The Romance and Tragedy | Page 8

my favor, as Miss Wilson was not the sort of girl
to admire a man who had a habit of falling in love with every pretty
face. Life in her eyes had its serious side and she was well equipped
mentally to test the true ring of those with whom she came in contact.
The following day I wrote Miss Wilson at length, reiterating and
enlarging on all that I had said, telling her I would wait until she felt
she could give me a definite answer, and begging her not to hasten her
decision if it was to be negative.
If I had any fear at all it was on this point--that she might feel it
imperative to decide the matter promptly, while I was prepared to wait,
years if necessary, rather than to take from those lips which I so eagerly
longed to press to mine own in love's first caress, the relentless,
cruel--no.
Miss Wilson's contemplated visit to Connecticut was postponed for a
while and this gave me an opportunity to see her daily.

That I laid vigorous siege to her heart was certain. I was most assiduous
in all those little attentions that please a woman, and as our tastes were
entirely congenial our hours of companionship were delightful to both.
If I were a few minutes late in making my evening call, very rarely the
case, she would remark it, and I soon realized that the feature of her
day was the hours passed with me. In fact, my presence was becoming
necessary to her happiness.
As soon as this impression became fixed in my mind, I grew impatient
at delay in the culmination of my desires, and felt I must soon urge
Miss Wilson to relieve me of suspense by making me the happiest of
men. Probably I should have done this within a few days had it not
been for the fact that she left Brooklyn on her visit to Middletown,
Connecticut. Then I decided to await her return.
On the morning of the sixth of September I found in my mail at the
office an envelope addressed in a lady's handwriting, postmarked
Middletown, Connecticut.
It contained a brief note from Miss Wilson, stating that on that day at
one o'clock she would be due at New York and was going at once for a
week at West Point, and asked me, if convenient, to meet her at the
railroad station to escort her across the city to the boat.
There were three significant points in that note, the first I had ever
received from her.
First, it commenced with "Dear Walter." Always before I had been Mr.
Stowe. Next, it was signed as "Yours, with love"; and last, but by no
means least, Miss Wilson wrote, as a postscript, "I shall be alone."
Would it be convenient for me to meet that train? I should say so.
I was at the station with a carriage at least half an hour ahead of time
and I walked the platform of the old Twenty-seventh Street station of
the New York, New Haven and Hartford Railroad Company, back and
forth, looking at my watch every five minutes and wondering if the

train would ever come.
The train arrived on time, and as Miss Wilson alighted from the car, I
greeted her. How I gazed into those beautiful eyes and tried to read
there the love I hungered for.
We drove to the Hotel Brunswick for luncheon, and if "the proof of the
pudding is in the eating," the luncheon, despite the good reputation of
that old hostelry, then in its palmy days, must have been a poor one.
Either that, or we lacked appetite--more likely the latter.
After luncheon we again took the carriage, and drove to the pier where
the Mary Powell was awaiting her passengers.
It was during that drive, while passing down Fifth Avenue, that the
word I so longed to hear was spoken. "Yes"--only a single word and yet
it spoke volumes to my heart. It bound together for all time two beings,
neither of whom had known for longer than a few months even of the
existence of the other, and yet a divine power had brought these two
hearts, beating in unison, to their natural mate. While the lips
whispered "yes," the hand found its way to mine and the loving clasp
was the only demonstration the surroundings permitted; but when the
carriage had turned into a comparatively quiet side street and just
before it reached the pier, I could no longer refrain.
Drawing the curtains at the carriage windows, I clasped to my heart the
lovely girl who was now my very own.
Oh, what an ecstasy of bliss that moment was!
I have owned many handsome carriages, luxurious in