6 THEIR GOLDEN WEDDING. Full fifty years ago, When fell the Christmas snow, two liappy poople took the vows that made them man and wife; She with -her bluo eyes tender. Ho the alert defender, BrtghUy they trod the tlowery way up the steep hill of life. Always they stood together. In fair or stormy weather, Bearing each other's burdens, sharing each pleasure bright. She with her counsel tender. He the alert defender, Onward, still onward, wending up to the mountains' height Then they came down together. In fair and stormy weather, #<>m« little quieter, perhaps, but loving still and true; And so, hands locked, hearts tender. He the alert defender, Che with her blue eyes smiling, the steep, rough way beguiling, With cheer of song and story— Both wore white crowns of glory— SSich, looking upward, knew that home and Heaven awaited Two hearts that, truly mated, Had lived and loved and waited. Till, loyal, tried and true, they meet be yond the blue. •-Mary A. Denison. in Washington Star. Copyright, 1599, by J. B. Lipplncott Com pany. All rights reserved. CHAPTER II.—CONTINUED. "This: In the hour I have been bere you have found an untrodden way to the heart of Richard Somers. I know mow that no woman was ever there tiefore you; none will ever follow you. S may not be here to give you my hand —I do not know the circumstances that -surround you, or even if in winning your sj'inpathy I am playing false—but wherever you are, remember that my soul follows, and I would keep guard «ver you if I might." lie spoke with *n earnestness and passion that dis turbed and alarmed himself. Some thing like a groan burst from his lips •when he realized K»i» far he had <*sm mitted himself, and h*. <ank back in his chair. There presently she found him. end resting her hand timidly upon his arm. she said, gently: "What would yon have me answer you?" She was calm and confident •now. At first she had shrunk a little from him. Her simple, confiding action restored to him his calmness. "I would have you say at what hour It is you are accustomed to close the eyes which look down upon without seeing mine." "At nine. But what is this upon your '.Sr»el—a flower?" "A white rose- for our wedding." With pretty show of authority she <*iew it from its resting place and nixed it in her hair. "Do not flowers belong to the 'bride ?" "Wear it in memory of me," he said, gently. "But now I am going to in sist that you take steps to preserve those other roses which I am sure have bloomed for you. Have you a dressing-room ?" "Yes, but I am not sleepy and I shall not desert you. Wait. Speaking of the rose, I shall sing you a song I love very much—that is, if 1 can find my guitar. Ah, here it is! Now I'll •s>'t here—and you right there—but I v- nder if I can ever play in the dark? .v >y I not have just a little light? '' on't mind—" How easily you forget! Tt is im -il>le. Ring as you are; I shall not ar any discord." He was astonished ■i>< her swift change of mood and a new, glad note in her voice. She sang low and sweetly, with perfect control •of her tones, the "Last Rose of Sum mer." And then he understood bet ter. For in her voice he read that the soul and spirit of an impassioned woman dwelt in the slender frame relied by the shadows of the room. He was silent. Every heartache that had been crushed out of his manhood teemed to have revived under the magic of a subtle tone, an indescriba ble, indefinable echo. It was a resur rection of something that had died hard within him. "You do not like my singing," she •aid, disappointed, when, waiting for his praise, she found him silent and thoughtful. "Your singing? Yes. But a mem ory! Goto sleep now. Make yourself ■comfortable and leave me to ke<ep watch. Yet stay; will you not sing over those lines again? To me they *re inexpressibly beautiful." Standing in the doorway of her dressing-room, she sang the verse through again softly without accom paniment, waited until she was as •ured that he would not speak, and th en passed thoughtfully within. When she came forth, arrayed in her wrapper, she paused beside him, puz ded over his change of mood. "I am afraid you are going to be "lonely," she said. "Sleep, my child, sleep; I shall not b« lonely—knowing you are there." "Perhaps I am keeping you awake?" *Yes. That is it; you are keeping ane awake!" "Well, I am holding out my hands *.nd saying 'good night,'" she