The San Francisco call. [volume], June 23, 1901, Image 11

About The San Francisco call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1895-1913

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11
-- ¦— i - :¦ -..vs.,.—...-,*.-- v=*.""''»,
THE STJNDAT CALIi/
with all classes of his flock. Mrs. Ainslie
was greatly beloved by all who knertv'her,
so the villagers roused themselves to do
honor to both bride and bridegroom. .A
flower-wreathed arch spanned the en
trance of the village street, school ch'l
dren, clad in their best, lined the church
yard ;path along which the wedded pair
must pass,. each child armed with; a bas
ket of flowers ..to. scatter before the feet
of the bride, "and, mmd, children,, you
are to scatter, them before her, not to pelt
her with them," were the schoolmistress's
wise instructions— counsels too often for
gotten by enthusiastic rice scatterera at
many a fashionable wedding, when the
luckless bride and bridegroom are treated
with a stinging shower of the grain aimed
directly at their persons, often at their
faces. ¦.'¦-'.
The "sun was bright; the day warm, the
joy bells ringing merrily, "everything ap
propriate for a wedding," as ¦ the school
mistress remarked. Every inhabitant who
could do so had flocked the church to be
liuld • the interesting ceremony; and the
village .street looked lonely arid deserted,
"J Knew tjou &)ou(d Come Sack to tide Someday. *
venient heap to await the return of. the
sightseers. ..¦¦-..
* "I. be sure to hear all the news from
Polly— she have a long tongue, like all
the women," philosophically reflected the
old man.' , ,
VYou . have gay doings here to-day,
friend," ' remarked the stranger, as he
came up. .-.',..
"Aye, to be sure; It's the passon's wed
din' day, and. Madam Ainslie, she's put
off her mournin' at last." .
A sudden spasm passed across' the
bronzed countenance of the stranger, t
"Madam Ainslie — do you mean the lady ;
¦who lives at the Knoll?" ,
"Aye." responded Roeer, "I do, and ; a
good, kind, lady she is, as.u3-poor folks
know well. .'Twas, mostly to see her I?
was a-golng to the weddin*. Passon's
well enough, but I've knpwed Madam the
longest." , - „¦
"And she— Marian . Ainslie— is going to
be married you say?'! asked the;
stranger eagerly.- -
1 Roger 'nodded. ¦¦'
"Marian Ainslie— that be : the bride's j
name right enough. It's been cried out
in church these last thtee Sundays— "'
The stranger, a tall, fine-looking man,
absolutely ptaggered for a moment, as .
If he had received a blow; then sat down .
by Roger's side. ' ¦ "¦>
"What else could I have expected ?"_.hc
murmured. "I was a fool to come here,"
and a strange , kind, of dizziness seemed
to overpower him.-- • , -'• ¦:¦ •¦ •,-
Qld Roger, half, blind and wholly self
engxosspd, did not note his ; companion's
cgitation. ¦>. •": . , ¦ .
"There be fine doings In the vfllage to
day," maundered on the old man, Va tea':
to all- the chlltler > and a ~ dinner tn the
'older folks. I bo too old to go to thicky I
feasts, so. Madam she said she'd . send
me anice\blt of trie prog at home. The
weddln's going on now,? and Roger,' re
membering the meal that-was to. follow
It, awoke to a great .vivacity, "man and
wife' the friend of passon's,.. who 'corned '
over to do the job. is makin' of 'emnow ;
—why, -. sir, ¦ you . do look bad,"* as the'
stranger's • ghastly i face attracted even
Roger's attention, "be you took 111?"
