The Plattsmouth daily herald. (Plattsmouth, Nebraska) 1883-19??, May 11, 1891, Image 4
1 f wnderd At mldniifht in th mmvud Tlie snieU of damp grans was In my noatrlU; i I heard my heart throb in the awful silence. ' As a headlong diver, iIiiiikdi? in the orran, rteua dimly Klimmuring through the green clnrknotui The BwiiiKii'K hutjjcs jul.natlri altove him; Bwi Uio Hllmy ke-l.i of diligent vphmoIb, With liiiliblinic wuke of ghostly fouui in fur row h. And a dull uliine of Kails Hwollcii ly trmpcMtM; HtfH lill-H -yf.il motiHtfrn l--riii pitst him. And wrti ks and drowned nun coiinUtntly f-irikintr. While t lie muffled knt-ll of thoHiirf Ih tolling; Sins I liiiird t lie kiu! lapnof tin-mill htrc-aiu, lKiwii. down, ijnii kly my -irit l . i nded To tin; r-id-n-r of di-jul on n and wonifru. In an uncurl lily k jhiIi liral t wililit Tln-i;i.-t ' l'i iiri:n :it v.iui visih!o Flecked with whitu clouds of motionless dairies. Tim frn'.'cy r'ti of the lic:idHtoricn protruded I 'in.onifi.1 lalily rrom tlm low ceiling.-, of tlio Tort iioiirt olK iuru damp cavern. (Suddenly frovi I -n thousand cyclers hockcts A mild lvt awful plan-of li-lil flowed MiM'ly, I.iKliI iiK t In- M reels of t hat Imikv olent city. A hori'il alilc fit y, nlrnne e;:ilcs wore silwnys With low priirtil tencmcnta for (Jod'a jioor Hiilt-; A flieap ri-Mirt for desolate iik in winter. The nciijliliorliood was orderly a lid quiet. An from eaeh cofiin w indow a skull wa.srin iiiim In idle inoekery at life's foolihh satire. Tin re was a wonderful anie:ies in otimie Worn ly rich ladies and their pour servants. And no I. ills (iroeiiti d to i iiili.il I a .m 1 hus !: nils. riido hy side lay the sciidt drift and (he mi it, The In. lid and lier rejected lover. Tin; prodigal i: ml his unrelenting father. Noises there were of feet in sad Il o essinn, A ii'l I'l'-am- of ye-, w il h em-ions sadm -1 Veriiii; int t he d..rk t hey mxiii or lalu must tenant. Sty soul, fioved hy an irre-ist ihle immil-e. Like the I !ii.-l ledow ii hef. re t In: cast wind. Went I hroii'.;h many anonymous avenues. I heard a sound of deep erietual thunder. Like life's flood t ido t iirolil.1114 in monotonous I'lll- i s, ITjion iJm- short; t hat has no road or harlior. Was it a realty, or was it a vi-i.ui merely 1 baw underground as my sj.iril ilent endefl inlo The land of t he i:m!e and the gopher? John .lames I nalK iti ' i mica riol is Journal. ELI-AXOIt IN LOVE. She Iii-lil in lit-r liaml tlio letter. Should phe s !nl it? Tli.it moment was one of those wistfully critical epochs of exis tence iijm!1 which may swincj, as njxjn :v liiii-rc, the floor of iVstiny. Kh-aiior Armstrong stool in tloul.t. Why? It was a little tiling, just a friend ly letter to ,1,-ick II- nshaw fint in Texas. What matter? Why should sue hesitate? Eleanor could not tell. Still she lin pereil. litr!y T.iescient of that Kwiiijjiuij lor ff ih tiny. She ha 1 written hi nanir across tin? envclotx-: s'nonH she complete the ad dress and let it jro? Hers was a quick, positive nature, ";iven to the obedience of impnls. It was vexing to bo so puz zled over so slight a tiling. An accident, if such it was, decided tin que.-; io :i. A calier wr.3 ;tuniuuc-d. She descf-ud -d to the ilrawirr.j room, and the letter went to the lox. irathered up with the rest of her mail by the hand of the maid. "It was destiny," said Eleanor to her self in an afterthought. After all nothing could come of it. She was under no obligation to Jack Renshaw, nor to any other man, in fact. Then she wondered idly if she ever should care for any of them one more than another for Eleanor Armstrong, while no lieanty, had grace and sparkle, and a subtle personal magnetism which drew aliout her plenty of admirers. She favored them all by turns. Last summer it was Lew Hunter. She went boating with him tip in lovely Chocoma, where they summered, played tennis and climbed country roads and hills. "He was so strong and good natnred, and made such a go.xl alpen-stock," she coolly explained to her aunt. Miss Jane JVIears, who was her careful chaperon. This year, last past, it was Jack Ren phaw, at the same place, Chocorua "dear old dreamy town," Eleanor said, "I could never tire of it. Jack did not dance, cared nothing for tennis, and had no experience with oars; but he read poetry lieautifully, and could tell her charming old idyls as they walked by the river. lie interested her in a way that others did not: and yet he had such a dreadfully intense earnestness about him that he positively frightened her sometimes, she said. Now the summer was