Evening found Darrell and his friend seated on the rocks watching the

sunset. Mr. Britton was unusually silent, and Darrell, through a sort of

intuitive sympathy, refrained from breaking the silence. At last, as the

glow was fading from earth and sky, Mr. Britton said,-"I have chosen this day and this hour to tell you my story, because,

being the anniversary of my wedding, it seemed peculiarly appropriate.

Twenty-eight years ago, at sunset, on such a royal day as this, we were

married--my love and I."

He spoke with an unnatural calmness, as though it were another's story

he was telling.

"I was young, with a decided aptitude for commercial life, ambitious,

determined to make my way in life, but with little capital besides sound

health and a good education. She was the daughter of a wealthy man. We

speak in this country of 'mining kings;' he might be denominated an

'agricultural king.' He prided himself upon his hundreds of fertile

acres, his miles of forest, his immense dairy, his blooded horses, his

magnificent barns and granaries, his beautiful home. She was the younger

daughter--his especial pet and pride. For a while, as a friend and

acquaintance of his two daughters, I was welcome at his home; later, as

a lover of the younger, I was banished and its doors closed against me.

Our love was no foolish boy and girl romance, and we had no word of

kindly counsel; only unreasoning, stubborn opposition. What followed

was only what might have been expected. Strong in our love for and trust

in each other, we went to a neighboring village, and, going to a little

country parsonage, were married, without one thought of the madness, the

folly of what we were doing. We found the minister and his family seated

outside the house under a sort of arbor of flowering shrubs, and I

remember it was her wish that the ceremony be performed there. Never can

I forget her as she stood there, her hand trembling in mine at the

strangeness of the situation, her cheeks flushed with excitement, her

lips quivering as she made the responses, the slanting sunbeams kissing

her hair and brow and the fragrant, snowy petals of the mock-orange

falling about her.

"A few weeks of unalloyed happiness followed; then gradually my eyes

were opened to the wrong I had done her. My heart smote me as I saw her,

day by day, performing household tasks to which she was unaccustomed,

subjected to petty trials and privations, denying herself in many little

ways in order to help me. She never murmured, but her very fortitude and

cheerfulness were a constant reproach to me.

"But a few months elapsed when we found that another was coming to share

our home and our love. We rejoiced together, but my heart reproached me

more bitterly than ever as I realized how ill prepared she was for what

awaited her. Our trials and privations brought us only closer to each

other, but my brain was racked with anxiety and my heart bled as day by

day I saw the dawning motherhood in her eyes,--the growing tenderness,

the look of sweet, wondering expectancy. I grew desperate.




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