- "No," I. only hurried- a' little too much In
thishot sun," feoidthe stranger, suddenly
rising to his feet with swift resolution. 1 •
Harry— for , the, newcomer was no other
than the long-lost sailor— had now over- .
come: his .momentary; weakness. For. a
! tidings, but his sense of duty came to his
aid. - .-. '
"It seems actually cruel to appear !n
.this way after . the poor child has — very
excusably— forgotten me and put another
love in my place," Ainslee said to himself,
"but it is the only thing to do, and Min
nie would be iho first to say- ao.- - 1 * will
not trouble her with my presence after
to-day;., I can easily get afloat again, and,
•who knows, fate may be kinder in my
next voyage— to Minnie as to me,"' he
added.bitterly. ¦•.;' . ;
The little, church was crowded, but the
stranger .pushed: his way in with an utter
disregard of politeness and strode up the
afsle. Before the .altar stood a graceful
girlish vision, which he. recognized as that
of his Minnie of nineteen years ago; he
noted the. same snowy raiment and veil,
the same, golden hair; was he mad or
dreaming— had the long years which had
passed left no trace upon that' bright,
smil!ng, ' girlish face; could the bride of
to-day be so absolutely identical with her
former self of so long ago? . ¦ . ..
As he paused in . sheer amazement he .
heard the soft' tones of . a well remem
bered voice. . . i -. '¦¦'•"¦¦
VI, Marl an, "began the bride, repeating
the very words spoken- on the • salf-same
spot to himself on his own wedding day.
. "There is an impediment," cried the
stranger. ": stepping forward, to ! the • unut
terable horror and consternation of the
decorous -village ; congregation, who fully
• believed -.that- a ' dangerous" lunatic had
come among them, but the next -moment
a woman's voice rang out clear" and joy
ful. ¦ . / ;¦ ¦:. - ¦; . ..•• • -•¦.-...¦¦
"Harry, my own husband! I knew, you
.would come back -' to me some day," and
loving arms were clasped around hj«» neck
ord.f- -fair end gracious • woman, wltii all
the bride's beauty matured, rather than
faded, was weeping tears of "joy on his
breast. v\ ¦' ' ' , ¦¦¦ ¦' - .:'. V>. : . -,-. ::,' \ '- ¦ ¦
. Minnie, his Minnie; assuredly beautiful
slill. though 'no longer the girl .wife from
whom hq had parted. /Indeed," as her hus- ;
band iRazed.upon her 'now, he' thought
that the- years had rather added to . her
charms than robbed her of any; for the
bloom' of .ertrly girlhood had been replaced
by a sweet- and gracious dignity..- a calm
serenity of ; expression which ;only. comes\
to those have ."lovedi and endured,
and: been, patient." •• But who. then; -was
.this f air t maiden in her bridal array.' who
was now gazing with widely dilated eyes
upon the amazing spectacle of her mother
—ordinarily so calm and composed—cling
ing passionately to the neck of the stran
ger who had, in this extraordinary man
ner. Interrupted the wedding ceremony?
"Our daughter. Harry, the child whom
you never saw." whispered Minnie; to
whom indeed her husband's return seemed
less startling than to any of the other
spectators— perhaps because, In her secret
heart, 'the fond wife hadnever ceased to
"hope against hope."
The old parish clerk, a very crabbed and
matter-of-fact personage., now struck In
with an admirable common sense remark.
"Be this weddin' to be finished to-da/
or- not— for it , do be nigh 12 o'clock," he
remarked severely., • . ¦ ;
Dawkins had his official position to con
sider, and was not going to allow orthodox
church ceremonials to be thus interrupted
by the abrupt.arrlval of folks who were
supposed to be drowned and dead years
ago. • ' • • : « . . •
The officiating clergyman wisely took
the hint, and hastily proceeded with the
service; in which the bride and bride
groom, albeit both somewhat agitated
duly bore their parts, while the elder cou
ple behind them held each other's hands
tightly, and felt as If they were them
selves renewing their own marriage vows.
'"•¦••Inr-the. seclusion "of the vestry, explana
tions took place, while the expectant
crowd without waited long for tho re
-appearance of the bride and bridegroom '
and the marvelous news of "Madam Aln
clie's husband's" return flew from lln to
lip/ \. ¦• ;,- ' , _ . . .'. ¦ . <
The Joy at her husband's reappearance
seemed to have rendered Mrs. Alnsfee ln
sensibleVeven to surprise, and she alone
asked no questions regarding those nine
teen "years of- silence. She had always
cherished a secret hope that her husband
would return to her, and to-day this hope
had been- fulfilled; she had- him back
again.- and this bliss swallowed up all
other thoughts. It. was rather to the eag
er'ears, of the. re"5t of the party in the
vestry that Harry Alnslle now related the
strange ; tale of his adventures. since I e
had left :his young bride some nineteen
summers ago. . • ¦. • j . .
