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GALLAHERS INDEPENDENT,
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY AT
QUITMAN, GA.,
BY
J. C. G A L L A H E R.
TKiois or subscription i
TWO DOLLARS per Annum in Advance.
V E It A.
The train stopped. Tho conductor
shouted “Holmes’ Hill." It was an ex
press train, about to fly on agniu iramedi
utoly; and Vera had scarcely time to bid
adieu to stiff old Mrs. Murray and to be
helped out by Mr. Murray, who had been
her protectors on the journey. A cnrrii g ■
■was waiting at a little distance—an old
fashioned affair, that looked like a small
caravan.
“Is that Miss Nesbitt’s carriage ?” Mr.
Murray asked of one of the porters.
•‘Yes, sir."
“Come, then, my dear, there’s no time
to lose,” said the old gentleman, hastening
■with Vera to the carriage, Speaking to the
coachman and giving directions to a por
ter about the luggage, “tloodby once
more, Miss Vera ! 1 hope we shall hoar
good reports of your health —and —and of
ull the rest.”
He was gone before Vera conld thank
hint for his good wishes, even had she de
sired;' but she did not. She was too much
Vend at that last hesitating clause. Shi'
was sure now that her mamma had told
him and Mrs. Murray the whole story.
This was what had made him roll up his ,
eyes and quqf#Dr. Watts and talk vaguely
about the .horrible siu of disobeying one’s >
pastors audjmasters.
Well, they were gone, anyway. Now
for Auut Nesbitt. Vera sat in the ancient
chariot and waited while her luggage was ;
fastened on behind. She heard the men
wear about one box, and it was Anally de
cided that it should he left and sent over ;
later by “Bobbie Crutch.” Her consent j
•van not even asked by Miss Nesbitt’s w il
ful old servant. Vera felt this to bean ad
ditional indignity. Perhaps even he knew! |
Perhaps Miss Nesbitt could no more keep |
anything to herself than mamma.
The carriage drove oft Vera leaned |
back in her seat, unhappy enough, but:
just for the moment more sulky than mis
erable. Her natural guardians were not j
content with breaking her heart; they i
uinst needs make her ridiculous.
Up bill and down; over a passable road,
through pretty scenery turd cultivated
fields, with pleasant woodlands in the fore
ground and a long sweep of lofty hills be
yond—bouuie hills of the bouuie land.
That, was uixat Vera savn as the fat horses
trotted leisurely. Many girls iu her state
uf mind would haro regretted that the
Country had not been desolate and bare;
but Vera was neither sentimental nor
silly. Because she could not have all she
wanted in the world she felt to be no rea
son why she should avoid any chance
pleasantness which flight come iu her
way.
Thus the carriage drew near Miss Nes
bitt's. Vera saw' an old fashioned red
brick house, with wide spreading wings,
half hidden among tine tall oedurs and
other trees.
Driving through the avenue, the coach
man drew up his horses at the hull steps.
Out al the ionise came a tall, erect, elderly
lady, rather a handsome one, with a suf
ficiently kindly face, had it not been for
the satirical expression of the mouth and
the sharp gleam of the grey eyes. Vera
had never seen this relative, her mother’s
aunt, but trace, and that was some years
before. She looked eagerly at this new
jailer, as she mentally called her.
“Howdo you do, Vera?” said Miss
Nesbitt, holding out her hand to welcome
the young lady, and speaking with as
much matter-of-fact composure as though
she hud parted with her ouly yesterday.
“Drive round w ith the luggage, Thomas;
it mnst be takeu lip the back stairs.”
Thomas touched his horses, and they
disappeared round the side of the house.
Miss Nesbitt turned again to Vera.
“Hum 1” said she, “Your eyes are not
red. I expected you to arrive drowned iu
tears. Both your sisters did.”
“I am sorry to disappoint you, aunt; I
seldom indulge iu tears,” replied Vera,
with stately coolness..
There was an amused, rather approving
look iu the elder woman’s eyes, which
Vera did not notice.
“You are the third,” she continued. “I
have liud one visit iu turn from each of
my grand nieces.”
Vera, completely at odds with the world
just then, looking upon most people, and
especially her aunt, as her natural enemies,
felt so irritated by tlio sarcastic smile ou
the thin lips that she could not resist
throwing tho gauntlet down at once.
■“Have you ever had any other prison
ers, Aunt Nesbitt?”
“Oh, no,” ropUed tin: old lady, i>er
fectly unmoved. “Mine is a very private
madhouse indeed, reserved exclusively lor
my affectionate young relatives.’’
She laughed sis she spoke. Vera could
not help laughing also.
"Good !” said Aunt Nesbitt. “Make
haste with your toilet; luncheon is on the
the table. I must oat, at all events.”
“So must I,” said Vera. “I am dread
fully hungry, and the journey was a long
one. I will just throw off*my hat and cloak
here.”
Aunt Nesbitt nodded her head us she
led the way to the dining room, ruminat
ing. ‘’This girl is made of different stuff
from her bisters,” thought she. “Veron
ica Nesbitt, she reminds me of you iu the
(Old, old days.”
They sat down to table. The lunch
eon was excellent, and Vera ate with an
.excellent appetite, talking occasionally.
“You are not a bit like a heroine,” ob
served Aunt Nesbitt.
“You will find me quite enough of one,”
said Vera.
