Rensselaer Republican, Volume 19, Number 6, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 October 1886 — SHE LOVED AT LAST. [ARTICLE]

SHE LOVED AT LAST.

Why am I engaged to Walter Clyde? Do I love him? It is all the same, however, whether I do or not. He is very handsome, very fascinating; and perhaps I adore beauty all the more because I am a little pale-faced, insignificant creature myself. To be,sure, I have enormous brown eyes, but they are my only redeeming feature, and the fact that my' nose is “tip-tilted” cannot be denied. We have a certain amount of money, mother and I—there are only we two —so* we enjoy ourselves nfter our own fancy. 'Just now it' has led us, for the summer, to a breezy little village among the mountains in Cumberland. Mr. Clyde has followed us, of course. We have been engaged six months, and are to be married in autumn. Mother never liked him. He is twelve years older than I, who am 18. She says he is attracted by my money; is a man of the world, probably with debts of honor that his wife’s money will pay. But poor mamma is not wrong, and her only daughter is very willful. I shall marry Walter, for I love him; so the matter rests. I am lying in a hammock in a shady part of the lawn; presently my cousin Celestine comes out and takes a vacant chair near me. Mamma has invited her to stay several weeks with us, and she has been here a day or two. Celestine is a thoroughly accomplished, beautiful woman of 24. Walter was very much impressed when mamma introduced them; I could see that, though, when we were alono, he only said, -marvelously-beautiful your cousin, is!” She is dangerously beautiful just now, as she leans back in her chair. Her gold-colored hair is coiled in a thick knot at the back, and ripples all over her head. Her blue lawn dress is not so high at the throat as- to conceal the faultless neck, and the sleeves are not so long that the rounded white arm is hidden. One jewel—an almost -priceless amethyst—glitters on her perfect hand. Verily, my cousin understands the art of dress. ,

Presently Walter comes up the steps and approaches us. It does not occur to me that Ceiestine has, from her window, seen him approaching, and come downstairs to meet him. lam not. easily made jealous; besides, I am not well versed in the arts of a llirt; I learn some of them later. I rise from the hammock, and seat myself _near my cousin. It is not a wise thing to do, for my plain face makes a splendid foil to Celestine’s superb beaiity. I do not think of this now, however. “Oh, Mr. Clyde,” she exclaims, “how can you venture out in this heat? I should fear speedy dissolution if I attempted it.” “It would not be wise for you to venture.” he answers. “I should hardly have gone myself had I realized how warm it is. I have been arranging for a sail to-night, if you two ladies will honor me with your company”—for the first time looking at me. - “How good of you!” eries-Ceiestine-.- —-I faavo boon anxious to have a sail ever since I saw that lovely lake. We shall be delighted!” I say nothing. Walter remarks, carelessly, “Be sure and be ready by 7.” “Thank you,” I reply, guiltily; “I don’t

care about going.” “How provoking you are, Marjorie!” my cousin says, pettishly. “You said this morning that you wanted to have a sail.” “My dear,” Icooliyreply,“lliave changed my mind; but that does not hinder you from going.” “Certainly not!” says Walter, eagerly. “Marjorie takes whims sometimes.- I have engaged the boat; surely both ladies will ■- not disappoint me?” V Ceiestine hesitates, apparently, and finally laughingly replies," Well, if Marjorie won’t be jealous, I will go.” Even I can see how my lover’s face lights up, and 1 answer, calmly, “Why should I " be jealous, Ceiestine?” She flushes slightly; and just then mother calls me, and I leave them. After tea, Walter and I were in the drnw-ing-room, Ceiestine was up-stairs getting her hat, when presently Walter remarked, . “YouTrad-better change your mind, Majorie, and come with us.” I felt that liis words were not sincere—that he would much rather I did not go; So I laughed and said “No; I am going to finish a book this evening.” And soon my cousin came down-stairs, and they went without me. After this, the flirtation progressed with astonishing rapidity. Every one in tlie house was talking of it, and in pure selfdefence I accepted the attentions offered by other men. There is a certain spice in flirting with an engaged gifl, and I had plenty of devoted .cavaliers. Mr. Clyde did not interfere with me, nor I with him. Ceiestine did not mention his name to me, and I never spoke of her to him. Sometimes I wondered what they intended to do, and if my recreant lover intended to return to his allegiance in course of time. I was soon to find oat. It was an excessive w arm day, find I -had wandered out into the woods, not far from the house, had found a comparatively cool place under the trees, and, endeavoring to read, had fallen asleep. I w&s awakened by voices on the other side of a group of saplings, w hich hid me frorntpe speakers, and immediately I recognized tbeut. —■ ■ — * ' 1 “But, Ceiestine, my darling. I love yon! Yon won’t tell me that my love is hopeless?” “Really, Air. Clyde,” my cousin laughed, ironically, “you are too absurd, and, conMarjorie’s claims, are going too far!” “Never mind Marjorie,” he returned, s 4 What can she be to me, after having j'aowa yon? I tell you I love you! you Understand?” His voice was deep