: It was all too- true that the luckless
"Calliope had ,'Toundered at sea, 1 '.. but, as
often ; happened in such disasters, a< few
of the crew hai survived: Harry, and two
other . men. These had rigged up a raft
and been at. langth washed up on th«
shores of a small uninhabited island in
the Pacific. Here they had remained tor
years, subsisting on game, fruit and fish
(happily the islet contained several
springs of fresh water) and having al3o
saved some few necessaries ¦ from the
ship's stores on their raft. Years went
by without any hope of rescue, and Aina
lie was left the sola survivor of the trio
who had originally landed on the islet,
One of his companions had died very
shortly after the wreck (from Injuries re
ceived while m the water), the other
passed away some years afterward.
Thus Ainslie was left all alone and hers
hfs recollections became a blank. Some
ten years after the loss of the Calliope the
trew of a local trading vessel, driven out
of her course by contrary winds, landed
at the island in search of water. They
found what they sought: they also found
a man. clad in Kkins like a veritable Rob
inson Crusoe, who hailed them in Eng->
lish, but was unable to give any clear ac-»
count of himself, or to state how he came
where he was. The long years Of loneli
ness in this solitary islet had told
strangely upon Ainslie' 3 brain) and, by
one of those curious instances of lapse of
memory well known' tJ doctors, his mind
had become a complete blank regarding
the whole of his past life,
* The crew of the trading vessel toek him
.off in their boat, and, when on board the
vessel, the sight of -the familiar nautical
surroundings awoke remembrances of hia
old professional skill; whence his rescuers
concluded he must have been an officer
or captain of some wrecked vessel:; but;
Ainslie could tell them nothing of hia own
past life, nor even recall how long he had.
been on the island,. In all other respects
his mental faculties were sound, he eas
ily resumed the habits of civilization, and,
when he was landed at San Francisco,
whither the trading vessel 'was bound, the
tale of his romantic adventures attracted
interest and he found friends. But the
citizens of San Francisco had either never
heard of the Calliope's fate or had Ion?
ago forgotten it, and no one thought of
identifying the stranger with one of the
passengers of a vessel "missing" for over
ten years. -i - :
"John Smith." as he now called himself,
settled down to his work in a shipowner's
office, a quiet and silent man. with the sad
mystery of his own life ever pressing on
him. He made few acquaintances and led
an almost hermit existence, his one hope
and prayer being that he might regain,
the recollection of his past life, the knowl
.edge of his own identity. His wish was
answered by a sudden accident. Strolling
round the docks one day he found his
hand abcuptly grasped by the captain of
a lately arrived Knglish vessel.
"Good heavens, Ainslie, for you are
Ainslie I am sure, where have you been
hiding for the last nineteen years? We
thought the Calliope foundered then with
' all hands on board." -
"Ainslie!" The sound of his own name
brought back In a moment all the lost
past. Harry remembered all now. hia
wedding, his "last cruise." the shipwreck
— was all this nineteen years ago? Ex
planations rapidly ensued between Harrv
and his friend, a former schoolfellow and
early messmate, who had recognized Ains
lie, in spite of the lapse of years since
they had met. partly by hla features, also
by a personal peculiarity."
"When I saw you walking along I said
• to myself, 'why. that must be Ainalie.
whom we all thought dead,' but when I
looked at your left hand I knew I was
right."
An accident In boyhood had necessitated
the amputation of the first joint of Har
ry's left hand little linger, and his friend
had not forgotten this mark.
Good Captain Barton was somewhat
perplexed to understand how a man.
sensible in all other points as Ainslie cer
. tairily was, could have so utterly forgot
ten his own name and identity for so
many years, but yielded at last to Ham
let's conviction that "there are more
things in heaven and earth than are
dreamt of In your philosophy.".