“Do you mean that os a threat ?” asked
her aunt.
“No,” said Vera; “I did mean to be dis- ;
agreeeuble, but I made up my mind last
night that it would be silly. I should j
punish myself more than you, aunt, so I
intend to make the best of life hero that I
can.”
“It is very dull here.”
“I shall not mind that for a while.”
“But you are to stay here until you are
cured. ”
Vera smiled slightly.
“I understand; you think you are likely
to stay always,” said Auut Nesbitt. “So \
did Jane when she first came; she stayed !
three montlis. “So did Josephine; she;
held out five. Imagine w'hat I must be j
like.”
“I should say it was you who got tired !
of them, ” returned Vera. “You found:
husbands for them both.”
“Yes; rich Mr. Musters happened to j
come this way that year, and he fell in |
love with Jane. Jane decided that dia- j
mends and riches were worth more than
the future love iu a cottage she had been
dreaming of. ”
“And Josephine turned to good works j
acd maii'iod uue id your parsons.
: . /- - - ■ 7,
VOL. 11.
“Yes; and I was more glad of that mar
j riago than the other. 1 wonder who will
! carry yon off?”
“So do I,” retorted Vera, incipient do
; flauee in her tone.
“Oh, dear!” sighed Aunt Nesbitt.
| "Hero comes Maria,” she added, as a mid
i die aged maid ■appeared. “Perhaps you
! would like to go and see your prison evil.
| Maria, show Miss Raymond her rooms."
A large, pleasant bedroom and a dress
ing room, handsomely furnished in an
old-fashioned way, with a lovely lookout
from the windows. Maria was in ecstasies
at Miss Raymond's praise of the rooms j
and the place altogether, asked for her
keys and began taking the thiugs out of!
| her trunks. Vera sat down by one of the
! dressing room windows, leaned her elbows
ion the sill and gazed wistfully out over '
I the grand nud “banning scene.
Suddenly site felt the lialf-bitter, half
bewildered composure, which had suppor
; ted her during the journey and the inter
view, begin to give way. She closed, the,,
| door into tho bedroom, where Maria was
still busy, turned the key softly and let
i her hysterical passion of tears have its
I course. She, .wept for a while as if her
; heart were bursting, careful to restrain the
i sound of her sobs. Presenting a reaction
j set in.
| “There! I think I have cried enough,”
; she said, with an odd little choking sound,
I meant to be a laugh. “1 have been keep
: ing it in for a whole day umfnight.”
A fatality seemed to attend the Ray
mond family. Before Vera, two sisters
had, ill turn, been exiled for the same of
j fence which she had committed- -a deter
; urination to love the wrong luau. An nn
| pardonable sin in Mrs. Raymond's creed
| •—their mother.
Vera could remember when the oldest
i sister, Jane, was sent to Aunt Nesbitt’s
; dwelling. She was thirteen then. Hater,
! Josephine was despatched. As Vera grew
up she vowed that no such destiny should
overtake her. The very rapidity with
which her sisters had recovered from tile
1 dreams and trouble of their first love, and j
come hack home engaged girls, soon to be !
married, had excited the wonder of Vera; j
but she thought they must be very sensi- .
ble. At eighteen Vera came out, Mrs.
Raymond delighted in her. Vera was her j
favorite child, and Vera seemed to care |
only for riches and the desirable pomps of!
life; no fear that she would bu tailing in
loin with the wrong man.
Some wonderful fxirti made his nppear
anoe in society, nud Mrs. Raymond de
termined that lie should fall a prey to Ve
ra's charms. The girl made a grand sue- j
cess. She was the beauty of the season; j
had a crowd of admirers always about her.
Her witticisms were quoted; her singing j
and dancing pronounced adorable; her |
fair-haired beauty was unsurpassed. ,
She flirted outrageously; her mother
did not Uiiml that; it would only serve to j
excite the rich Mr. Osborne; he for whom j
.Mrs. Raymond launched into extravagance 1
that she could ill afford. Mr. Osborne
struggled against his fate, as eligible men, !
who have learned to la-liovc themselves!
hunted by pretty *iils and '.. atch making !
mother, are wont to do, ..id then fill a
hopeless victim. Mrs. Raymond had no i
fears; she was sure that when ho proposed
Vera would accept him. Mr. Osborne
made, the mother his confidante. He
wished, before addressing Vera, to be cer
tain that she had learned to euro for him.
The foolish man wanted to lie loved by his
future wife! Mrs. Raymond acquiesc'd,
and throw them much together.
Alas ! A short while and the horrified
Mrs. Raymond discovered that. Vera, like
her sisters had done, was “making a fool
of herself." bile had fallen in love with
that handsome young fellow, Moore lliv
ington; a man of good family and all that,
but poor as a church mouse. Falling in
love was not the worst of it; they wore se
cretly engaged.
Mrs. 1{ 13 murid did not fly into a rage;
she only talked reason, laughed and car
ried Vera off on a round of visits, ending
with a sojourn at a fashionable w atering
place, where Vera was made a queen of.
And she enjoyed her sovereignty so much
that her mot er believed that Mr, Os
borne’s victory was to be an easy one.
But her short-lived hopes received a
second fall. Mr. Osborne proposed to
Vera and was refused. Some other eligi
ble man proposed also, and he shared the
same fate. Mrs. Raymond went nearly
out of her mind; but itwas no avail. Vera
did not Shrink and moan, us her sisters
had done; neither threatened, like them,
to go into a ritualistic convent or kill her
self.
