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[ Continued ! from Zd page.]
‘ I will write to him at once, and b e<r
a visit/ said Waiter. ‘lt,will be re
ally cheering to see him after so long
a separation.’
‘ Brother, wby did you stay so
long? We have so often wished for
your return. Our house has been so
lonely since Robert and yourself left
—it seemed almost deserted.’
‘ It is cheering to feel that we are
missed. Wretched indeed is the man
whose presence fails to bring glad
ness to the hearts of those ho loves.’
Thus ho replied, endeavoring to
evade a direct answer.
Ernest came soon after receiving
Walter’s letter, and remained several
weeks. Walter learned from him
that Lieut. Lyle and his sister, with
Miss Seaton (a class mate of Irene’s)
had visited Irene the preceding sum
mer 5 and that Miss Seaton-also
spent the Christmas holidays at Col.
Somers’. Ernest met the last mens
tioned there at a party, given in hon
or of Lieut. Lyle. '
* Miss Somers seems to have lost
none of her girlhood interest in you,’
said Ernest. She was sad, and I
could not help associating her sad
ness with yourself—there was a hVht
in those bluo eyes, when I spolco of
you, that I failed to see at other
times. She heard by some means,
that you had married, and asked me
if it was true. I told her I had nev
er heard of it, and thought the report
was false, as I had met -Robert often
and be did not mention it.’
Walter was surprised to learn that
such a report had been circulated;
but he now* told Ernest of the con
versation he had heard in Florida,
and asked if ho did not see her man
ifest affection for Lieut. Lyle.
‘ I think, Walter, she had a prefer
ence for my society, and believe this
preference was shown becauso she
thought I was your friend. lam sure
tnat she cares nothing for Lyle. It
is not impossible that ho Is address
ing her, though ho seemed to be
deeply in love with Miss Seaton, who
by the way, is one of the most mag
nificent ladies I ever saw.’
‘ls Irene still at school?’ asked
Walter.
‘ 1 saw Col. Somers, before I left
Atlanta, on his way to take her
home. lie has resolved to join the
first band which leaves the State for
the war, and prefers to leave her at
home,’
‘ Then he has returned by this
time,’ said Walter, ‘ and I will write
to her immediately. Ernest, what
do you intend doing ?’
‘I will join the rest of the volun
teers, and meet the oppressors on our
borders.’
‘ Then let us go together. A desire
to assist my native country, was the
chief motivo of my return. All the
male colleges will be suspended, and
THE GEORGIA COLLEGIAN.
I can leave Robert at home with my
mother. He is not so impetuous,
and it will not chafe his spirit as it
would mine, to stay.’
Walter wrote to Irene that mVht,
begging her to assure him if she still
kept her vow. He resolved to see
her, if possible, before joining the
young men who were already start
ing to Virginia from the Southern
States.
Ernest returned to Atlanta to pre
pare for leaving at a moment’s no
tice. He joined a regiment and in a
few days wrote to Walter to come on
to their place of rendezvous.
When Walter received this letter,
he was down on the river, and could
have thrown it Unopened, to the wa
ter which dashed over the rocks at
his feet. Every evening, he had ex>
pected a letter from Irene, and was
so disappointed when he recognized
the bold superscription of Ernest.—
He started to Atlanta the next daj r ,
with tho resolve that he would never
trust woman again.
On arriving at the place of rendez
vous, Walter was vexed to find him-,
self within a few miles of Col. Som
ers’ residence. That evening, ho left
the camp to stroll off alone, neither
knowing or caring whither his steps
were directed. lie was walking with
his head down, when he heard tho
sound of a horse approaching. Rais
ing his eyes involuntarily, ho saw th*.
well remembered face of Irene. Love,
hate, and wounded pride, were
strangely mingled in her bosom; and
while he passed her, with no more
recognition than ho would give a
stranger, a deep flush mantled her
face, and then followed a death like
pallor.
He turned back soon after passing
Irene, and when he reached the ens
campment, joined a gay group not
far from his tent. He wished to for
get forever, the pale face of her whom
he had met. The party were ongaged
in a lively conversation concerning
the election which would bo held on
tho next day; and Walter tried to
enjoy the jovial comments made upon
the eligibility of the respective can*
didates. But lie was sick at heart,
and left the crowd disgusted.
Ernest saw him corning to tho tent
and arose to meet him. ‘ Walter,’
said he, ‘ your good reputation will
give you tho office of adjutant to
morrow. As soon as it was known
that you had come this morning, you
were nominated, and from all I have
learned since nocn, you will be elect
ed.’
‘Ernest, do use your influence
against it; I don’t want the position ;
I am not capable of filling the office.
Besides, there are others who are
nominated, and from what I have
just heard, expect to be elected. I
can only be a private—am unfit for
any public or responsible office. If
I were even capable, Ernest, I am too
tired of life, and too weary with the
ways of the world, to take tho respon
sibility of any charge which concerns
others. I only desire to raise my arm
bravely, and deal deadly blows in the
first conflict, and then deserve the rest
of a soldier’s grave. It it honorable
to die in a just cause ; and though I
know it is wrong to pine at our mis
fortunes, yet I sometimes long for
the quiet of the silent earth. I bavo
seen but too much of tho world and
learned too much of human nature,
to feel the truth that friendship or
love is a shadow
“ Which follows wealth and fame,
And leaves the wretch to weep.”
