Page 4 Advertisements Column 1

Manawatu Herald, Volume III, Issue 48, 15 February 1881, Page 4

him ; but he caught her hand . i " Dear Clara, I am very sorry you i feel it . so much. I — I — ought to ! hiwe told you before, I suppose, but j we have been so happy ; aud then I ' did not think that you cared so very deeply for mo. I did not really mean to deceive you, Clara; you will forgive me, will you not, dear ?" and lie tried to draw her towards him again. " Don't, please don't," she said j faintly, trying to free herself; ** let j me go home." v Say that you forgive me then, Clara," he asked pleadingly, "and: give me one farewell kiss." ■ A hot flush dyed the young girl's cheek. . ! " I shall forgive you, Albert, mnch sooner than you will forgive yourself ; but you mnst not ask me for kisses now." " Clara, darling Clara, you will not leave me so? Just one little kiss?" pleaded he, and he clasped her closely in his arms. "O my love! my love!" moaned the girl, " how can 1 give you up ?" Albert made no answer, only held her closer, raining eager kisses on her white lips. "I must go," she cried wildly, ■struggling to free herself; " let we go !" and he did so, and Clara fled away. " Poor little girl !" mused Albert, " I am very sorry for her, but 1 never dreamed she would take a little flirtation so seriously. She is a sweet girl, and lam very fond of hw, but of coui'se I can do nothing now. I wish to heaven I had never come here. What would Eliza say ? By jingo ! would'nt she rave ? Ah ! well, poor Clara ; she is very young yet ; she will get over it, and perhaps in a year's time forget that I ever existed. I ought to hope so, I suppose ; but, ah me!" aud the deep sigh with which Albert Cushman ended his soliloquy was hardly an indication that such a hope wrs very deeply rooted. Clara did not appear at the teatable ; " she was not well," her mother said, and the old lady's face wore an anxious look that went like a knife to Albert's heart. Will she not ace mo ouco more, just to say " good-bye," the young man wondered the next morning, as the time for his departure approached and Clara appeared not. At the very last moment she came, and standing by her mother's side iv the low doorway, she held out her hand. " Good-by, Clara, Glood bless you!" said Albert, tightly clasping her cold hand. " Good-by, Mr Cushman," she answered simbly, never raising her eyes to his face, and then drew back the little hand, and Albert sprang into the wagon. Looking back, he caught one last look from the sad blue eyes of Clara Moore that lmuii- | ted him for many years afterwards. \ Grace Church is thronged with a ! gay and fashionable assemblage, ! gathered to witness the marriage of Albert Cnshman and Eliza Vauglian. A hum of expectation, and then ; as the organ joyously peals forth the wedding march, the bridal train sweep up the broad aisle and stand before the altar. A few minutes later the bright December sun throws his golden beams upon the kneeling couple, as the venerable, white-robed bishop solemnly invokes God's blessing upon them 'as man and wife. The same golden beams fell upon another and far different scene. Far up among the Catskills, under no fretted roof and to no sound of pealing organ, but with the winds sighing a sad requiem through the leafless trees, a little band of mourners," with tears and sobs, bear flare Moore to her restiogplace under the old oak tree, where, in the long, bright summer days so lately gone, she had spent such happy hours, and there tenderly they lay her down and leave her to dreamless sleep. " See, Eliza, there in the little farmhouse where I spent last summer. Would you like to go and visit it?" " No, Albert, I think not ; but if you like to do so, pray do not hesitate." And waiting for no further pretuission, Albert Cushman sprang from the carriage, aud promising to be back in a few moments, hastened over the well remembered ground. " I wonder if little Clara has forgotten me 1" he muttered to himself as he approached the house, which seemed more quiet than he remembered it before. His knock was answered by Mrs. Moore, paler, and with deep lines of sorrow on her kindly face. "Do you remember me?" cried Albert taking her hand and looking into her eyes. "Mr. Cushmain, you have come to a very changed house," replied she, with quivering lips. '• Poor Clara !'" and the mother's voice was lost in tears. Albert Cut>hman's heart stood still with a guilty fear. "Where is Bho?" he whispered hoarsely. •• There !" and the withered hmd pointed to the grove. With unsteady step he sought the familiar epot, and, under the tree where he had uttered the words that had broken her young heart, Albert Cushman found and bedewed with tears of unavailing remorse the daisy* covered mound under which lay all that was left of sweet Olar»f§floore..