lings be the same
towards her? truly, of this there was no doubt--was she not his own
sweet Annie, who for three years had been his affianced bride, and,
surely, there could be no change in him. But Edward Merton had not
then explored all the secret chambers of his own heart, and realized
not that it was an unwarranted ambition that, even then, was urging
him to leave the object of his affection, postpone his projected
marriage, and leave the friends of his youth where competence rewarded
his toil, for the purpose of acquiring wealth in a land of strangers.
The golden sun gemmed the drops of the previous night with the
diamond's lustre, and the voice of active life awoke in the village,
ere Annie awoke from her slumber, exclaiming,

"Why, Edward, is it possible I have slept so late? but wearied nature
was quite exhausted."

"You look finely refreshed," said he, giving her the parting kiss;
"but I must away to my shop."

Annie recovered rapidly, and soon the time came for Edward's
departure.

He could only speak of the future, seeming to think little of the past
or present.

"I shall write to you often, Annie, and you are mine till death do us
part, just as much as though Parson Bates had told us so."

A faint smile rested for a moment upon the lip of Annie--then faded
away, leaving a sadder expression than before. There was a melancholy
foreboding at her heart, and she at least did not feel willing to
sacrifice present happiness for future wealth; and she feared the
ambition of Edward would not be easily satisfied. But she strove to
subdue the feeling, and when their lips united in the parting kiss,
a pang shot though her heart, and "it is his last kiss," passed
involuntarily through her thoughts.

She turned hastily away to wipe the tears from her eyes, and bury her
grief in her own bosom.

Edward, after a prosperous journey, arrived safely at his place of
destination, was settled in a lucrative business, even exceeding his
most sanguine expectations, and was constant in his promise of writing
to Annie.

When winter returned with his winds, the aged grandfather was stricken
down by death. He fell like a sturdy oak before the stroke of the
destroyer, for he too had buffetted many a winter's storm, having
lived beyond the age of man. They bore him to his grave, when the
winds of winter blew fiercely round, and the drifting snow almost
obstructed their passage to the grave yard. He was deposited in the
place