said. He found and pressed his lips upon them. He held them so tightly and trembled so violently she bent down -»ver him confused. One of her curls, loosened, dropped upon his neck, and .another across his cheek. The mingled • odor of her hair and the rose filled bltn with a strange intoxication. "I am sorry if I have distressed yon In any way," she said; "you have been kind, oh, ao kind to me. Good night." •He still held her hand:., ibis face howed upon them, his form shaking with a strange emotion. "Good night," •she said again. "If I do fall asleep *nd you are lonely —oh, sir, you hurt hands." "Good night," he whispered, hoarse ly, recovering himself and releasing them. She crossed the room, and he saw her, dimly, standing by the bed, as though in doubt. And then she sank softly to her knees and laid her head upon her arms, child-wise, in prayer. He arose and stood until he sarr her head lifted. "Wait," he said, earnestly; "will you not pray also for me?" "I have prayed for you already," she answered. "Will you tell me the prayer?" "Some time, perhaps, when it has been answered." He thought, then that she had fallen asleep, but after awhile she spoke again. "Will you let me ask you a question —of yourself again?" "Yes, if you wish." "Dr. Brodnar said that you had never had but one ambition in life, and that you had been disappointed. What did he mean?" "I once had ambition to be a great soldier. That is all." "Were you ever a soldier?" "Yes, an oilicer in the regular army." "And now?" "1 am a wanderer. A gentleman only." "Why did you leave the army?" "1 struck my superior oflieer. They heard my defense and—let me resign." "And the other—what became of him?" "He cheated at cards, was publicly insulted—and cashiered." "Why did you strike him?" "Is this asking 'a' question?" "Oh, forgive me! Good night." "It is very short," he said, repent antly. "There was a woman in the case; the card incident was but a pre text." A low cry escaped the girl. Then she said, half rising: "You loved her?" "Yes." He heard her sink slowly back upon her pillow. "I thought so. at least—until now. I was mistaken in her; my pride was wounded." He arose and paced the room. "Tell me of her, please?" "She lived not far from Washington with a relative, her parents both dead. She had some means of her own and frequently came into the city, where she had friends. We met, and I believed in her; but this officer came between us. She thought liim rich, and 1 was deserted for him. She belonged to that class of women who esteem wealth the foremost object of life, women who go deliberately to men they do not, cannot love, or even respect, and say in effect: 'Here, we have beauty, youth, freshness, for sale. Take us, dress us, give us jewels and fine clothes to wear, carriages to ride in; give us a chance to command the homage of men, and all that we have is yours.' Watch for them upon your streets; all men know them at sight. God, but they paj' at last! Look in when the excitement has passed and see upon their faces the frozen de spair; see in the heaviness of their step the weight of a dead youth, and in their eyes eternal hopelessness. Child, child, be not deceived; love is the only gold that pays a woman. Shun them, these wretched advertise ments of dishonor. Let no man come into the holiness of your life until love has sanctified the sacrifice." He ceased abruptly, and the next instant was kneeling by her side. "Forgive me!" he cried. "Have I not told you I hold you blameless?" Suddenly he i&Mkw (v n rK T\| V } ( M\u ji i RICHARD SOMERS, REELING, PLUNGED THROUGH HEK ARMS. felt her arms about his neck, drawing his face to hers. Her hair enveloped and almost smothered him in a sudden storm. Holding him thus, she broke into such an agony of grief and tears as to render him speechless and help less. She held him in such frantic embrace that each effort he made to free himself was defeated. When her strength was exhausted she sank back among the pillows, breathless. He bent above her unnerved. "How lonely, how barren must have been your life, that a little kindness —another's sorrows—should touch you so deeply!" "Lonely! Speak of the persecution, the brutality, the infamy—!" "Hush," he whispered. "Js'o more— to me. Come, you must sleep." Rising abruptly, he left her side. When it was that she fell asleep he could not discover, but