1 Walter, you are so much chang
ed ! What has so soured your dispo
sition toward your fellow-creatures?
What is the matter ? You look bag
gard and careworn !’
‘Ernest, I entered the world in
youthful credulity—believed all was
truth, which wore its dress. My
faith in human nature was unshaken
—but after five years contact, that
confidence's a thing of the past.—
Within one short year (the last of
the five, since 1 left my mother’s
side) I have learned to distrust my
fellow-beings—my hopes have been
crushed—lam utterly cast down—l
now desire to isolate myself as much
as possible, and for this reason above
others, I do not want the position of
adjutant.’
‘ Walter, hear mo—you can fill this
office better than any man in the re
giment ; and this is a time when we
should bury the past, and strike in
tho present lor tho future. Your
country demands your services, and
you ought to forget all your personal
affairs and private wrongs, to save
the honor of the Southern States.’
These words of Ernest, had a
marked effect on Walter. He seem
ed to bo roused, as if from sleep, and
replied with much earnestness,
‘My dear, my faithful friend !
Your heart was cast in a pure and
noble mould; and 1 even now rejoice
to be reassured of your friendship.” •
‘There is one act of mine which
does not reflect much credit on my
friendship. Those infidel works'
But trust me, Walter—l knew not
what I did when I placed them in
your hands. If you will review your
life, you will trace much of your
want of faith in humanity to their
influence.’
‘I have renounced my infidelity,
Ernest,’ said Walter, before he could
proceed farther, ‘ I now believe in a
God —Ah ! how I am reminded of
how and when I was forced to ac
knowledge a Creator ! I have suf
fered much, dear Ernest. 1 have
trie ) the world and found it hollow.
Much pleasure was seen in the dis
tance; but when I reached forward,
I held in my grasp tho very worm-,
wood of the wretched. You romind
me, however, that I may make my
life more useful to my country than
I had dreamed it might be. Were I
a Christian, perhaps I could review
my misfortune, and say, ‘Thy will
be done.’ ’
‘ I am happy to say too, that I am
not an infidel now. Your mother’s
prayers, as you know, made ine pause
and think. As soon as I left school
I read the Bible carefully; and was
forced to acknowledge its truths. I
have since endeavored to find that
peace which passeth understanding!
It is getting quite late, and both of
us need rest. 1 hope Walter, you
will not refuse to serve as our adju
tant.
Walter was not inclined to sleep—
Trene’s face still haunted him, and he
thought if she iovod Lieut. Lyle,
why was she so thin and pale; and
if she did not love him why was his
letter treated with silent contempt?
But he resolved again to forget her
and endeavored to sleep.
The sound of the drum awaked
Walter and Ernest, with tho rest of
the regiment, to be ready for‘roll*
call.’ Walter felt weak and sick—he
found it impossible to shake off tho
burden which weighed down his spir
its. He remained in the tent all tho
morning—was too unwell to go out
to the election. The citizens living
near the camp had come in during
the forenoon, and brought largo bas
kets of provisions for the volun
teers, and Ernest went to soo if he
would come out to the dinner, spread
so bountifully beneath the shade of
the large oaks. Walter was alone in
tho tent, reading the Bible which
Irene had given him in Augusta.
‘ Come, Walter,’ said he, ‘lknow
the tempting viands offered to our
regiment by the kind ladies of this
section, will give you an appetite !
Will you come with me?’
‘ If I can add anything to your en
joyment, I will go Ernest; though
my feelings to-day, will ill-accord
with the gaiety of that crowd.’
Ernest reminded him that he had
promised to cheer up, and they left
the tent.
When they were near the crowd,
Ernest whispered that Mrs. Somers
and her daughter were there. This
information nerved Walter to cast off
his gloom. ‘ She must not see the
wretch she has made me,’ he thought.
• Mrs. Somei\3 evinced painful agita
tion as the two young men walked
proudly to a position fronting her
self and daughter. But nothing could
be more self-controlled than Walter’s
demeanor during the meal. Irene’s
face flushed as on the preceding eve
ning; but was again very pale as he
acknowledged their acquaintance by
a distant bow. Ho watched her
closely, and felt sure that she loved
him still. ‘ But,’ he asked himself,
‘ will she crush her heart, and stifle
its pleadings for the sake of ambi
tion ?’ He thought she was still ig
norant of his fortune, and supposed
her parents had induced her to reject
him for Lyle’s title and wealth.
He left the scene immediately af
ter dinner, and returned to his tent,
resolving that ho would faithfully
discharge the duties of the office
which ho had accepted; and in being
devoted to his country’s cause, ho
hoped to lose sight of the past. In
a few days, the regiment was order-*
ed to Virginia. Just before leaving
he hoard that Irene was very ill.
[To be Continued .]