To fly back to England on the> wings of>
the wind was Ainslie's one desire, and it
was with a chill at heart that he yielded
to his friend's counsels to refrain from
writing or communicating until he ar
rived Jn person.
"Nineteen years fs a long -time to be
away." said Captain Barton, warnlngly.
and Ainslie understood the unspoken sen
timent that underlaid the words. His
wife might be now dead— or another's!
Captain Barton could give no Informa
tion on the subiect; Minnie's life had been
too retired for her to keep up Intercourse
even 'with her husband's old friends, and.
it was with anxiety, even with dread,
'that Alns».e -returned to England and
hastened to t>e quiet, country village
where he had left his ' young bride so
many years before. And here, as we have
related, the long lost wanderer found the
faithful wife -waiting and hoping still,
and discovered in the bride whose wed
ding he so strangely Interrupted, a sweet
daughter of whose very birth he had been
S "A.nd now I have only found my daugh
ter to lose her again," as Harry would
' sometimes say In Jest, In the happy days
that followed. ¦ -^j.-
But the "loss" had not separated
Marian very far from her parents, for
the Rectory and the . Knoll were close >
neighbors. Also, within a year of Ains
lie's return, another little daughter was
born at the Knoll, followed, In due time,
by a baby brother. Minnie Ainslie's cup
of happiness was now Indeed full; and, as
her friend3 said, she still looked "young
enough to be her daughter's sister."
The family circle — with some of the
nephews and niecei at the Rectory, so
closely contemporary with their little
aunt and uncle at the Knoll, was rather a
perplexing one to strangers; and the story
of Mrs. Alnslee's married -- life was pro
nounced a "real romance."
"W<s lost nineteen years of our married
life together, my darling," Harry would
sometimes say to his faithful wife, "but
I think we have all the accumulated hap
piness of those lost years granted to us
now-when we are together again." '
"I " never quite lost all hope/ Harry,"
whispered " Minnie, "not «even when they
made me wear my widow's dress. At
least; dearest, I felt you were mine al
ways, and I knew that we should meet
again one day, whether I went to you or
you returned to me. . You remember th« •
motto you had . engraved in my wedding
ring, /ndelis.'^B&58g®6 . -
«¦ "I remember the woman who acted that
motto in her life." . replied the happy,
husband, clasping his wife in his arms.
of his home, as she was already- of hU
heart. Minnte almost echoed the gossips'
cry regarding her own early wedlock: and
Mr Herbert half smilingly reminded the
mother that her daughter, if she married
him at once, would be an older bride than
she herself had been.
Again, in the pecond generation, tho
lovers' pleading overbore the hesitation of
the elders. The rector was all that was
cood and estimable: he had been a fa
miliar visitor in the Ainsleo household
ever since his induction into the parish
some four vears previously, and if hfs own
years, some ?hJrty-two in number, were
rather in advance of his bride's seventeen
Tor "nearly eighteen now," as Marian
KaidV it was a fault upon the right side,
"and another reason against delay"." as
xfr Herbert urged. Marian's father had
bL-n"but : 24 when he had wedded a yet
more eirllsh r ride.
"And you will not lose your daughter;
ehe will be close by,you still." pleaded the
prospective bridegroom; so Minnie yielded.
The wedding was to be a village festival.
The rector had becomo .very popular
The ill-fated Tallicpe ssilrd away to the
¦Western f*»?.s and was heard of no mora
Jt is nefd!»«?«! rtv dwell upon the sad tale
of the months and years that followed;
tho doubts, the suspense, the vain hopes,
the <-atf hing'nt rumors, and, at last, as
the Ion,? years passed by, the sad cer- ,
tainty that th* first erue! report of the
missing vessel "supposed to have found
ered at sea with all hands on board," was
but too true a talc.
