The Anderson Intelligencer

THE MISSING BRIDEGROOM

Of Paul Winchester nothing had ever been heard since his disappearance on the day set for the wedding. It was perfectly sure that he had left Concord on the ill-fated train the night set for his wedding, but after the accident there was no trace of him. His diary, left behind at his boarding house, contained allusions to his intention of going to Ashley at eight; and a letter written to a friend, just as he was on the point of setting out, still more strongly corroborated the testimony of his landlady and the railway conductor. Most people believed him dead drowned on the night of the accident; and if Maude ever indulged a fond doubt that he was still with the living, the cold reality would start up grim and stern before her, and she would put the illusion out of her mind. Admirers without number flocked to the feet of Maude Ashley. The romantic mystery attaching to her intended marriage gave a new charm to her beauty, and the quiet sadness of her eyes was more fascinating than the scintillant brilliancy that had dwelt there before the sorrow came. In March, the intense cold weather froze up the lakes and rivers, and all Ashley turned out on skates. Maude among the rest. She never looked better than she did that cold, clear, frosty day, in her robes of vivid scarlet, trimmed with soft, white fur, and the dainty cap of black velvet, with its snowy feather sweeping down and mingling with the floating gold and brown of her hair. The company drew a little away from her: she had distanced them all, and they stood looking on with envy and admiration. One gentleman alone refused to yield the palm. Howard Wheatcliff was a stranger in the place the travelling partner of a heavy importing firm in Philadelphia— detained at Ashley by unexpected business, and invited to join the skaters by the Landlord's son. Wheatcliff, little and sinewy, kept pace with Miss Ashley. She saw his quiet persistence, and redoubled her efforts to leave him behind. Both did, bravely. The keen air whistled round them sharp and biting the ice fairly shrieked beneath the velocity of their movements, and, excited by the mad race, neither noticed how very near they were coming to Thunder Falls. The spectators saw the danger-they shouted frantically threw up their hands and struck out after them, but Maude was oblivious to everything; and if Wheatcliff recognized the peril, he swept straight on toward it. A few flashes more one bold stroke- Wheatcliff shot past her, and just as her unconscious feet touched the water, he flung his arm around her and drew her to a place of safety, amid the shouts of the bystanders. Looking up into the pale face bending over her, Maude realized something of the danger from which she had escaped. But when she would have thanked him. the words froze on her lips. The white heat of passion in his eyes scorched her. He held her to his side strongly, passionately-as no man, not even Paul, had ever held her before. He this stranger. whom she had not known two hours before existed: Slowly a deep crimson glow crept up to his dusky cheek-his whole soul sur- rendered itself to the intoxication of the moment his hair touched her forehead- she shivered and flung off his arms. In an instant he was cold as herself. "You had better go home. Allow me" He unstrapped the skates from her feet, swung them on his arm, wrapped his travelling shawl around her, and un- heeding the fine, subtle scorn of her man- ner which would have deterred most men. he walked home by her side. At the gate he stopped- She turned and faced him. "You have saved my life," she said hotly. "I suppose I ought to thank you. but I believe I hate you!" "Thank you for that expression of in- terest." he said softly, and leaning over her, before she guessed at his intention, he touched his lips to hers. She broke from him, angry, defiant, with a throbbing brain and a face that burned crimson. He had insulted her--had ignored the purity of her womanhood had dared to do what no man had dared before him. And yet, she said to herself that though she hated and despised him--that she would never forgive this deadly insult-- and nevertheless would not have had any living creature cognizant of what had passed between them. The next day Mr. Wheatcliff called at Ashley. He was tender, respectful, rev- erent. He fitted into a niche in her life erent like no one she had ever met be- fore. She was fain to acknowledge to a new, sweet rest and up after heights of infinity she had never content in his presence her life reached yearned for her soul expanded-she was lifted into a rarer atmosphere--she took hold on a higher and purer existence. memory became to her like a misty Thoughts of Paul Winchester fled: his dream, She saw only the dark penetra- ting eyes of this Howard Wheatcliff. and heard only the low tones of his magnetic voice. He came to Ashley every day. She did not invite him he came with out it. One., clear,- moonlit night, he was strangely- restless. It was no time-for walking--the wind was cold.and bleak. and the snow lay firm and hard on the ground. But he put Maude's shawl around her, and made her go out on the lawn with him. She shuddered at the touch of the wind; he wrapped his arms around her. and there was warmth instead of cold. "Maude," he said, "I love you! Is there any need-of my telling you ?" She knew there was not, but she did not say so. "Maude, I am a fatalist. I was sent hither to meet you. I have needed you all my life long. but the time had not come before God sent me now. I believe it fully. You are mine-I am yours. No earthly power can take you away from me. For the