“I only love Moore Ri vington,’’she said
I with a cold composure that her mother
j called obstinacy. “It would be a sin to
j many another man. I will not doit.”
And Mr. Moore ltivington said the same
; thing on his own part to Mrs. Raymond,
i Vera was impervious to anger, sneers,
j prayers. She grew pale and thin, but she
would not yield. Mr. Osborne she would
not have; it should bo Moore ltivington
I or nobody.
“You shall go over the border to your
! Aunt Nesbitt’s,” cried Mrs. Raymond in
! despair. “She soon brought Jane and
| Josephine to their senses, and she shall
i bring you to yours. ”
So that was how the exile to Annt Nes
bitt's was brought about, She was a very
rich, whimsical, tyrannical old maid, as
Mrs. Raymond had always believed. Vera
had seen her years before,and had thought
her a terrrible woman, quite awful for
severity. Miss Nisbett never visited her
niece, Mrs. Raymond, and only permitted
visits from her at rare intervals. She told
! her, with the charming frankness common
! to rich relations, that if she (Mrs. ltay
| inond) were not the most tremenduous
j fool in the world she would have been the
greatest rogue, for she had not a bit of
true honor. Still she sent her money
sometimes, and Mrs. Raymond bore her
cynicisms for the sake of the material
aid.
So now, in the midst of the bountiful
September month, Vera was under the old
lady’s roof; but her reception made her I
hope that, after all, life would be made j
more endurable than when exposed to her
mother’s petty persecutions. Aunt Nis- j
bitt looked as determined as a rock, capa- I
.ble of passing sentence on ft guilty person j
and banging the criminal with her own j
hands; but slic evidently would attempt
no small tyranny, and Vera could bear ,
anything bettor than nagging. Her moth- j
er was an adept at that.
Vera did not see her aunt again until
dinner time. She appeared in the dining |
room its carefully dressed as if she had ex- t
pected to meet a dozen people. Miss Nis- |
bitt had also dressed.
The old lady talked cheerfully, as she j
might to any young lady visitor; and (
Vera thoroughly enjoyed'her quaint sU> -,
QUITMAN, GA., SATURDAY, JUNE 27, 1874.
! l ies and sarcastic views of men and w< men
! ill general.
“Hum !” said the old lady, at last, “I
. think you must mean mischief, mademoi
selle my niece.”
"You said all gitls meant it,” said
j Vera.
"Jane went about in a dressing gown
with lier lmir down her back for a week,”
, pursued the old lady. “Hho looked very
like Juliet. She lepeatcd poetry and
strolled out at night to stare at tlm moon.
The only result was a cold iu tho head,
| succeeded by a swollen face."
j *Ahl am too vain to run those risks,’’
! said Vera.
“Josephine had hysterics at all kinds of
unseasonable hours,” continued Aunt. Nis-
I bitt, “She lived on green tea without
j milk; and thought she must poison herself
with red ink. Once my maid woke me in
the middle of tho night to say that MisH
Raymond was standing at the open stair
ease window, threatening to throw herself
•down, the housekeeper, iu tears,) holding
her back.
“What did you do ?" asked Vera.
“Went up stairs—sent tlieservats down.
‘Yon shan’t stop me, I will die’ shrieked '
the honorine. ‘Hie,’ said I, ‘why not ?!
ttoodby, my love 1 nope wo shall meet in
heaven! Come! why don’t you jump ?”’ I
Vua laughed. “What next, aunt ?”
“.She did not attempt to do it; slio
fainted instead on tho window seat—or ,
pretended to. 1 pinched her and shook!
her and slapped her, all to bring her to. j
Up she got; flew into her room like a lamp
fighter, and locked the door. She never I
got me out of bed again in the middle of [
the night, J assure you. ”
“It is plain that 1 cannot d<nuytlringin ,
tho romantic line,” observed Vera. “1 will j
not copy either of them, I must think of
something original,”
Tho evening passed very well. The
pleasant calm was a relief, after all Vera
hud gone through with her mother. She
made tea for Miss Nisbiit, she played the
piano at her request, reud aloud, and was
\ sent to bed early.
Vera had told herself she would not
! weep again for a long time; but she passed
; a bad night nevertheless. Would they be
all too strong for her?
A day or two elapsed. Not another
word spoke Miss Nesbitt about the matter
that had sent Vera to her care. One
morning the letters came in while they
were at, breakfast. Miss Nesbitt looked to !
see if the girl seemed disappointed be
cause there were none for her.
“Vera,” said she, “few women can
keepnpromise. Can you?”
A strung,' smile f'i'ted over Vera’s lips.
Aunt Nesbitt understood that it meant, “I
have made one promise 1 mean to keep."
Miss Nesbitt considered a little. Was
this just girlish obstinacy, or was it a wo
man’s firm resolve, ?
Vera,” she continued, “I hate to be,
bored by watching anil spying. Will you
engaged neither to receive letters from
nor to send any to that nice young man of
yours, who lias caused all this trouble ?”
“I had to promise that I would
write to let him know where I am, and I
must perforce keep the promise,’ answered ,
Vera with flashing eyes and quivering lips, j
“1 have some honor within mo, Aunt Nes
bitt.”