"Returned mirEing." with its harassing
doubt and uncertainty. 1b. in many re-
Fperts.. a crueler pain to bear than the
actual knowledge that our loved ones are
tnken awav from earth. For how many
years d'd Marian CMinn'.e. as her house
hold name ran) listen for a familiar foot
fall on the threshold, watch anxiously for
the village postman, eagerly scan the
newspapers for any chance account of
"Rome rtrange returning
Of one wncm all thought dead."
But five. ten. fifteen, eighteen yeans
passed away without ore word or token
from the missing; and even Minnie had
been forced to outwardly abandon hope,
to assume a widow's drers. to take legal
possession of her husband's property in
the interests of the baby who had come
to bless and comfort her In her desola
tion ar.d eorrow. "the child whose face its
fnther never saw." at the young mother
often said with tears.
It was a long time before Minnie would
consent to own herself a widow; and even
•when, in deference to the wishes of rela
tives, she agreed to submit to the out
ward marks of bo doing, in her own heart
the girl cherished some wild, vague hope
Still.
"\\> shall never m*et our lad again un-'
til the pea gives up its dead." said the old
rector kindly but firmly, for he believed
it would be better for the young widow
to "accept the fact of her bereavement";
and Minnie was silent, but in her heart
the thought of the poet's story of "Enoch
Arden." a tale which has h£d its many
counterparts in real life. "If my husband
comes back after forty years he shall at
least find me faithful and waiting for
him." thought the girl with a stifled sob.
More than once in the later years had
Minnie received an offer to change her
condition, offers which even the rector. .
verv aged and broken now, had gently
blamed her for refusing.
"Child, it Is over sixteen years now
Eince our poor boy— and all the crew
sailed away, and not one word or line
has ever come from any one on board the
Calliope. There, is no possible doubt that
the vessel foundered in midooean In that
terrible gale. You are a young woman
etill and have life before you; if you
could make this honest young fellow hap
pv"
*"I am waiting for Harry," said Minnie,
trith a bright flush on her cheek.
"My darling, he will never come again
to us in this world."
"Then I will wait to go to him." said
Minnie firmly, and the old man said no
more; although, as he and Miss Leslie
Fimetiraes remarked to each other, it
•would have been a comfort to both of
ihfm to have seen their darling safe In
mme sooi man's care before their call •
cnif. '
Hut Minnie was constant to the love of
her. youth, to the husband of one brief
**pe» month's time, and the care and ed
'j'; tin of- her little daughter- filled up
tr.i;,!, ,, f the blank in her heart.
. iMari&n. the younger, was a sweet and
loyable <hild. unspoiled by all the devo-
Uon lavished upon her by her mother, and
.':'*T<''at-aunt. and great-uncle; and as the
rjtitUe one irovr Into girlhood she and her
¦¦;y>uns mother (but eighteen years dis
- lance. <ji aEe between the pair) became
tur-h . "ompk-te and perfect companions as
to greatly soften Minnie's sense of in-
loneUnepfe: as first the old rector.
and trur, Mj=s J^eslie, were laid to rest
: -*Wjfr the lime trees in the churchyard.
foe young widow and her child lived on
**M in the house which Harry had titled
yp for his bride, and a peaceful round of
.'¦naritabJe works and Innocent occupations
¦JW inu rests filled up the quiet days: until
-winriH- experienced the shock which comes
y» all parents when they suddenly realize
:jnat. their "children." still so youthful in
in* eyes of their fathers and mothers, are •
£T.J n . lo manhood and womanhood, and.
\vh "" tu J" n> are wooing and being wooed, I
;» np n the new rector of the parish, a
Mr *'? rl hy and estimable man, first toM i
wit', Alnsl >* «f his hope and desire that 1
Eiin Wu ttle Ma «-ian." as her mother
tuu ciLlk-d herj mluht become the mistress
f>f UCH a child to be married!" cried
V^^. all the village gosrii»3 when They
yj heard that the handsome young
k-,_v sailor who had been paying a
farewell visit to his uacie, the
rector cf Clovorme&d. was intending to
carry off the fairest flower of the local
"garden of girls" as his bride. Yes. 17 was
very young to assume the caress of wed
lock, and Aunt Margaret long: resitted the
pleadings of the lovers and wished for de
lay. But Harry Ainslee would Uike no de
nial; not even although he would be
obliged to leave his young wife, a month
after their wedding, to sail upen the expe
dition to which he had pledged himself be
fore the eudden death of a distant relative
had i)ltLced him In sucO comfortable -pe
cuniary circumstances as to make him
quite independent of hU profession. Lieu
tenant Ainslee had now rieoided to quit
the navy us goon as he had returned from
this last expedition, from which, h-jwever.
