A Woman's Error

Theyouna people ofGroveland were having a picnic. It was in a pleasant Grove just at the eclge of the ma in road. Most of the village girls were there, dreesed in their crisply-starched and neatly-ironed white dresses; some with brightcolored eashes and bows to match, others wreaMied with wild flowei-s gathered in the wooda, which stretched invitingly away in the shady coolness at the back of the grove. Conspicuous amone; the rustic beauties was Barbara Wildman. She was a tall bright-looking girl, whose great dark eyes usually ilashed back a merry answer to the jests of the rustic beaux, who eenerally hovered around her likemoths around a flame. Just now, liowever, their brightness was under a cloud; for Mark Everson was standing at ber side, and thetetea-tete aha had for some time been endeavoring to avoid was inevitable. She was sorry to lose Mark's friendship, and with a woman's instinct she knew that it must be all or nothing from henceforth with him; and with a newly-learned insight into her own heart, she now knew that she did not love him. Her answer must be "No." With all her gay friendly ways she had not an atom of intentional coquetry about her, and with a sudden resolution to end nis suspense she turned towards him. "Woll, Mark," she said gently, "what is it you want to say to me?" "You must know without my telling. Oh, Barbara, it is your own eweet self I want! I have been as true to you as the needie is to the pole since the time when, a little boy and girl, we used to go nutting together." "Poor Mark! I am sorry." There was no mistaking the expression of the 3oft brown eyes. Genuine pity was in them for the pain she was causing, but no love. 'Don't, Barbara! I can't bear itl Give me a chance before you say a decided 'No.' 111 do things for you no one ever did before, if you'll only promise to try and love me." Just then a young man rode by on a powerful black horse. Mark saw a sudden change pass over Barbara's face. Turning, he saw, with a bitter pain tugging at his heart-strings, that the eyes of the girl that he loved wero restma on the e-mger's íace with a rapt lingering expression in them which had never irradiated them for him, her olá-time faithful friend. There was no mistaking the answering look in the eyes of the equestrian, as, bowii.g low, he rode hngeringly by, turning ever and anon to smile at the fair face which Mark knew now was not to be the licht of hie home. "So it is that stranger whom you love! You need not deny it," he said almost fiercely. "I saw it in your eyes." Barbara answered, proudly: "I do not wish to deny it." Then, with a sudden change of manner, she held out her hand: "I love him as I love my life, and have promised to marry him; but, dear old Mark, letus be friends for the sake of the pleasant days of our happy childhood. Be my brother, Mark! Mark hesitated; buthe could not resist the pleading wistfulness of the eyes, whose brightness shone through a mist which suggestedthat tearswere not far away. He took the soft little hand in his great brown palm, hardened by manly toil. "I will be your friend, Barbara, but I cannot see you and be in your society as I have been. I could not bear it. I shall sell the farm, and leave the place. "No, Mark; you need not do that to avoid seeing me; for we are to be married next week, and- and I shall go with him," Mark looked at her in pained surprise, as, blushingly and hesitatingly, ahe told him this, overcoming her maidonly shyness and reserve so that the honest heart, whose friendship sho coveted, would not drive its owner to take a rash step which niight mar his whole future. "Going away so soon, and with a perfect stranger? Oh, little Barbara! what do you know of him? He may be a fraud, for ought you can teil." A sudden anger flashed up in the girl's eyes. "I know this, Mark; I love him, and it is cruel in you to make such a suggestion." "But you know nothing of his family - of his past life." "He brought letters to auntie. His mother was an o)d friend of hers. Don't be worried, dear old Mark. He is as good as gold. I would stake my life on it." Mark sighed heavily and turned away. The joy of the afternoon had gone for him on his way home. He did not see Barbara again until long after her marriage, though her ■wedding was quiet an event in the quiet neighborhood, for the friends and neighbors were invited for miles around, but poor heavtsick Mark stayed away. Por weeks aftar the beauty and happiness of the bride was the village goesip.and Mark heard it talked over until he feit as though he must cry out in his agony. Several years passed by, during which Mark led a lonoly life. Hisdisappointment, whjle not souring his kindly natura, had made him indifferent to social pleaaures. But after a time his uncle Qifton moved with his family into the village. He had a nuniber ofdaughters - pleasant lively girls - and it was not long before they drew Mark "out of his shell," as they called it. He grew to enjoy their marry chatter, and found his way to their home quite often. Ono of the cousins had formed a friendship with a young girl named Alice Marron, while away at school. It had proved more lasting than the ordinary liking between schoolmates, and she waa to spend the summer in Qtovelnd. She was a petitie little thing, whose shy blushes at the most trivial word addressed her by Mark at first amused him greatly. He tried to draw her out, and in doing so, found after a time, that Alice, with her childish wnys, had brought peace and happiness into the heart once so filled with the itnags of the lo&fc Barbara. From the lirst, Mark had seemed . to Alies all that was aood and noble, ; so liin wooing was a speed y one, and in a twelvemonth after his introductlon, Everson Farm had a gentle mistress. Comfort, and luxury joined hands r. beautifying the qnaint old homesiead, for the prosperous young farmer had plenty of money and "Alice Jnust have pretty surroundings," he thought tenderly, "to make up for such a commonplace workaday sort of a husband." It would not'have done to eay the ] concluding clause aloud, however, ■ for he oven well knew that the little ! wotnan would not have changed him j for a king; though he considered I himaolf sadly overrated in her mind, ! it was sweet to have it so. Barbara liad fallen completely out of the Groveland world. The aunt with whoin she had lived died ly soon after her marriage, and all trace of the village beauty seetued to have vanished. If Mark ever thought of her it was to wonder at the poisnancy of the old sufferings. His wedded happiness had been