without speaking. V \ I don’t suppose it ever did really happen that a man’s heart stood still—until it stood still forever—or that a man’s living blood ran ice. But ice and fire seemed in his veins for a moment. His look frightened Miss Strickland. “ What is it?” she said, forgetting herself. “Do you remember,” he said, in a voice that was not Arthur's voice—“do you remember the last Sunday that we' sang together?” “Yes, I remember. Oh—” “Didyou have a note from me that

morning?” he asked, in the same strange voice. “I? A note? Oh no!" “ Here Is the note that I sent you that day. Will you read it now?" What do wc there? That taste of heaven—more, that taste of heaven after a black and bitter draught—belongs to them alone. Every body down stairs forgot them, except Miss Lahnman. Fifteen minutes passed. Then Miss Lahnman, not being innately a lady, and no longer able to curb her curiosity and her jealousy, came softly up the stabs. “ What an age it takes to remove a piece of cloth!” she cried, as she came up. Some of the sweetness was out of her voice. Irony and apprehension did not tune it well. “We want your opinion about the wreaths fpr the chancel. Was the second hammer a success?” This she added as she turned the corner and came in sight of them. “ Entirely a success,” Artnur answered. “ It has been worth its weight, not in gold, but in diamonds.” He was sitting on Joe’s bench, with somewhat such an air as if it had been an imperial throne. Miss Strickland was replacing some hair-pins, and her face was that of the goddess of morning—celestial, rosy red. Some time after this, Mr. Gilbert enjoyed the pleasure of an explanatory interview with the ingenuous “blower.” Without alarming his inventive powers by any reference to the lost note, he contrived to Jparn from that qrtless youth one or two facts which threw some light upon its fate. “Awhile ago,” said Joe, “that ’ere piece o’ cloth —no sense anyhow—got loose and tripped me up a time or two. And down I came—bang! once, when Mr. Grey was a-prayin’. I didn’t catch it then, I guess! Oh, no! he never said a cross word in his life. He wouldn’t." But these eulogies were explained and commented upon by appropriate expressions, which left no doubt that his remarks were entirely ironical. He further stated that, in a zealous mood, he had then improved tire condition of his bench hy nailing the cloth fast, and by nailing over it a strip of wood to hold it down. All unconscious of the letter that had slipped from his pocket between the cloth ana the cushion, he had thus locked up for a little while this key to two destinies. Joe was surprised at the conation which rewarded thia .information. But still it obtained his entire approval. This was a mode of expressing approbation of his merits which he understood and appreciated.—Harper’s Weekly.