gone, Jack was in Texas, and Eleanor was in her city home with only Aunt Jane and memory. Yes, there was always Fred Kensel. He Jived in a handsome house up in the equare, with a stylish mother and sisters. He was the oldest friend of all, and was always at hand, sometimes more than Eleanor wished. For in the last year their frank, unrestrained good fellow ship had in some way taken on a color too strong for ordinary friendship, and Eleanor often found herself uncomforta ble and ill at ease when Fred was near. She would declare the air was close she must have the window open and where was Aunt Jane? Or if they were on the street she complained of his pace: why did he lag bo? Couldn't he walk up like any other man? Poor Fred unwittingly felt the 6mart of many thorns that winter. But about Jack Renshaw; Eleanor cared nothing for him she knew she didn't. He was a pleasant summer friend, nothing more. He had light hair; she wouldn't marry a blonde, any way. Then he was too serious, too "preachy. She wasn't going to marry a guideboard. Besides he was all of ten years older than she might as well be her grandfather. No, Jack Renshaw, for anything but a friend, was out of the question. Lew Hunter was more to her wind, and secretly to herself, 6he owned that Mr. Jerome Arthur, the tenor at St. .Paul's, was nearer to her taste than either. But Mr. Jerome Arthur was as yet only a vague possibility. She had Tlins tshe reasoned. So the days went bya and the letter and Jack went almost ut of mind. Oc casionally a remark or tone of voice, or a marked passage in Home favorite book they had read, would recall him. Then memory would utir, and she would idly wonder if he g jt her letter, and when and how he would write. But the spec ulation was one of indifference. It troubled her not. The issiuo was all too vague as yet. Lew Hunter was around occasionally; she began to meet .and sing duets with Jerome Arthur at the houses of friends, while Fred Kensel was in constant attendance for lectures, concerts and drives. Therefore, if Miss Eleanor's time did not Hy, it at lc:ist did not drag; and she pent very few hours either in ennui or in serious reflection. Miss Jane Mears was sometimes anx ious for the future of her niece, and took occasion to remind her of tin ultimate necessity of a choice and a judicious set tlement in life. Whereupon the spirited girl, with laughing audacity, averred that Aunt Jane herself was to be con gratulated upon her own merciful preser vation from such a climax! That good lady received the lively sallies of her niece with the good humored toleration of a mother cat under the attack of a frolicsome kitten. "Hut, Eleanor, my dear," sho would purr, "you know you cannot always go 011 in this way; you really must make a choice." "M 'ko a choice how shall I do it, auntie? Advertise for scaled proposals and award the contract to the highest bidder, or put the candidates in a bag and rafllo for them?" "Don't be absurd, child," responded Miss Jane; "you know what I mean, of course. I .-unafraid jou will go through the entire pasture and then take up with a crooked slick." "Well, 1 haven't seen any quite straight enough to suit ine yet." "Well, we'll, my dear, I only talk to you for your own good. I have been afraid yon nii-ssed it when you didn't take up with .losiah Hawkins." " 'Josiah Hawkins" and 'missed it,' indeed!" retorted Eleanor. "What did I miss but an antiquated old pig with dyspepsia and squeaky shoes. I trust I am not reduced to quite To low an ebb.'" "No, no, child: don't lly in a passion so; it isn't ladylike. I am only afraid you will never doany better, that is all." "'Do any better!' I should think I could hard'y do worse than marry a man for whom I hadn't a spark of love!" and the girl's eyes Hashed. "Well, tin re, there," soothed the se rein maternal cat, "don't let's talk any more about u." "No. but you mustn't begin it, and please dou't scold me auv more, dear," ! s.uccnmbcd Eleanor, with a kittenish ! embrace. And so the dialogue would end. And the autumn days went by. November came 011. and no letter from Jack. Eleanor began to think about it. Sometimes she watched, half uncon sciously, for the postman, with a little stiugof disappointment when he went by. Yet her intimacy with Mr. Jerome Arthur grew apace, and she was quite fascinated by his tender tones and dark, punsionate eyes. December no letter. Eleanor's feel irj7 of mere question of the cause passed into the stage of positive pique. Her pride was touched. Not even to write to her, to leave anj-letter of hers