time and for eternity we Are one She began:"Mr. Wheatcliff "My name is George. Call me by it. You are Maude, and not Miss Ashley, to me." She went on, unheeding his passionate. interruption. "George, I have a little history to re- late to you. There must be no clouds betueén us no secrets. Once I loved another." "No, dear Maude, you did not love him; you never knew the meaning of the word love until we met." She crimsoned slowly, her heart ac knowledging the truth. I was engaged to Paul Winchester. The time of our marriage was fixed He was to come to me on the evening train of that fearful night. An accident occurred many were killed; he was missing. And he has never been heard of since." "Yes. I know the whole story; have heard it a dozen times since I came here. But that makes no difference. You are mine. And though Paul Win- chester should rise from the grave and claim you, I would still keep my right!" She clung to him, weak and trembling. A shadow fell between them and the moon. Maude looked up. A tall figure, gaunt and spare, in solemn black, its ghastly face bathed in the liquid moonlight, its profile cut clear against the purple sky, its head in the attitude of attention. and its whole individuality-Paul Winches- ter. Maude stood frozen motionless. Every faculty was absorbed in gazing on that ghostly apparition. Following the direction of her strained gaze, Wheatcliff turned, but the phan- tom vanished in a group of hemlocks and his eyes met only vacancy, lighted by the pale moonlight. Maude's entreaties induced Wheatcliff into the house -nor would she suffer him to depart until the dawn began to redden the eastern sky. She was oppressed by a terrible fear-vague and nameless; but none the less terrible. Wheatchiff was no tardy wooer, and before he left her that night the wedding day was fixed; and a diamond gleamed on her finger in token of her betrothal. The night before the day set apart for the bridal, Maude sat alone, at midnight, in one of the great parlors of Ashley Hall. There was a subdued light in her eye and a bright glow on her cheek which was not all owing to the red fire- light that fell around her. Wheatcliff's kisses were yet warm on her lips she felt yet the lingering charm bf his presence. There was the chair he had just sat in,- the bunch of scarlet fuchsias he had brought her-and there was one of his gloves lying on the carpet where he had dropped it. She picked it up and touched it to her lips. The door opened softly So very soft ly she was only dimly conscious of some approaching presence, and she did not look up until a heavy hand pressed her shoulder. She stood face to face with Paul Win- chester. He folded his arms: and re- garded her with a stern and gloomy Maude Ashley, is this constancy? he asked, pointing to the ring on her finger God is my witness, Paul, I thought you dead "And had you known the contrary would it have made any difference? Answer me truly, do you love this man ?" A faint, rosy flush broke slowly over her face. He was answered. Enough. Maude I am satisfied Life will be worth little to me now. But I must tell my story and obtain your par- don. Nay, do not refuse to listen; it is the last favor I shall ever ask of you. Before I ever saw you, Maude, I was married. Early in life I met and fancied a young girl in one of the Middle States -the daughter of my landlady. She was a fair, simple girl, and I married her. I wearied of her full soon, and she had never loved me. She had taken my name only because her mother favored the alliance. We parted at last with high words, and I came North. I pro- vided her with all the money she needed, and when our little girl was born I set- tled upon her a life annuity. Just before I met you I saw a notice of my wife's death in a newspaper. I was free, for the child had died some months previously When I saw you, I loved for the first time, and after I was raised to the height of felicity by your acceptance. I could not get courage to tell you this secret of my life. I feared your high, pure soul would shrink from the man who had once, in name at least, belonged to an- other. So I kept it hidden. Sometime I would tell you, I said--sometime, when I was sure of your love. Well, I took the train on that night to come to Ashley Hall. Judge of my consternation when I tell you that entering the car I sat down beside my own wife! The recog- nition was mutual, and I think Alice was quite as deeply horrified as myself. It appears that the obituary had referred to a cousin of hers bearing the same name, and hence my mistake. The mo- ments that passed until I felt the stun- ning shock of that terrible leap into the river, were agonizing. The train I knew was an express, and did not stop until it reached Ashley. Of course I could not think of going there. The accident put an end to all trouble. I leaped out of the flying car, and gaining the land fled to the woods. Once there in the cool. calm solitude, I sat down and thought over my situation. I could not meet the reproach of your eyes--I could not face the matter like a man. There remained only flight. For six months I have been in South America. A week ago I returned home, and the first news that greeted me was the death of Alice. Having ascertained it to be correct, I hastened to Ashley only to learn that you are about to be united to another! O, Maude! Maude! Is it just?" She touched his clasped hands pity ingly. "May God be good to you!" she said soft'y. He rose without a word, and went out with the blessing clinging to him. Maude and Wheatcliff were married. Two years after their union Paul Win- chester was killed at the battle of Fred- ericksburg.