Bloomington High School, The Gothic, 1914, Page 42

Description:	AnnaNellie York, 14THERE WAS LIGHT in every room of the big southern mansion.All was hurry, hurry, hurry, to have everything just ready.Anna Weymouth was to be the bride of Arnold Grey at eight-oclock, and just as the great clock struck the last stroke, alittle procession marched slowly down the stairway and walked to thebower of roses at the far end of the drawing room. Roses were inprofusion everywhere, and in the brides left arm was a bunch of purewhite ones. Her right hand was on her fathers arm, and her beautywas greatly enhanced by her white, clinging, trailing gown and thesimple wreath of orange leaves that rested on her fluffy dark hair.At the altar they stooped, and the clergyman said the first few words.But he did not end them, for there was a crash of breaking glass, thesharp report of a revolver, and the bride sank to the floor.Consternation reigned for a second, but it was for a second only.Anna was quickly carried to a lounge in the library, while everyonewas running this way and that. It was only a few minutes until aphysician was at her side. But it was no use, and while the heart-broken Arnold bent over her, holding one of her hands, Anna lay un-conscious. Her parents also were there, but everyone else wasexcluded from the room. An hour later she rallied and opened hereyes and whispered:Arnold, dear,-- But as she smiled she slipped off again intounconsciousness. At another time she seemed to be trying to saysomething, but the sentences were broken. She murmured over andover the name, Arnold, and finally the name Winston. That wasall, and at last she ceased to breathe. With one wild cry and a pas-sionate kiss upon the cold lips, Arnold buried his face in his hands,and sank to the floor. His one great dream of life was over. Annawas dead!* * * * * It was the day after the funeral, and in the library was ArnoldGrey. He was sitting before the fireplace where a little fire burned.His head rested on one hand. On his face was a look of the deepestsorrow and grief. He had not thought much of the cause, or who itwas that caused the death of Anna until now. People were alreadytrying to solve the mystery, but no evidence at all could be found.There was not even a foot-print outside the broken window. Whocould it have been? Why was it done? What was the motive? Hehad no enemies of that sort himself. Had it been some one who hadloved Anna and was mad with jealousy? Ah, no, not that. Everyone loved her who had known her, and they could never have donethis deed. Then, who was it?Arnold sat there and asked himself these questions. But his mindcould not stay on that subject, and it gradually drifted back to that ofwhich he was always thinking. Anna was dead. Yes, gone. And hesaid it over and over to himself. He took a picture from his pocketand held it before him. A pair of brilliant laughing eyes looked intohis. Still, he fancied, there was a touch of sadness in them. Hisdream of life was over. His dream of Anna, of love, of laughing,frolicsome children. The dream was over, and Arnold realized it witha greater force than ever before, as he sat in silence and meditated. * * * * Forty years passed away. In the same library was the same gray-haired man. He walked back and forth across the floor with his handslocked behind his back. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, except toraise them now and then to look at a picture of his beloved Anna,hanging above the fire-place.Now, all the memories came crowding upon Mr. Greys mind.There was her death, and just before that the picture she made lean-ing on her fathers arm before the altar. Then he remembered thetime when she had blushingly promised to be his wife, and just how-she looked with the light in her dark eyes. She had had a rose in herhair and he remembered that she had pressed it. He wondered whereit could be, and grew anxious to see it. All of Annas books had beenplaced in his library and, going over to them, he began to look throughthem one by one. His glance fell on a book entitled Anna. He didnot remember having noticed it before. He took it down, and on thefly-leaf was written Anna, from Winston Groves. Mr. Grey lookedthrough the book, and in the back had been slipped a letter. Won-dering still more, he opened it and, with a start, read the beginning.What did it mean? He began at the first again and read aloud:Floridon, S. C, April 2, 18-.My Dear Anna: I have taken your answer as the last one. Ihave loved you, Anna, and I do now. You will never find one who loves-you more. But you have spurned my love and scorned my advances.I only have this now to say: You will never marry another man.Remember these words. You will never see me again, but I will knowwhat is happening at the Maples. Winston Groves.Then Anna had had a lover who was mad with jealousy! Afterforty years he had found a clew. Revenge was springing up with re-newed force in his heart, and the hatred of a strong southern man wasaroused. Crushing the letter in one hand, he strode the length of thefloor several times. Finally, he seemed to have reached a conclusion,and, placing the letter in his pocket, he left the room. * * * * *There was a jerk as the train stopped. The little village wasWheeling. There was only one man who got off. The train jerkedagain, and left Mr. Grey standing on the platform alone. He lookedaround him and saw what there was of the little town. Across thetrack stood a store and a few houses. He crossed the track andPage Forty-two
Source:	http://cdm17129.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/ref/collection/hs-bloom/id/1354
Collection:	Bloomington High School

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