unan swered, when any other man would have written two. Well, if Jack Renshaw had a remote idea of her wearing the wil low for him he had not read his p's and q's correctly, that was all. So she sang more and sweeter duets with Jerome Arthur, smiled more gra ciously on Lew Hunter, and completely dazzled poor Fred Kensel with her affa bility. On the whole she was rather glad he did not write so she solilo quized for inasmuch as she cared noth ing for Jack, and never could, a corre spondence would be 6tupid and only lead to trouble. Of course he cared for her that is, well, of course he did! Then, in proof of that fact her mind reverted to the night last summer when they parted at the gate of the old farmhouse where she stopped. They had taken their last walk hy the river. They had then sought the top of the "ledges" to watch the sun set. Finalby, in the twilight they had wan dered back to say goodby at the gate. Jack was going tomorrow and she a week later. Their conversation was broken and intermittent as they came down the grassy road. "Perhaps this may be our last walk forever," spoke his low, earnest voice. "Should you care if it were, Eleanor?" "Oh, don't be so solemn," exclaimed flie. "Of course we shall have more dozens next summer." He detained her gently by the arm. "But would you care if we never did. I asked you?" "Jack Renshaw," facing him audaci ously, "did j-ou ever see an owl? You positively make me think of one 6omo times." His face paled a little, nis mouth had a firmer look as he walked in silence by her side to the gate. Hesitating a mo ment while she coquetted with her para sol and shifted some wild flowers un easily from one hand into the other: "Goodby, Eleanor," very gravely. 'Goodby, Jack," vivaciously. "Is that all can you say nothing else?" "Why. what should Isay?"6he laugh ed. "Say that you care a little for onr summer ended if you do," taking her hand. "But what if I don't?" withdrawing that member. He looked at her challenging face a moment, seriously. "Goodby," he said, and turned and walked away. Eleanor tripped lightly over the threshold up to her room, flung off her hat, immediately sat down, and yes, true to the inexplicably contra dictions of girlhood, cried. She remembered it now with a smile half of incredulity, half of self con tempt. Why did she cry? True agaic to the inexplicabilities of girlhood she did not know. she had received a letter from Jack in Texas, purely friendly, but the closing paragraph of which was this, "May I ex pect an answer, and may I hope that you do regret, just a littlo, the ending of our summer idyl!" So Eleanor had written her reply warily eschewing the subject of "regret," however, and that was the letter to wTneh she had received no re ply. The winter d iys wore on. From in difference to curiosity, from curiosity to pique, and now from pique to anxiety and fitful depression her feeling had passed. From a careless dream of se curity in his regard she had awakened I to doubt an 1 uneasy question. Had he j never cared himself for their summer ; idyl? Of course she didn't, she stoutly j maintained to i.eielf, but someway iue I growing conviction ,f ids Hdiff? rerce i was extremely un welcome to her. If thetruih mu-t bo told, her anxiety wore on Miss Eleanor, and she even moped a li; tie, dismally sometimes, at twilight in her room, and pretended she had a headache when Fred called. She dropped by .! r.; - .4 out of the duets .'id petul.n.'.lv f li-' l.Lti' l il bored her to sing. Her friends and Mr. Jerome Arthur im plored, but she was obdurate. Neither passionate fiances nor tender tones bad power to move her more. Then she snubbed Lew Uuntcr.'.ud privately voted him st npid. Miss Mi-ars noticed c::')ricious:iess of app -t ite, and was auxiou.-.ly solicitous. Did Eleanor sle-j, v.-i il nights? Had shea j pain in her i le? A dizzy h 1 1 i? Was her tongue coated? An 1 wouldn't sh' have on a porous plaster or wouldn't she take some tonic bitter ? To all of which her niece object. -.1 with laughing contempt. "What do yoitt iiak about going to Chocorua .-1 - i : i this saiuiuior?" inquired Miss Mears of her niece unit morning tie: following June. They were sitting at breakfast, an 1 Eleanor was dallying wit it her co .Tee spoon. "Oh, t'.:.;t stupid litll" town. no. Any place bat tl:"p" was 1 i;. quick re-poii.-..-. 'Why," :-..i 1 her aivif, i:t mild sur prise, I thought you lik'-d it. so much I ist year. I ::m suret'i" far;:! hous 'was cool, the vegetables fiv.