Contra Silentium [pp. 39]

Contra Sitentiumn.
shone out of his eyes.
"Dear heart!" she exclaimed, as she saw
how welcome to him was the food. "How
thee must have hungered!"
When he had eaten, Jonas took her hand
and they sat sat quietly in the gathering twilight, silent of words, but with joyful hearts.
And as Jonas went to bed in the little spare
chamber, he felt surprised to notice entire
absence of that desire for death which had
so haunted him before.
The next day he told her all the story of
his fortunes, from the day of his first leaving
the village in his youth, to the sad departure
of a few days before. As he told her the
loss of his possessions, her hand gently took
his, and she said "Jonas, I have enough for
thee and me-"
That evening something very strange happened; as Jonas was about to retire, Mary
entered the room and placed on the table a
glass, some lemons, a bottle containing
whisky, some sugar, and a kettle of hot
water. So the long-missed punch was once
more brewed, and Jonas was happy. As he
was finishing his glass he fell to thinking, and
the result of his reflections was soon expressed.
"I think he was a-lyin'," said he in a
tone of profound conviction.
"Who, dear?" questioned Mary.
"That agent," said Jonas, as he started
for bed.
The next morning Jonas was thoughtful
and preoccupied. He seemed saddened by
something. The truth was he felt his position as a dependent upon Mary's bounty,
and she with a woman's perception noticed
it. Nothing was said that day, but the sky
seemed not so bright as before, nor the
blossoms so sweet, and Jonas went to bed
with a troubled heart.
I do not know how it came about, but
the next morning at a little before noon you
might have seen them sitting in the doorway, hand in hand, and a sweet, radiant
happiness in their looks. The next day
was the Sabbath, and the little knot of villagers who went to church were surprised to
see Mary leading into her pew an old man,
who smiled upon her joyfully, and had no
eyes for aught besides. When the preacher,
however, announced the marriage intentions
of Mary Atherton, widow, and Jonas Lee,
bachelor, their surprise knew no bounds.
They stared at Mary, on whose withered
cheek was a faint but beautiful blush, and
they saw the stranger beaming upon her
with the utmost joy of expression. So the
good-natured villagers, less prying than is
usual, minded their own business, and in a
few weeks Jonas and Mary were man and
wife.
Far off in the village once their home,
the cottage abandoned by Jonas on that
eventful morning was still empty, and the
garden grew in undisturbed luxuriance.
But the owner was in a distant town, at
peace and happy in a new-found home and
in an old, but long-lost love.
P. L. Sternbergh.
CONTRA SILENTIUM.
O years, what bring you save new toil and cares?
O bring full speech for thoughts that now are dumb:
Lest silent still, Death find us unawares!
And silent we must watch the last great Silence come.
Elizabeth C. Atherton,
1887.]