presently he seemed to hear her deep, regular breathing, and was thankful. And so the moments passed. The girl started up once or twice and spoke his name; but always at sound of his calm, reassuring voice sank back again upon her pillow. From time to time he went and stood above her—a spell upon him new and strange, a spell that filled him with uneasiness and vague alarm. He was no loeger lonely. In some mysterious way a burden seemed to be slipping away from him, and in its place came a sense of companionship sweet and comforting. Most men discount mar ried life in their dreams, and few ever realize the fullness of those dreams; but with him it had been different. CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, MAY 2, 1901. This strange expertenoe preceded the dreams. Without a day's warning ht» had bepn plunged into the privacy of a young and modest woman's life, had become the guardian of her honor and in a measure of her future; and in a mysterious way the divine sweetness of her soul had issued forth and en veloped him. In the chiaroscuro of the still room he could just determine the outlines of her bed and upon its whiteness the outlines of her slender figure. He was arlad thflt she slept; in that quiet falling asleep was for him the finest tribute ever paid to his manhood. A glad, quick pulse leaped from his heart a.she realized this truth, and the words of the girl's mother, so artlessly repeated, came back to him. Then in the desert of his life a stranger came before his tent and asked for shelter. lie bade him enter. Why should not this scene be fixed and real and lasting? Would it be possible? Would the girl some day accept it as such, yielding still the trust and tenderness she had brought to the counterfeit? Was she trusting Brodnar? Or was she trusting him? The trust was in him. He felt it in stinctively; and her little white hand seemed to steal forth to his ag-ain, her arms to enfold him. What a child she was! And yet—and yet— An irresistible impulse seized him fo be near her, to touch her hand, her hair, and to pass within the electric radius of her presence again, iT but for a moment. lie was her guardian whether she slept or awoke. A strange curiosity to be near a sleeping girl, to enter further into her life and absorb the sweetness of its innocence, possessed him. She would not know, she would never know, perhaps; and why should he not snatch from fate this one brief moment of happiness? A doubt as sailed him and brought hesitation; but with an impatient gesture he threw aside the hesitation. He would uot let even himself doubt himself. And so he came and stood above the sleeper, and presently, entranced, he kneeled and saw her lying there, vague, dim and unrecognizable, but a girl aslpep. Her faee was towards him upon the pillow and one hand lay upon the pdge of her bed. So quietly did she sleep sh? seemed not to breathe. He watched her until a tremor shook him from head to foot, and a never before experienced eon fusion seized upon his mind. Instinct ively he leaned above her hand and touched it with his lips—lightly, rev erently. She sighed and spoke his name, and, overwhelmed with sudden dismay, he would have withdrawn, but she seized his arms and cried out: "Light! light!" And then, broken ly: "Oh, sir, for the first, time —I am —I am —frightened!" He sank his face beside her, overwhelmed with shame. "It is half-past, three,"he said, brok enly; "I must soon say farewell to you—" "Oh, sir, will j-ou not light the gas?" Seeing that she still trembled, he arose and went to his chair. "No," he said, calmly. "But slepp on. I shall not disturb you again." And then presently she came, and, kneeling in sudden abandon before him, placed her hands upon his shoul ders, her face close into his. "I shall not let you leave me think ing that I do not trust you," she said. "Oh. sir, kiss me now, my hands, my hair, my Lips if you will. I trust im plicitly! I trust you—yes, and more, I—" "Child, child, you do not know what you are saying!" He covered his face with his hand. "Child! No, woman! You do not understand; it is you who are the child. Listen. I was not asleep when you struck a match and, turning your face from me, looked at your watch. I was awake, and I saw your face in the glass across the room." "You should not—" "It was an accident, and I thanked God, for it has given me a