“Should he find out where you arc mul
come here, will you promiso not to hold
any stolen intcryeiw ?”
“1 would sieliim if T could,” replied j
Vera, quietly. “But you need not be
afraid. Ho has gone to India?”
“(lone to India ?”
“When the explosion came ho said it j
was tho only thing loft for him to do.
Somebody undertook to get him a berth
there. ”
“Ah, yes 1” cried Aunt Nesbitt. “The
old story ! He is to make a fortune and
come back. Bet me see—-you may expect
to meet him when you are about forty
two.”
“I can wait,” said Vera.
“Though it is moru probable you will
hear of his return in a year and a half
with an heiress for a wife,” added Miss
Nesbitt, opening her letters.
“Did any man ever treat you so ?” de
manded Vera, too angry to think what
might be the consequnces of arousing the
old lady’s anger.
Miss Nesbitt laid down her letter,
leaned her hands on the table, and looked
her niece through and through with her
steeley gray eyes.
“Yes,” she answered slowly; “a man
did treat mo so; exactly in that way. Are.
you satisfied now ? Will you admit that I
have some right to doubt young , men—
young women too ?”
“I beg pardon !” exclaimed the impul
sive girl. “Indeed, lam sorry !”
“There’s no harm done,” said Miss
Nesbitt, in an odd tone. “Vera, you are
the only human being that ever heard my
secret. I don’t know why I answered
yon. I ought to have boxed your ears.”
“I wish you would 1 deserve it,” cried
Vera.
“I never box anybody’ ears unless they
I tread on Seraph’s tail,” said Aunt Nesbitt,
I stroking the head of a beautiful Angora
i eat, that sat on,a chair by her side. “But
! I am sixty-two—women don’t have feel
ings at that age. It is only pretty Juliets
of eighteen who can indulge in such lux
ries.”
Vera could not decido at that moment
j whether she liked or detested Aunt Nes
-1 bitt; at all events she was suddenly inter
; ested iu her. b'.o wished she dared ask
j questions about tbo long-lost romance
which Vera felt held a profound tragedy
under it.
“I was very rude,” sbo said. “I have
grown irritable. I —l have had good deal
to make me so.”
Miss Nesbitt quite believed that, know
ing well Mrs. Raymond’s talents in the
science of napping.
“We will pot quarrel while you stay,
Vera,” was all her answer.
“How long will you keep me ?” asked
Vera.
Miss Nesbitt shrugged her shoulders,
and the old provoking, ironical expression
crossed her face.
“Until you are cured were the orders of
your mother. But I have neither a Mr,
Musters nor any other desirable gentle
man on band at present.”
“It is rather a gloomy prospect for you,
Aunt Nisbett.”
"I never despair.”
“I shall be twenty one in less than
three years,” observed Vera.
“Just so,” riplied her great-aunt.
“What then ?”
“I shall have some money of my own.
I can set up a school and make more.”
“That would be dreadfully prosaic,”
sighed Miss Nesbitt. “You had better
many Mi* U-buine.
“I can’t have two husbands. I mean to
1 marry Moore ltivingtou 1” Her voice fal
! tered a little over the name.
“Just so,” said her aunt. “Refrine see,
i Ky the time you are forty-seven you can
write and tell him you have made "so much
money, yon arc quite rich.
“I should do so,” replied Vera. “But
it may come before then. If not lie will
wait for me.”
Aunt Nesbitt took up a newspaper, and
seemed busy with it. She was secretly
watching the girl. How tho sight of her
brought her own youth back ! Vera was
so like what she had been it was like
j watching the ghost of her own girlhood to
look at tier. Presently Miss Nesbitt rose
and left the room in silence. Blie wanted
to be alone. The iron oomposuro which
life laid taught her hud uot been so shaken
for years.
“If they could both hold firm," she said
to herself. “But that is impossible. A
lifetime of working and waiting !”
Three months sped away. Aunt and
niece got on very well together; at least
each had learned to like the other; but
there was never any demonstration of
affection. I should employ a stronger
word where old Veronica Nesbitt was con
cerned. Her heart lmd softened towards
the girl us it had not done of lute years to
any human creature. She took pleusure
in her beauty; slio admired her talents
and her resolute character; she fairly won
dered at her own fondness, but she made
no sign.
And Vera ? T think you can imagine
what she hufieri and; hut she suffered like a
strong woman, not a girl. Indeed, many
jof her age would have decided she could
have no heart, slio fought so gallantly and
! persistently against her pain, shewing it
not. She would not give way; she would
struggle through I She made for herself
every amusement and interest possible.
She took tip the studies of her school life
again, and vague notions of growing rich
by them in some way or other did run in
her heart. But, nevertheless, her unto
ward fate, her disappointment and her
isolated existence told upon her. She
grew thin and pale, was unable to eat, and
passed night after night in sleepless mis
ery. She. must keep tier beauty; it was
dOnr to her, because lie prized it I She
would not grow bony and haggard and
old I He would come to her at last,; lie
should find that the years had no more
changed her fuoo than they had her heart.
But still those years seemed so far us to
fill her with dismay.
“Aunt Nesbitt,” she. said, “1 want some
bromide of potash, and 1 want, liypoplios
phiteaof iron and some soda.”
“Bless my cars !” exclaimed Aunt Nes
bitt.
“I have no money; will you buy them?
I have no appetite; I can’t, sleep.”