-'i, an 1 you know you thought the river t-cenery was de lightful." At incut ion of tin river rcc-nery Elea nor was co.Msci.jus of a pang at h"r heart like p.tin; sh,. a;: ;v.viv I carelessly: "One tires of tilings sometimes. I .should lik a chaiige." Tiiat vening as she took down her long hair in her aunt's room, before re tiring, shy said suddenly, and with a little nervous flutter, "Yes, let's go to Chocorua, auniie; you know you like it, and the Xeu.-.els are. going, and it's as good as any plae-e, after all." -Mi. ;s Jane .Mears received the proposi tion witho it surprise, having had twen ty ye;:-:.' experience with tic fluctuating inclinations of her niece, ijo it was ar ranged. A mouth later found them settled. Th'.re we!-" nuMTous gay young peo ple, Fred Kensel, his sister and Jerome Arthur among the rest, and Eleanor walked and drove and sought out her old haunts by tlie river. Out there was .a lack, a haunting memory, and a wist ful pe.iu which h,T heart sought in vain to ignore. One night a merry half dozen of them were playing tennis in the field near the farm houso which was the temporary home of their choice, when a carriage passing, the driver raised his hat and drew up. "Jack Renshaw!" exclaimed two or three, recognizing and running toward him, rackets in hand. Eleanor i'el t as if stunned, but, being possessed of too much tact and pride to allow herself to seem disconcerted, she approached with the others and offered her hand. lie leaned from the carriage in greeting them all, and Eleanor felt, when he took her hand, that his eyes were seeking her own. But she could scarcely look up. Her old fearless con fidence was gone, and she blushed half angrily at her disadvantage. Jack Renshaw recognized, too, the difference, and a something intuitive di rected his reply to the general impor tunity whether he would not be with them before the season was over. "Yes, certainly, I think I shall," was his reply as he drew his reins and drove on. He had told them that a telegram brought him from Texas a month ago to the bedside of his mother, who was crit ically ill, and whose only son he was. Her home was in an adjoining town. She was now convalescent, and he was to return south in September. That night Eleanor pleaded weariness and retired early to her room. But she could not sleep. She did not try. With out a light, and in her flowing wrapper, she sat long, dreaming in the wide west window; dreaming of all things, of last j smumer and of the dull, gray future. But through every vision there moved one central figure. All else revolved about that. One face haunted her memory-, one voice thrilled her heart. She rose at last and nervously paced the floor. Why should she think of Jack Renshaw? Why could she not shut him out of mind? She Eleanor Armstrong who always had sailed on the crest of the wave, to find herself now chopping dismally in the trough. It was too ex asperating. Yet again and again the same vision haunted her memory, and ever and ever, against her will, the same questions forced an answer. Why could she not forget him? How well he looked! Why had she never noticed his fine expression? What ease and self possession were his! Why had she been so blind before? And so, and so she vexed herself as the night hours wore away. Within a week Jack was back at Cho corua, a guest at The Elms, the village inn. Eleanor saw him constantly, was obliged to do so, since he was a general favorite, although not given to games. His attitude toward her was perplex ing. Politely indifferent, he neither shunned nor sought her. Eleanor was, as always, gay. But her gayety was fit ful; now bordering on extravagance, as when she dashed after a hay cart with Fred; now relapsing almost to sobriety. as w ra; :s O: she sought t V kitchen to as.'ort Willi Id Aunt Ei! nice. ' the arrival of the daily stage she Jt;,d the Kensel girls proposed walking up to the village post ofliee for letters. They were joined on the way by Fred, and at The Elms by re-enforcements, including Mr. Jerome. Arthur and Jack. At the postolHee de livery Kitty K-riisel volunteered to call for letters for the company. "Mr. Jerome Arthur, one; Miss Grace E. Morris, two three! more than your share, Grace Morris; Miss Persis G. A. Pratt, two and a card; MLss Catharine Kensel that's me one; Miss Eleanor Armstrong, card and letter oh, see! and a dead letter, too!" "A 'dead letter? Oh, lot's see!" cried all the girls, huddling together. Jack Renshaw stood at Eleanor's right, looking quietly on. Behold her rosy chock doth palo. And palsied prow her lily hands; 6he daro not rend tho mystic veil ran on the