with passion. • “Marjorie will forget me in a lUtfe while.” I was too angry to be quiet any longer; probably I ought not to have listened—but lam human. Springing to my feet, I walked round tho intervening bushes, and confronted the two. He.look Celestine’s band iu his, and waited her answer, breathlessly, i “Mr. Clyde.” I said—and he dropped her hand and faced me—“allow me to return your ring. I agreee with yon—’Marjorie will foiget’ that you ever existed in le6B time than you con imagine.” He was too astonished to speak; and the ring dropped at liis feet. As I turned to leave them, Celesliite laughed softly. “What a little tragedy queen it is!” said she. I went up to my njother’s room. “I hnve broken my engagement,” I said, briefly. While I was telling her about'iit, my cousin entered. Taking my hand, she forcibly detained me, as I tried to leave the room. “Let me go!” I cried, passionately. “I hate yon!” ■•But you won’t, nfter a little,” she nnswereil. “Listen; lam going to be married in a few" weeks. I knew you were out theie in the woods, and knowing Mr. Clyde was going to try liis old game, 1 purposely took him where you would overhear his offer. Brother Tom knows him of old."He has heard that I have a little more money than you, hence the scene uuder the trees. As for love, he doss no’t care one straw for either of us. The only woman he ever cared for died years ago, a victim to his treachery. I nm going away next week, and Waller will surely come to you, and ask for forgiveness. I came down here at your mother’s request, ou purpose to open your eyes to the true character of the mnn you loved. If you choose to take him back, yon will have the opportunity. As for myself, it does not matter. have flirted nil my life, and certainly with so praiseworthy an object as now. Some time you will forgive me.” I got awsy from her, and went to my room. 1 was beginning to learn something of the ways of the world. That night a delicately-tinted, perfumed note was brought to me. It read thus:

My Injured Darling:—Only let mo see you, kueel at your feet anil explain. Walter. Bah! it sickened me. I tore the note into fragments, and wrote; . How dare you address me? Don’t presume ever to write or speak to me again! Henceforth we are strangers. Marjorie. This note, with the presents that he had made me, I put in a package, and sent to him by the chambermaid. Then I went back to mamma, and urged her to leave the place at once. She consented. Our maid packed the trunks, and we departed by the late train. I said goodbye to Celestine. “Some time 1 may thank you for this,” I told her; “but not now.” * * * w * * It is my 21st birthday, and three years and more since I last saw Walter Clyde. 1 have heard he married a widow several years older than himself, and such a life as they lead! —Celestine is.married, too, and I worship her boy, Sheis aTKodel wife and mother. Such girls do sometimes make the best of wives. She says she feels, that the good she did during that flirtation counterbalanced a multitude of sins. Oh, well I have forgiven her; but my heart is bitter toward men. Mother and I are living at home in Bristol. “It is a bitter cold day,” mother said; “you had better take a drive/Marjorie.” * But I told her I was tired of driving, and would start on foot to do some shopping. The wind blew a gale, the crossings were very slippery, and hqrrying across the street to escape being run over by a cab, I slipped and sprained my ankle badly. Immediately a crowd gathered round me; I could not walk, was nearly fainting with pain, and became half frantic. A gentleman passing in a gig stopped to see what the trouble was, recognized me, and instantly lifted me into liis trap and brought me home.

My rescuer was a wealthy bachelor, a friend of my mother, a handsome, stately gentleman, on the “sunny side of 40.” I never dreamt of him ns a lover; he was so much older than I. It wnß a long, tedious month before I could walk again, and Hugh Cameron was a frequent visitor. He read to me, played chess with me, and in many ways helped to make the time pass pleasantly. _ At last I got strong again, and able to go out; blit he still visited at our house, and was sometimes my escort. One day an officious lady friend informed me that it was generally understood that we were engaged. I was annoyed on hearing this, having nevter thought of him in that way. Next day Mr. Cameron asked me to be his wife, and got an angry refusal. “Why need you have said this?” J asked, impatiently. “I like you very much, but not in that way. We were having such pleasant times; you might have known we could not bi”nnything more than friends.” “How should I know?” he asked, quietly. “ “Because 1 don’t love you—never shall!” I replied. — ~—* “Well, you will some lime, wEen you are my. wife.” His audacity nearly took away my breath. “lint I tell you I will not be your wife!” I repeated. “ You may change your mind, little one,” he replied, coolly, and then left me. How angry I was! As usual, I wept to mother and recounted the whole story. Mother said very little, merely remarked, “Mr. Cameron is a noble man,.and would make you an excellent husband. But, of course, you know your own mind!” I left her rather more out of humor than before.