“That’s according to" all rules of ro
mance,” said the old lady.
“1 told you I was vain,” wont on Vera.
“I do not caro to grow ugly. I mean to
keep my good looks until I am forty
seven; ’’
"I will buy you a ten of soda and tho
other stuff,” said M.ins Nesbitt,. “But you
are a disappointment to me, Vera; you are
not a bit of a heroine.”
“I am not a heroine, lam a woman—
that’s better,” returned Vera.
Miss Nesbitt went on with her crochet
in silence for some time. Who lmd not
been so near shedding tears for twenty
years. Suddenly she threw her work on j
the floor, regardless ol the havoc Seraph
immediately proceeded to make of it.
She marched up to Vera, looking as if she
were about to trite her; stooped, kissed
the girls forehead, and stalked out of the
room. Vera knew now that she had been
given a place iu that long sealed heart.
She let herself cry a little, glad to be loved.
She had no mind to shut her eyes against
a gleam of light because she could not
have the sun.
The next day was dreary and windy.
Vera was sent off several miles iu the close
carriage to inquire after a sick friend of
Aunt Nesbitt’s. Tho old lady had a cold,
and did not dare venture out.
As Miss Nesbitt sat alone in the library,
an hour later, her footman entered to an
nounce a visitor.
“Who is it?” she asked, with asniff, not
for tho visitor, but forced from lior by her
cold.
“He wouldn’t give any name, ma’am;
he said you did not know him,” was the
answer.
“Let him come in,” said Miss Nesbitt.
Miss Nesbitt was accustomed to this.
Strangers often called upon her to solicit
aid for what they generally styled some
philanthropic scheme. Blie expected such
a guest now.
As the door opened she began to sneeze.
Nobody sneezed to the extent that Miss
Nesbitt did when she had one of these
colds.
“Sixteen times,” said she, aloud. “I
sneezed thirty-four this morning without
stopping.”
She looked up, and saw before lier a
young man with one of the finest, grand
est faces she had ever set eyes on. She
was so surprised that she thought aloud.
“You cun not be a philanthropist 1”
“On the contrary,” said her visitor,
with a pleasant laugh, “I am the most sel
fish man alive.”
“I always wanted to see him,” replied
the old lady, not in tho least abashed.
“Pray sit down.”
“I must tell you my name first, madam.
Perhaps when yon have heard it you will
regret your invitation.”
“Dear me, who are you ? Mephist
opheles or the—the . It would not
be polite to name him.”
“lam Moore Itivington.”
“The douce you are,” thought surprised
Aunt Nesbitt.
“I have only lately discovered that—-
that Miss Raymond wat hero.”
“I thought you were safe in India, sit,”
“The appointment I expected was de
layed. lam really going now, but I could
not resist the temptation of coming here
first. I wished to see you, madam;
and ”
“You cannot see her,"again interrupted
Miss Nesbitt. “I promised her mother
that.”
He rose, and commenced walking rap
idly up and down; commencing several
sentence sand finishing none.
“Sit down,” said tiie cld lady. “You
fid :ot me! Sit down! we will each hear
what the other has to say.”
Even this was better than Mr. Itiving
tou had expected. He sat down and spent
a long hour with her. When lie took his
leave he though forced to
go without seeing Vera.
The next morning Miss Nesbitt handed
Vera a note. “Go to your room and lead
it,” she waul. “Ask me no questions, for
I've nothing to ten. ’
Vera know the handwriting. Her hands
and heart alike trembled as she opened the
note. It was put a few lilies of farewell; a
promise to be true, and all that. Miss
Nesbitt had so far relented as to allow him
to write it; but slio would not break her
promise to Mrs. Raymond, and he had left
without seeing Vera.
The letter was something, however.
Vein's eyes, ns she road it, were blinded
by happy tears. "Yes, 1 will be true to
you, Mooib! True forever.”
* * *
Two years passed away I Two whole years!
Vera remained by choice with .Miss Nes
bitt. Tho time sped on- slowly, very slowly,
to Ver.i; but slio never despaired and never
doubted. Moore Kivingtou’s name was
never mentioned between aunt and niece,
but Miss Nesbitt know tliut the girl hail
not changed.
Once they wore surprised by a visit
from Mrs. Raymond, llut slio could not
get Vera to go back with her- which hail
no doubt been the object of her unex
pected descent.
Within a month of her departure there
came two letters from her, one to Miss
Nesbitt, one to Vera, and a local newspaper.
In the newspaper was the announcement
of Moore Rivington's marriage in India;
and tlm letters confirmed it and gave a few
particulars. The young bride was an heir
ess.
"I hope you will come to your senses
now, Vera,” wrote, somewhat heartlessly,
Mrs. Raymond. “I trust you have some
gleam of womanly pride left. Mr. Os
borne is still free; lie asks after you often.
I attempt no persuasion; I know yourob
slitniey too well.”
The letter to Miss Nesbitt pointed out
that she was tlm only person who could
influence Vera; and begged her to try to
show Vera how wise it would be to take
this rich man.
Miss Nesbitt received these letters in
the morning. At night she spoke to Vena,
and Vera listened, white uml cold as a
marble image.
“Please let me alone," was all slio said.
“Don’t be afraid, I shall bear it. I could
not have believed it; I can baldly believe
it; but I suppose it is true. You lived,
Aunt Nesbitt, I ahull live. Death is very
cruel, it will not come to tlioso who want,
it.”