giddy girl who had delivered the letter. Eleanor flushed and wrenched the en velope in laughing contempt. "See if I dare not!" she exclaimed. The inclosed letter fell to the floor, with the addressed side conspicuously uppermost. Jack stooped and restored it to her, inevitably reading the super scription as he did so. Eleanor at that moment read it also. "J. H. Renshaw" nothing less, noth ing more. In amazement and confusion she raised her e3'es to his, which were eagerly regarding her The lightning of recognition flashed between them. There it was, her own letter of a 3-ear ago sent to the dead letter office on ac count of an unfinished address. She re membered it all. She had written his name, nottnng more, that clay when she was hesitating to send the letter. A call er had interrupted and made her forget. Then the maid had mailed it as it was. So Jack had never heard from her, and she had never heard from Jack again. Eleanor hastily thrust the letter in her pocket and hurried from the office, fol lowed by the chattering company, whose attention was, already caught by another matter. Jack soon took his place by her side on the homeward way. Neither spoke until they came to where the old path led out from the main road and through the meadow along the riven The shadows were long and cool, and the golden sunset light swept down the depths of the quiet -water like a reflected sky. "Eleanor," said Jack, pausing at the turn, "I think I see how it all was; I think I understand. Do I not?" Her heart beat thick and fast. She would not trust herself to speak; she only looked away to the sky. "Shall we walk by the river tonight?" he continued, "and would you care now, as I would, not a little, but with all my soul and for all my life, if we never had walked together again?" Eleanor lifted her eyes to his with a look which nswered his fondest hope, ' " v as they tunn i ana went aown tno river path. "lint reai'ty, Jack, you do make me think of a l owl sometimes you look so very solcMii and wise!" she said, with a Hash of lier old audacity, as they came again in the twilight down to the farm house gate Elmira Telegram. The ladies of the South Park cir cle will gave a box social attheHap- tist ij;irriuiuire. .Holiday eveiiuio-, Mav 11. Ladies are expected to 1 hriiiir a box contniiiinir lunch for two, with the Indie s name enclosed The oentlemcii will have the oppor tunity of pnyiiiig twenty-live cents for a box reg-ardless- of the shape or suze of the same. Kirht reserved to withhold names) until boxes are purchased. The South Park band will furnish good music for the oc casion. Come one and all. d2t New Millinery Store. Mrs. C. M. Graves, dressmaking- and millinery. New igoods, new prices, latest styles. Store No. 110 t?outn oru st. 1'iaiismouiii, eu. im Pansiest Yes! In bloom, of the most p-org;eous colors, They will con tinue to bloom all summer, too, and can be selected at Moore's Green House for from 40 to 50 cents per dozen. dtf A restore, stricken, 'and give you a luxuriant jjfrowth of hair, to keep its color natural as in youth, and to remove dandruff, use only Hall's All watches, clocks and jewelry left for repairs at C. II. Jaquette's Neville block, Sixth street, will re ceive prompt attention. All work guaranteed and done in a workman like manner, tf in - Scbirt III. NH A in The Wa.hingtton Ayenue GROCERS -l.VD- Provision Merchants. Headquarters for FLOUR AND FEED, We pay no rent and sell for CASEL You don'tjpaj any bills for dead boat when you buy of this firm. The beet SOFT COAL always on Hand. DON'T FORGET AT THE 5 OOZRZCsTEilRS 5 Opposite Richey Bros Lumber office 4. Time Table GOING WKST GOINC So l 3 :."; a. m No 2 ' 3 5 : ir I. 1" " 4 " 5 9 :Li5 a. in " 8 7 n -15 a. Hi. " H .CST wij iu a. m 7 JJip. m. . 9 :45 aTm. .10:14 a.m. . ..8 :30 a. m. " 9, C :'J5 p,m. " 12.... 11 5 :25 . in. " 20... " 19 11 :03 a. in. Tx. PETERSEN THE LEADING GROCERS HAVE THE MOST COMPLETE STOCK IN THE CITY. EVERYTHING - FREEH - AND - IN - ATTENTION FAKJIEH9 We want your Poultry, Ks, But ter and your farm produce of all kinds, we will pa3' you the highest cash price as we are buyinir lor a lira in Lincoln. R. PETERSEN, THE LEADING GROCERS Plattsmouth - - Nebraska. The Citizens BANK ; PLA.TT8MOUTH - NKBRAJJKA. 0yltal suck paid In 0 Authorized Capital, $100,000. orrxczas . i f&ANK CAKRCTH. JQ8. A. CONNOK Pr"lnt- Vlco-PresMeoi W. B. cusnisw. Casnier. Jfrank Carruth J. a. Cotnor. X. R. Outhir.MB w'Johno'.HnryBcBk,JohBO'Kei W. D. Mrrri&m. Wm. fVetanemp, W. H. Ciuhlnt. TRANSACTS GENERAL BAKIING BUS1NES city uretle.