living mem ory of the kindest friend since mother died. It is not the first time, for your picture is in the doctor's office. He did not know that I have hung over it —fixing it in my mind—many—many times—oh, will you, will you say that you wish to see me? Have you no wish to remember me?" "Remember you? I shall carry with me forever the sound of your voice, the touch of your hand, the perfume of every curl upon your head—" "But my face! Will you look upon that? I release you from all your promises." "I cannot! I cannot!" "Oh, sir, think what it will mean to me in all the lonely days to come, the memory of you and the conscious ness that you carry in your heart sometime the face of the girl who—!" "It must not be. Remember your husband's honor! You promised to honor him. Is thin the way?" "My husband! my husband!" she cried, half rising, "you have said it!" "Frances! Frances!" "Ah, Frances! Say it all, Frances, my wife." "Frances, my wife!" A passionate cry burst from tha girl's lips. "Yes, Frances, your wife. The wom an who loves j'ou, who has loved you from the day sh« saw your picture and heard your story! Oh, he never knew—he never dreamed it. Nothing can silence those words: 'Frances, my wife.' I will look upon your face, and you shall, you shall see mine! The matches—ah, they are here!" "Hold!" he cried, huskily. "I should be unworthy of your love and trust if I could break my sacred promise. Look upon me if you will, but the eyes that would weep tears of joy to see you will be closed while the match i 6 burning'. Look, if to carry in memory the living record of one face will heip you, take mine, and with it, right or wrong, the love of Richard Somers." She struck the match and held it above his lifted face, advancing her own aud gazing eagerly upon kiui. "Ah, again! again! My husband, ray husband," she remurmured. "It is th« face of an angel!" The match grew short and the fatal red spark was showing in the flame when there cams a flash of light in the window across t-he room, the quick, sharp report of a pistol rang out, and Richard Somen, reeling, plunged through her arrni face down upon the floor. The awful silence that followed tha tragedy was broken at length by tha faint whisper of the dazed and lialf unconsciotis girl. "Speak," she said, kneeling over the prostrate form; "why —what is the matter? —what has happened?" Heir hands found his head and passed rapidly over it. "You do not answer me!" She drew slowly back from him, chilled with a great and un speakable horror. Her hands were wet and slippery. Instinctively she knew it was blood. She could not rise nor cry out; her heart seemed paralyzed, her throat in the clutch of an invisible hand. The door opened silently, and the doctor's low voice was heard: "Somers, Somers, the day is almost breaking." There was no response. He spoke again. Then the two figures became dimly visible. "What has hap pened?" he whispered, bending above them. He, too, felt the tell-tale blood upon his- fingers as he touched tha prostrate inan, and, rising hastily, struck a match. Somers lay senseless before him, the young woman kneel ing by his side staring speechlessly upon her bloody hands. His quick glance swept the room and rested upon her. The match fell to the floor and went out, leaving tha scene to blocker darkness. "Remorse!" he said, in a whisper, and was still. Rallying his faculties at length, Dr. Brodnar hurriedly lit the ga», and with his stern features contracted examined the fallen man and saw a wound back of the right temple from which the dark blood was still oozing. "He has shot himself," he said. A moment he stood, with covered face, wavering in his tracks. Suddenly tha enormity of the interests at stake flashed upon him and stupor gave way to intelligent action. Seizing a towel, he wiped the girl's hands and forced her into a chair. "Stay there," he Raid, "and on your life do not. cry out or leave the room before I return. Do you understand?" "Yes," she said, simply, and fixed her gaze upon the window. He bound the towel tightly about the head of tha wounded man, lifted him in his arms as if he were a child, and passed out into the night. A few moments later the rush of wheels was heard upon the street. "Some patient of the doctor's is worse," said a policeman upon a corner two squares away as the flying ve hicle passed him. [To Be Continued.] A