Before she went to rest Miss Nesbitt,
wrote a letter to Moore Itivington, for she
knew his address. Her letter was very
curt
“Moore Itivington - I shall expect the
money 1 entrusted you with to bo paid
back to my bankers without delay. I con
gratulate you on your marriage, and wish
you just the happiness you deserve.”
Slie was not surprised. When she
found that. Vera proved faithful to her love,
she lmd known, she said now, that the
man would fail.
“Fate likes to arrange; matters so,” she
thought. “Truth and falsehood mostly
.got thrown together. There must always
be one heart broken.”
A week later Miss Nesbitt wont abroad
with her grandniece.-
Miss Nesbitt took Vera straight to Italy.
1 cannot describe to-you the six months
that followed. Vera had not even the
comfort of being ill there are erisises in
life whore physical pain and weakness be
come a blessing no such relief reached
Vera. She maintained an litter silence in
regard to herself. Even Aunt Nesbitt
dared not intrude upon her sorrow. She
never looked in the girl’s face without a
pang at the change. It was not that Vera
grew thin or pale or ugly. She lmd never
been so beautiful. But 0I1! tho utter
hope’essness, tho lack of purpose, the ter
rible inanition. Aunt Nesbitt read it all.
She knew this was a wound which would
never heal. , Vera might live to have a
sort of stony crust grow over her broken
heart, but the wound would burn audache
under it. No confidences took place be
twoon them. What could bo said V Now
and then iu the middle of tho night Miss
Nesbitt would be roused from sleep by Ve
la’s entrance into the room, and at those
moments Miss Nesbitt feared for tho girl’s
mind.
“Tell me again that it is true,” she
would whisper. “Let 1110 hear you say it,
for I cannot believe—l cannot believe,”
What passed during these night watches
made no difference in their lives. The
interludes were never alluded to after; it
would seem that Vera herself did not re
member them. Miss Nesbitt felt as if she
were living her own awful grief .over
again, old as she was.
From Rome to Naples, ou to Sicily,
with a pleasant party which they joined;
up by steamer to Genoa; by tho Corni
che road to Florence for a while, and
then went over the St.Gotlmrd into Switz
erland.
They had been at Interlachen just a
week when a telegram from London was
delivered to Miss Nesbitt. “Moore Riv
ington to Miss Nesbitt: —Come to me.
They think I am dying.” That was all.
Save an appendage address—a house iu
some terrace near Hyde Park.
Mr. Itivington might lmvo behaved ill,
indeed it was to be hoped some punish
ment had overtaken linn; but Miss Nes
bitt was not one to uegloot the call of the
dying.
“You have somo bad news !” cried Vera
as her aunt approached her with tho tele
gram. “Do not hesitate to tell me, aunt.
You know that I can bear anything.”
And Miss Nesbitt put the telegram into
her hand.
I dreamed last night that he had come,”
muttered Vera. “I dreamed he hud
come.”
Some blessed vision it had been, in
which he came to claim her; to prove that
he hud been always faithful. Aunt Nes
bitt knew of such dreams; she knew also
what the awakening was. What wo live
through, we men and women.
Vera was past tears. She looked like a
ghost, but she could thiuk and act. “We
can go to-night,” she said. "We cun go
to-night.”
She worked constantly did half the
packing, in spite of Maria’s expostulations.
At six o’clock they were speeding away.
It was like a horrible nightmare, that
journey, to Aunt Nesbitt, What must it
have been to Vera ? On— on -Strasbourg
—Paris— down to Calais as fast as steuni
could carry them.
They crossed the Channel and were
whirling away towards London. They
spoke little; sometimes Aunt Nesbitt lield
Vera’s hand or stroked back her hair; but
what words were possible ?
“We will go to the Westminister Ho
tel,” Miss Nesbitt said, when the train
drew up CliaringCrosn Station and Thom
as came round to open the door.
Vera touched her. “No, aunt, no !
To him hist. Even now we uiuy be too
late. ’
“f am afraid. You are so tired—”
“To him first,” repeated Vera.
“Guta cab for me,” Alias Nesbitt said to
Thomas, “You and Maria will go to tho
hotel with the luggage,”
Away they drove in the direction given
-the house in the terrace near Hyde
Park. It Was a beautiful morning. Na
ture looked ns cruel lessbe ever does when
we suffer. The carriage stopped at last.
“You must wait here while I go in.’’
Auut Nesbitt said, “1 must see -tve can’t
toll; we might bo sent buck; she may be
hero.”
"Oil, aunt, let me. let roe sen him I"
implored V era. “It will be our last meet
ing on earth.” But she sat still in the
carriage while her aunt went in.
"Mr. Rivingtnn is better, ma'am,” the
landlady said, who met her in the hall as
the servant opened the door. “Miss Nis
liitt, l think you are expected.”
“Is—is—Who is with him ?’’ asked Miss
Nesbitt.
“Only the nurse.”
“Where is his wife that she's not with
him.
“His wife ! Dear ma'am I Mr. Riv
ing has no wife, lie is not married."
Aunt Nesbitt walked into the sick room,
nodding her head iu self communing. A
word with the patient, and she returned
to bring Vera.
“It was all a lie, my dear,” she said;
“we have been worrying ourselves for
naught,. I thought, when I Vo) tin tered to
help him with tlmt money that I could
not be mistaken iu liini. lie is very ill,
but ha is hot married; never has been.