If she could only scold, or do something but take matters so quietly, I should like it better. I don’t take matters quietly myself, and it exnsperates me when other people do. For a week I saw' nothing of Mr. Cameron, then I learned that he had gone away. I danced and went out driving; but missed him very much! He was so different from the society of young men with whom I was surrounded. I discovered a thousand excellences in his mind and character now that he had gone. I did not love him, but was lonely wilhent him. One night, six weeks nfter his departure, his card was hand3d to me, and I went down to find him waiting for me in the drawing-room,_ “Well, Marjorie,” said he, coming forward, and taking my hand in his, “have you reconsidered that ‘no’ of yours?” What should I say? I was tired of theworld and the life £ lived in it. IlikedAHhCameron; respected him/L had missed him sorely, but did not love Elm/ These thoughts flashed through my mind as I stood there. At length I drew away ~nav hand, -and said, “Mr- Cameron, JL, respect and like you, irfit I do not love you. Years ago I was engaged to a man whom I Thought I loved. I learned that he was deficient in all traits of character that go lo make up true manhood. Since then I have never been oble.to clothe any man in the robes of mvideal lover. Knowing this; if yon desire, I will be your wife.” He stooped and" kissed my forehead. “My darling, nay dear one”—his voice

trembling a little—“l will make you so; happy, I jvill love you so tenderly that surely some lime your heart will answer to mine.” And so we were engaged. He was astrange man.this Hugh Cameron. Few men would cate to win a wife so; and I ofteu thought, as the wedding preparations went on, how great bis love must be, We had been married three months. Everything that money could buy was mine; but I wasn’t happy. My husband remembered that I married without loving him, and this stood between us. , He seemed lo thmk that expression of nffection on his part would weary me, while every day he was growing dearer to me. It was not possible to see.day after day what an unselfish, noble,, character he was. and not love him; but be was strangely proud, and waited for my love, not annoying me meantime with demonstrations of his own. There came a day at last when I knew I loved him even as jie loved me. I was sitting at the piano playing some dreamy old melody. The door was suddenly thrown open; and my French maid. Marie, stood before me. wringing her hnndH UUjJ. sobbing, “Oh, madame! Monsieur Citmeron—he is killed! be is dead!” . The room seemed to whirl around me, but I commanded myself. “Hush your crying, Marie! What do you mean? Will you tell me what you saw?” I said, sternly, grasping her arm with a force that frightened her. “The new mnnsion at the corner! A stouo —it fell on Monsieur as he waspassing!” Her voice sounded far away, the room grew very dark, a voice rnng in my ears, “He is killed! he is dead!”—and I became unconscious. “Why, little wife, open your eyes. lam not hurt!” The well-known voice, nnd the powerful ammonia, which I hate, brought me to my senses ngain. I was lying on the sofa, Hugh was holding my head, while Marie applied the ammonia. I sat up. “What does all this mean?” I asked. “Only this,” my husband answered. “I was passing the new building at the corner, when a marble window-sill fell. I should have been killed, but, by a strange circumstance, at that moment I tripped ou a loose brick, and fell. The sill missed me by a band’s breadth. Marie supposed,, when I fell, that I was killed, and (looking severely at her), without waiting to ascertain, rushed offhand frightened you into a fainting fit.” Marie began to cry. “Never mind, Marie,” said I. “There is no damage done; you may go now.” After she had gone I turned to my husband and said; “Hugh, it would have killed me! Oh, my husband, I love you!” And 1, too, began to cry. A wonderful Tight shone forth from his eyes. “Marjorie, my darling, is it true?”—layine my head on his shoulder. “Look into my eyes, little one, and say it again.” I blushed like a girl, as I looked into his fond eyes gazing into miue, and replied: “I think I have loved you a good while, only Mnrie was the means of showing me how much.” “At last! my darling, my darling!” We sat therain the twilight, the bliss unutterable of perfect love filling our hearts. And so it is now. There is silver iu my hair, and my husband’s is quite gray, but the love that was revealed to me that day has never grown less.