A Blighted Life.

Waikato Times, Volume XXII, Issue 1812, 16 February 1884, Page 2 (Supplement)

A Blighted Life.

" Pass the butteh." Out beneath the star gemmed sky, and under the sturdy old oaks that had bid defiance to the stoinis of centuries, Girofle Mahaffy and Geoige W. Simpson were sitting that beautiful June night, the balmy breath of the evening that was b ing wafted in sighing kisses from the everglades of Florida made vocal by the chirp of the cricket, and the low, mellow note of the dissipated tom-cat, as he wandered listlessly around the backyard, now and then dodging in a nonchalant, languid fashion the latest boot-jack as it came hurtling through the air with cruel force, or stopping beneath a window to see if his howl was still within reach. Up from the westward came the sound of the sea as its silvered foam plashed in rhythmic cadence on the white sands of the beach, and through the masses of foliage that cnciicled Brierton Villa could be seen, ever and anon, especially anon, the fit* ful flicker of the ice-cream lairs that flecked the horizon in every direction. It was a night for a poet's pen, a painter's brush, or a large schooner of weiss beer, and as Girofle sat there in the gloaming her thoughts wan« dered back to the days of a year agone, when every moment of her life was brimming over with joy, and every day seemed a rose tinted dream irom which one would never care to waken. And now all was changed. Standing on the verge of womanhood and watching with wistful eyes for the mists of futurity to rise, her life should have been a happy one as Hope called to her with jocund voice and Youth laughed back response. But instead of this the darksome shadows of doubt and fear fell ever on the pure young face, and in the sweet brown eyes there was a wistful, yearning; heaven - knows - 1 - wish -my - shoes- were- two-sizes-larger look that was pitiful in its sad beauty. " You cannot love me, George," she says at last, "or you would not leave me in this manner — go away for two whole days, when you know that my heart will be breaking for you, and that every moment of your absence will be to me an age of torture and doubt "— and coming to his side she places her arms about his neck in a shy, hesitating, don't-know-whether-I-am-afoot-or-horseback fashion, that tells its own sweet story of a love that will never fade on falter as long as the collateral securities hold out. And so they stand there, the moments passing by unheeded, the girl nestling in hia arms secure in the deep trustfulness of an overpowering passion, while the man, smoothing her fair forehead gently, bends over her now and then to kiss the rosy lips that are upturned to his, and then wonders in a dreamy, idyllic, North- side fashion who the last man that held a similar situation on Giroflc's staff might have been. Suddenly the girl breaks the silence — she had broken the man on the last matinee day. " And you must really go?" sho says; "really and tiuly?" " Ye,'-," ho answers, " when Duty calls we must o^oy, and I have seldom known Duty to call on the poorest baud." " But L cannot let you go," she says, passionately. "It is cruel to test my love so sorely " -and, breaking down in a storm of sob 3, she clings to him more closely than ever. And then, just as he fears ior her reason, so terrible does the blow seem, the sobs that are making the, lithe form quiver with anguish cease, and Girofle looks up to him with a happy smile ' upon her face. " I will be brave," she says, " but you must make me one promise, a holy, sacred promise, that even death itself may not absolve you from." "I will do it gladly, my precious one," he murmurs. " What is the promise ? " " You must promise," she says, " to lend me your razor.'? "Why, of cojurse I will, sweetheart," he replies, gayly. '/1/ 1 promise you that cheerfully, But why do ;you make such a strange request ? " f "Because," she says, in those low, mellow tones that would lure a man through Inferno or to Harvard function. "I have a large, throbbing buniofc." — Chicago Tribune.