DRAUGHT OF FISHES. One That Hiitinled tlie Mlrnoalani Draught Described in the 111 hie. One autumn day in the early 'GO's my father, then living at Mackfnao island, received a letter from his part ner, who had gone to get some pounds at Cross Village, 30 or 41) miles away to the southwest, writes W. 1). llul bert, in Frank Leslie's Popular Month ly. "Send us some more barrels and salt," it said. "We're catching fish like thunder, and the fishermen are all crazy." The tug was hastily loaded with salt and empty half-barrels, and was hur ried away to Cross Village, to find tha fishermen not quite crazy, but almost worn out with working night and day to care for the most wonderful run of fish that had been known for years—- perhaps the greatest in the history of the fisheries. "They're so thick in my pot," said one man, "that you can lay a plank down on them and walk on it." It is related as an actual fact that six nets took, in 24 hours, an average of 20,000 pounds each. Every barrel and box was full, and fish were being salted down in skiffs and rowboata when the tug arrived. Of course it. did not last long. A violent blow from the west drove the fish off shore; but the next morning tne beach was cov ered with the spawn thrown up by the waves in some places a foot deep. The Wisdom of the Whe. This is the story of a queen's counsel who, for many years, was the recog nized leader of the Irish bar. The Green Rag prints it: Iti his early days of wig and gown he got a case for his opinion. Possibly the solicitor thought it a very simple case; at all events, that was what the young lawyer thought, for after some study he took his pen and wrote: "I am clearly of opinion." It so happened that as he sat in the law library the silver-haired Nestor of the Irish bar, a leader of unfathomable astuteness, chanced to look over his shoulder as he wrote. "My dear young friend," the old law yer said, softly, "never write that you are clearly of an opinion on a law point. The most you can hope to discover is the preponderance of the doubt." Distinction. An eccentric and grandiloquent old Englishman was always ready with an answer when his long-suffering wife begged permission to mend holes and otherwise repair the ravages which time made upon his garments. "A hole, madam," he would say, with haughty decision, "is but the accident of a day. A darn, on the contrary, is premeditat ed poverty."—Youth's Companion. ll<*r I,nut Appeal. A Vienna paper relates an anecdote of the painter Makart, who was .some times as taciturn as Von Moltke. One evening at a dinner he sat for an hour next to the soubrette Josephine Gall meyer without volunteering a word Finally she lost patience and ex claimed: "Well, dear master, auppoM we change the New England Women Have an Abiding Faith in Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound. After years of struggle to attain and merit public confidence, with a firm and steadfast belief that some day others would recognize in us the truth, good faith, and honesty of purpose which we know we possess, what a genu ine satisfaction it is to succeed, and to realize the uplifting influence of tha merited confidence of a vast army of our fellow beings. Thus stands the Pinkham name in New England, and all over America, and nowhere is the faith in Lydia E. 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SMITH, H. B. FULLERTON, General Passenßer Agent. Special Agent, Pass. Dep't. Offices. Long Island City, N. V. ————Bl——W—W—w —■ mm la 3 or 4 Years an Independence Is Assured in 5 western '« 'anada. ilie fW7I PViU l experiences of farmers I*l *l I n ho have become wealthy ff a I U i n urowinK wheat, reports I Hp?Ti<rli>^3l4" f,,i « , OKat«!S. etc.. and full * information as to reduced railway rates can be had *• application to the CndersiKued. who will mail you atlases, pamphlet*, ete.. free of cost. K. PEDLRY, Sunt, of Immiifra Won, Ottawa. Cauada; M. V Mrl NNKS. No J Merrill Blk.. Detroit, Mich.; K T. Hoi.&ISS. lio«)(u H, Hi k Four Bldg.. Indianapolis. Ind Special excursions %o Canada during March aud April. j PATENTS i « MILO 'I. NTKVRN'S /t CO., Ksiab lhtH Ui". It. SIT l.iti str«or. W.tSHINUTUN, I>. O Kraneii offices: Chieairo, Cleveland anil DctroiU A. N. K.-C 1862 Best Coogh Syrup. Taptus Good. Use PJI In time. Sold by drugfflvtA. ptf
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