he could r.ot honorably retire at the last
moment, It was a vcyage of scientific ex
ploration amors? seme of the Pacific
islands, with whose geogTap'iic:il pjritijn
Ainslee was particularly well acquainted;
he had placed his professional experience
at the service or the organizers cf thLs ex
pedition, all their arrangements were com
pleted, and he could not abruptly break
faith with them.
'•Wait to be married ustH you return."
paid Aunt Margaret, in hc-r capacity of
guardian to the orphan girl whote affec
tions the young sailor had wor.j but. as
Harry pointed out in. « private interview
with the old lady, he earnestly wished to
feel that, r<hni:ld any untoward accident
occur on this "Jaet crui;-e." he had at
least left his darling Minnie secured
a?»inRt poverty,
"It is better that I should leave her all
I possess when sh«» Is my wife. Instead of
merely my betrothed." urged the lover,
and Miss Les'ie could but agree
Marian berse'f had nnihir.s— Miss Kee
lie's little annuity d'ed with her— fo there
vas sjirc reason In Hurry's argument;
1'ncL'eh the old lady echoed, in other
vords, the nne'.ent pagan cry of "Absit
Omen." as Hairy spoke of the pobi-ibility
of his Don- return.
As M*Ft Lf-'Jif- wa« «v»nt to eay !n th«
lat*"- years, it almost. kerned cs if the
ynuiiR ir?n's precaution had been pro
r>!'f tic. Th* nu'.et bridal took place, t nnd
Hurry and Mirian were linked together
for weal and woe; thr-n came a tew
•works' happy I cur t^erother. th« installa
tion nf the you<ig wife in a pretty hcuse
rot fj:r fiom her eld abode, where sh«
end her £ur<t were to pass the year of
l.r-r husband's absence then followed an
ozonized part'.r.jj. and then— "the rest was
bilenee." <
[Copyright in the 13 m ted States of Amer
v^ica by D. T. Pierce.]
By J&IC" Jfardy.
SUPPOSED TO HAVE FOUNDERED
AT SEA
as a stranger walked up it, and glanced
about him, as If desirous of making some
Inquiry. -
On a heap of stones at a corner of the
road sat old Roger, as he was popularly
called, one of the most venerable inhabi
tants of the village, very deaf, partially
blind, and therefore probably leas affected
by the general excitement than were the
rest of ni« neighbors. The grand daugh
ter, with whom the old man resided, had
gone off to the church with all her chil
dren but old Roger found the walk uphill
rather a long one. and had wisely depos
ited himself comfortably upon this - cou-
moment the news which he had for som£
while past so dreaded. aijd yet almost
expected to hear, had completely un
nerved him; but now he remembered that
he had a duty to perform.
"My darling, 1 have injured you enough
already," he murmured passionately.
"Heaven knows I wish I had never lived
to return, at all— as matters stand— but I
know your true, pure heart and I cannot
let you wrong yourself and an Innocent
man by tnklns this step in ignorance."
Bitter reflections surged in the mind of
this other "Enoch Arden" 'as he strode
up the narrow lane which led to the vil
lage church; but amid them all was no
hard thought of the wife who, as he be
lieved, was now taking upon herself, vows
to another. Nineteen years was an ab«
pence which might well have tried the
firmest consistency, and it was no wonder
thttt the -young widow had consoled her
self at last. Indeed, as he pressed on,
Alnslie's chief regret was that he must,
by his sudden appearance", shock and dis
tress the 1 woman whom he- still so devot
edly loved; his first inclination had been
to turn* away acaln on hearing Rogers