without acloud tomaritsbrightness. Alice, is a matron, hadgiown, even more attractive than in her girlhood. Care sat Hghtly on her white forehead, and her soft pink cheeks seeraed made for dimples to play hideand-seek in. One evening Mark came home trom his weekly marketing expedition to the neighboring town seemingly strangely thoughtful and troubled. Alice noticed it, and, after a time, said: "Has anything gone wrong with you to-day, Mark?" He looked up in surprise. "Why, littie wife? vVhat put that into your head?" "I don't know, I'm sure; unless it is that you seem so quiet aud unlike yourself." Mark thought a moment, then he said." "The truth is, Allice, I am sorry and pained, but not for myself. Did you ever hear anyone speak of a girl who was once the beauty of the village- Barbara Wildman. Alice had heard the whole story of Mark's infatuation and disappointment, but she made no sign, though her heart gave a great throb at hearing the name from her husband's lips. "Why, what of her?" ehe asked quietly. "I saw her to-day, and it made my heart ache. She is the mere shadow of what she was, and she is alone and friendless. Think of it! Barbara Wildman looking for employment! Coulden't we find a place for her, Allie? She was a notable worker in the old times, and could help in the butter and cheese making. Alice would rather have died than let Mark see the keen pain that his words had caused her. The thought of his first love domiciled in her houset It was like a dart aimed at her heart. But she was too noble not to strive againsc the unworthy feeling, and as soon as she could command hervoice, she answered: "Certainly, Mark. If it would please you, bring her here. There is always room for an extra helper." So it was arranged, Barbara carne. A quiet reserved woman - still beautiful - but not with the winsome brightne8s of old. Suñering and sorrowhad set its stamp upon her high broad forehead, and the great bright eyes seemed looking away into some unapproachable distance. Her lips were shut so tightly together that the pretty poutina curves which Mark remembered so well had merged into straight red linea suggesting an idea of firmness which made her face too severe-looking to be attractive. She went about her duties with a pre-occupied air, as though her thouehts were far away; but they were faithfully performed. She made no eflort towards sociability. Alice at first regarded her with a mixture of feeling, but she soon grew to feel only a sorrowful pity for the lonely unhappy woman moving about in her sombre black robes. The Eyerson household was a strangely happy one. Sometimos Mark's quick temper made himunreasonable and exacting, and hasty words would escape his lips; but Alice had sweet loving ways of her own that he coulá not reeist. She would go up to him and thread her fingers through his curly brown hair, and put up her lips Eor a kiss; so what with some would have ended in a quarrel, invariably made Mark feel that no one In the wlde world had such a dear littie wife as his own cross surly self," as he would menfcally stigmatise himself. Barbara, being constantly with themwas often an unthought-of-witness of these scènes, where a loving word turned away wrath. Once she disappeared suddenly, and when in a few moments, Alice had need of her services, and went to her room to cali her, she found her kneeling by thebedside, eobbingconvulsiveiy- Going to her, she put her tender arms about hei', and Raid gently: "Teil me your trouble, Barbara. Perhaps it will make your heart lighter to speak of it." The woman raised her head and looked wonderingly into the kind sympathetic face for a moment. At first she made no answer, but rocked herself to and fro, moaning to herself: "I am unworthy, and God has punished me." Alice caught the words, and said Boftly: "If you have done wrong, and are sorry for it, He who chasti3eth the children He loveth will also forgive." "Can He bring the dead to life?" said Barbara, suddeniy looking at Alice with eyes that seemed to read her very soul. "It is past the time oi myraclesjbut He can bring healing to the afflicted heart of the mourncr." The woman's dark eyes filled with tears. "There is no death like that of love, and I have killed tbat in my husband's heart. He hates me! and I - I am to blame, I see it all now. Had I been like you, the gates of my paradise would never have been shut upon me. But I drove him from me with my hateful wicked temper, and tbe rest of my life will be joyless vnd wretched as it deserves to be." "While there is life there is hope," said Alice solemnly. The words came to her instinctively. She was greatly surprised to learn that Barbara's husband still lived, as, judging from her deep mourning, she had thought her widowed. "Are you in earnest? Doyoureally think what you say?" Barbara's whole soul seemed concentrated in her eager eyes, as she looked at Mark's wife. "You are an angel, and I will believe what you say. It is you who have taught me wherein my wedded happiness was wrecked. I shouldhave given my husband loving words and caresses, instead of anger and neglect. I would give ten years of my lifa to see him, and teil him of my love and repentance. But it is too late." They were interrupted by a sudden sound of hurrying lootsteps. The door opened and Mark entered, followed by a stranger to Alice, but not to Barbara! She sprang forward with a wild cry, and was caught to his breast. "Oh, Elmer, forgive-forglvel" "My poor girl! It is I who should plead to you lor forgiveness. Can you Iet the past be as a sealed book, and begin our lifa over again?" "Oh, so gladly - so joyfully! If you only knew how I longed to see your dear face eince my wild flight away from you- anywhere I thought, so as to relieve you of my unwelcome presence." "And I, too, my darling! Life has seemed a blank since I lost you! But please God, nothing shall again divide us. Kxplanations followed. Elmer Haughton was wealthy; and in her wild anger at some fancied neglecced of her handsome worshipped husband, Barbara had thought to punish him by leaving her elegant home, and going away from him pennilesss. As she had told Alice, her temper was fiery and unieasonable. lts constant friction had worn upon Elmer t until his fervent love had npparently merged into indifïernce towards the wife whoae beauty and bright waya had first attracted him. But mutual absence had proved to each how great was their love for onn another. Owing to theinihienceof the example wbich Alice luid unoonsciouxly held belore Barbara, all is now peace and happiness with the re-united pair.