And I’d wager my life that the report was
concocted by your worthy mother.”
They went, to the shaded room. Oil the
bed lay a pale, wasted form; his feeble
arm stretched out in welcome.
"Vera I Vera I”
Vein knelt down and laid her head upon
his bosom. Tho arms fell, not. clasping
her, nud she looked up. He had' fainted.
Rut Vera’s ever-haunting dream was re
alized— Moore lmd come back to her.
It was that curt letter of Miss Nesbitt’s
that had brought him home. He was
prospering in India beyond his most san
guine expectations; but when that letter
came he sailed for home as soon as his
business affairs allowed him, and was ta
ken ill en route.
Miss Nesbitt had him moved to her own
home, and she nursed him back to health,
Vera helping. Miss Nesbitt gave more
substantial help than that she settled a
good income 011 Vera, And, the wedding
took place, Mrs. Raymond having the
grace not to oppose it.
“I don't like to part with her, Moore,”
said Miss Nesbitt; “but what must he,
must be. And when the large fortune
you talk of is made out there—mind and
don’t he above a year or two over it—you
must both come home again and live near
me."
“Yes, dear Aunt Nesbitt, we will,” said
Moore. “It is a bargain.”
CATuMxi'7~
The rules of politeness are not at vari
ance with the principles of morally.
Whatever is really impolite is immoral.
Wo have no right to offend people with
our manners or conversation. Wo have
no right to deal with or be iulluenced by
gossip about the people we meet, Their
private affairs are none of our business.
If we believe a man to be unfit compatiy
for us, then we must not invite him; but if
wo should happen to meet him where he
has been invited by others, we must treat
him civilly. If we know a man or wo
man to be a grave offender, we must not
ihink of using that knowledge to iujui't
him or her, unless we know it is absolutely
needful for the protection of others The
greatest and best men in the world have
more or less been assailed with calumny.
The purest and noblest do not always es
cape it. We cannot see any way to inves
tigate -as a rule we must disregard—all
slanders. Whore very great offences be
come notorious, the offenders must always
bo excommunicated. 111 all of the other
cases we must give every one the benefit
of a doubt; also apply charitable construc
tions, live and hope for the best, and con
sider every one innocent until he is proven
guilty, ns we would otherwise often find
that wo had spoken too hastily.
EULOU F 7i*V \VOMAN.
How can the rose grow without sun
shine ? How can the violet bloom on the
salty soil ? Lo ! women are flowers that
are always becoming more beautiful and
fragrant the more they are guarded and
cared for. But men should be keepers in
the garden of beiluty; they may rejoice
themselves in the fragrance of the flowers,
but they may not rumple them with their
bauds. Just as the weed is rooted from
the flower bed, so should all that is base
and common be removed far away from
tho neighborhood of woman. Tread upon
the rose with the feet and its thorns
amaze thee. Make thyself of thine own
accord a stave to a woman, mid she will not
bear it, but will herself bow before thee,
and iu thankful love look up to thee as her
lord; make a woman by force a slave and
she will bear it still less, but will seek by
craft and cunning to obtain dominion over
time. For the empire of love is tho em
piro of contradictions; the wiseman marks
this iuul acts accordingly. The more one
has to do with women, the more one learns
to know them, ami the more one learns to
know them the more one learns to love
them; ami the more one loves them-, the
more one is loved again —for every true
love finds its response, and the highest
love is tlio highest wisdom.
The BacheijOk.— “Oh, who would an
old baelelorbe, to roam in this wide woild j
alone”--no one. A bachelor is even more
miserable than an old maid; for ho lias
110 one to perform for him the various
domestic offices which she can perform for
herself. None but the married man has a
home in his old age. None has friends
then but he; none but he knows
and feels the solace of the domestic
hearth; none but lie lives anil freshens in
his green old age, amid the affections of
his children. There is no tear shed for 1
the bachelor; there is no ready hand and
kind heart to cheer him in his loneliness
and bereavement: there is none in whose
eyes he can see himself reflected, and from
whose lips he can receive the unfailing as
surances of care and love. No. Tho old
bachelor may be courted for his money.
He may eat, and drink, and revel, as such
things do; and ho may sicken and die in
an hotel or garret with plenty of attend
ants about him, like so many cormorants
waiting for their prey. But he will never
know what it is to be loved, and to live and
die amid a loved circle. He can never
know the comforts of Ac dowcotic lire-
I bide.
MISCELLANEOUS ITEMSi
Porittanmlf rest is not expected on thd
road, but at tlte eml of tint journey.'
The good man’s life, like the mountain
top, looks beautful L/eeaitso it, is near to
lieaveu.
He went imcfc on his own true love, fie
i ansa she ate onions, and the jury uixhl
her $:l,200 damages;
In Columbus, if a young man nfteaia aft
moquet, young ladies caress the flange of
his ear with a mallet. B
Haute philanthropist Ims poisoned tint
Rochester dog tlmt had learned to sing a W
accompaniment to a piano, 8
Out in Montano, when they staff a man
down 101 ltn rt barrel, tltej ifpoai. W f hi.,
appearance iu a now role.”
Wisconsin won’t let clergymen kiss tho
bride any more, and fees have jumped
from 50 cents to $5.
With some people cremation is only a
question of time. If it don’t ooWfe iu thij
world it is sure to come in the next,
When a young lady hits a gettfSmi
over the head with Iter sunshade, in Ken
tucky, they say he was parasoled.”
■•l’liey flroil two shots at him,” wrote
an lush reporter; “the first shot killed
Inin, but the second shot was not fatal.”
NO. 8.
A German, being asked how much (ginr
kraut ho had put' tip for winter use, ho
replied: “I'se not got much: little more ua>
leu barrel, shnst for sickness.
"Wlmt kind of sassages is them ?’ v
queried an old lady of the young man of
literature and peanuts, as he passed
through tho train selling buuuuus.
The man who cares for nobody, and 1
for whom nobody ernes, lies nothing to live*
tor that will pay for keeping of soul and l
body together.
A I’iqtta girl who had a quarrel with a
lover remarked to a friend that “she
wasu t on squeezing terms With that' fmuth
any more.”
’The j dlnr in Chicago the other day
treated all his prisoner* ton drive. He
took them iu a wagon from tho old jail to
tho dew one.
A Chinaman thus describes a trial iu our"
courts: One man is silent, another bilks
all the time, and twelve wise men condemn!
tho man who has not said'a'wVmiJ
Susie Liberty, of La Crosse, has thirteen'
lovers, and every one of them exclaims,.
"Give me Liberty or give mo death 1 Aud
she’s a redheadedgirl at that.
A marriage was broken up in Duluth 101 l
ll < young man making an unexpected enil!
and finding the poodle dog playing witlu
his true love’s glass eye.
A fortune teller has predicted that Mark
Twain will die this year—but he is ouly
going to start a paper, which ii pretty
close for the fortune-teller.
“Have you Blasted Hojies ?” linked a
young lady of a librarian with a handker
chief tied over Ills jaw. “No, ma’am,”’
said he, “it’s only blasted toothache.”
A lady once Vicing asked what slur
thought was a good remedy for bee stings,,
said she had never found out. anything
better than to keep away from tho bees,
A mother advised her dangter to oil her 1
hair; and fainted flat away when that dam
sel replied,. “Oil, no 111a; ,it spoils tho>
gentlemen’s vests. ”
An editor of many words characterizes :
a self-puffing “popular ballad singer” as
“a large-sized fraud, a penurious, puffin,--
up bag of gassy egotism.”
In California, slylisli young men nro
known, by the length of the alligator boobs
which they wear at Imlls. A young man
who really cares about liis looks wears boots >
a yard loug.
A Mississippi druggist is selling a drug
to negroes under a pledge that it will I
oonitu't their wool into long straight bail.
Tho papers say he is doing a brick busi
ness.
Collins Graves, who rode so fast down 1
the Mill River valley to warn the people of
approaching danger, is said to be tlio
first milkman who ever ran away, from 1
water.
It occurred to a Danbury scholar, while
writing a composition, last week, to makp,,
the remarkable statement: that l iin-ox
does not taste ns good us an oyster, hut it
can run. faster.”
“How do you like Slmkspeare V” said a
blue-stocking young lady to an old river
captain. "Don’t like her at ull, madam;
she burns too much wood and carries too,
little freight.”
The reason an urchin gave lor being Into,
at school Monday was Unit the boy in tlio
next house was going to have a dressing
down with a bed-cord, unit he waited to
hear him liowl.
Wo hear of men confessing on tlieir
bed to the crimes of murder, abduc
tion and incendiarism, but whoever heard
of a dying mail confessing to stealing pa
pers? "Nobody! Death cannot scale (fiat
man. * - ...
Yon may talk yourself into a bronchial
affection, but you can’t convince a Ver
mont woman that there won’t be a death
iu the family if she dreams of seeing a hen
walking a picket fence.
A Parisian musical dictionary defines a
shout to be “an unpleasant noise produced
by overstraining the throat, for which
great sinners arc well paid, mid small chil
dren well punished.
An undertaker in New York advertise ,
“Godins made to order—how’s the time to
get up clubs. “This is about as ghastly
in its humor as the undertaker’s sign
board in Bellofonte, Pa. “Collins nnulo
and repaired.
A window full of pot-plants suddenly de
seeuded into the streets, Monday morning,
tilling the back, bosom and hair of an
elderly party with bulbs, earth, thorns and
hairpins. As soon as ho recovered his
! speech lie stated that ho was a pilgrim and
i a stranger, but he'd be d—d if heconldu t
i lick tlie man who touched off that powdei.
Rather an unfortunate teacher was that
i one who, iu Haverhill, Mass., undertook
Ito chastise a boy pupil. She found hcr
i self unequal to the task, as tlie boy earns
j very near chastising her. She called in
| lhe lad’s father to assist, and this trenien-
I dons youngster proved too much for both
|of them. Milder measures were adopted,
i and finally the youth consented to take
his Hogging, if lie could have his choice
from a litter of puppies iu the neighbor
hood.
The lawyers of Indianapolis are tortur
ing their brains over an extraordinary
; problem. Some years ago a lady of that
i city was married, and four mouths there
after separated from her husband, was
divorced and married in a month, and four
mouths thereafter gave birth to a child by
her first husband. Quite recently tint
second husband procured a diV<'fee and
the custody of the. child was nwaifte.it-.
him. Nov comes the first, husband and
’’claims the cimu. bho is entitled to Its
j possession.’