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“ I think,” she said, “ that my he said to Elsie, “and I believe I duty demands that I should remain need not interfere with it ; and he here and take care of my child.” gave her his blessing, and left.
Father Dunne was aware of two On his way home he speculated : things : that Mrs. G'endenning did “ Her manner was serious, and in not love her husband, and that she such matters she is an exact little was not born for a sister of charity. saint. Mr. Vaughan is very wealthy, He began himself to be puzzled about and has but one son. She will have the solution of this affair.
twenty thousand dollars at the least. “ There is another circumstance," A good operation.” said Elsie, at length, and a little When he reached Brockendale he hesitatingly, “ which, perhaps, I went straight to the Doctor's sick ought to mention, as having some chamber. Eloise rose expectantly bearing upon the question of my to meet him. She was looking worn going to Brockendale just now." and anxious.
Father Dunne knew women well “Good morning, madam,” said the enough to divine, that, in this late- priest, blandly,
« How is your mentioned and apparently only slightly patient ? ” relevant matter, he might probably “ The case is very critical. When discover the secret of that incon- is Elsie coming ? I thought she wou'd sistency in Mrs. Glendenning's con- have returned with you.” duct which had so puzzled him. He The priest looked straight into her was, therefore, instantly all attention.
eyes. Elsie went on : “ Uncle Vaughan is “ Mrs. Glendenning has consentjust now very ill. Indeed, it is ed,” he said at length, slowly and hardly possible that he should recover. impressively, “in view of the imperHe has sent for a lawyer, and will ative duties which confine her, and make his will this evening.
your greater experience as nurse, to “Ah !” said Father Dunne, lum- waive her rights in this sick chamber, inously : “ Have you expectations, and to devolve her responsibilities my daughter ?”
upon you. Mr. Abner Vaughan is Elsie cast down her eyes, as became very ill, and requires all the time and her, but she did not blush. A matter attention which she can spare from of cash was not a matter to be senti. the care of her child. Are you willing mentalized with her.
to accept this great trust which she “ He has always promised to leave reposes in you?” me something," she said, " and recent- Elsie was clear sighted. She divined ly—that is, since we have heard that the whole thing at a glance. SomeEloise was at Brockendale--my aunt what to the priest's surprise, she reand myself have had several conver- plied: sations on the subject. I think it is “ My cousin Elsie prefers to nurse probable that a good deal may de- a dying magnate rather than a possibly pend upon my presence here just dying husband. She lets the case go now."
by default. Very well. If you ever Father Dunne saw once the have occasion, you may say to her spider's web which was being spread that the life she holds of so little for an unwary fly round Eloise ; but value is of untold and imperishable he looked a little farther than Elsie worth to me. I shall most willingly, had ever done, and saw what he most gladly take up the trust which thought might be a fair bargain for she resigns. Henceforth my place is each of them, in which, after all, the here till death claims his tribute, or net profit should fall to the Church. till I can return to Elsie, convalescent
“I think your decision a wise one," and still able to fulfill the duties of
husband and protector, this prostrate, the long agony of watching, the helpless form."
Doctor had lain, for the most part, in if Father Dunne felt the stinging a stupor, which had been only rerebuke her words conveyed, he passed lieved by snatches of rambling deliri. it over with somewhat more than his ous consciousness ; but now faint usual phlegm, looking forward, it may gleams of intelligence lighted the be, to a possibility of recompense for sunken eyes, and now and then a her present pain which she could not motion of the head, or a sound of the foresee.
voice, betrayed a recognition of his When he left her, Eloise gave one surroundings. Toward evening, Eloise thought to the woman dancing at- stepped out of the room for a few tendance upon the rich man's death- moments, and, coming back to relieve bed, and repeated to herself : the attendant, she saw at once that “ So round and round we run,
the glance which met hers was that And ever the Right comes uppermost, of a settled and clear, though fearfully And ever is Justice done.”
prostrate intelligence. As she seated From that moment no tremor of herself at his bedside, he stretched dissatisfaction or regret assailed her, out his hand to her. It was a solemn but every energy was bent upon the moment to both of them, for both task before her.
knew that upon the turn which the It was a serious one. For three disease might take within the next weeks the Doctor lay upon his fever- few hours, his life depended. She laid ed couch a helpless, unconscious her hand in his without a word, sufferer. The forces of his system, beaming upon him such a look as can worn with the long struggle to save shine out of no eyes but those made others from the destroyer, seemed calm and tender by a perfect and redaily to falter and give way before the ciprocal love. For a moment a deep terrible inroads of the disease. Day- unbroken silence reigned, in which all time and night-time the watch must the past, with its stern yet joyful exbe constant and unvarying--that at no periences, all the present, with its point should the assailant gain even a momentous doubt and peril, seemed momentary advantage. Nothing but to both of them to be comprehended. the tireless energy of love could pos, Eloise,” he said, in a voice as sibly meet the demands so ceaseless low as the whisper of a babe : and inordinate. In the second week, Eloise, is it forever?" Abner Vaughan died and was buried. It is forever,” she replied, in a Some one suggested then that Mrs. voice that, more than her words, shot Glendenning would probably release new life all along his veins. the self-appointed watcher from her His hand closed over hers; and, onerous cares. Eloise maintained a without another word, he sank into a firm but rigid silence, but the doctor quiet sleep. When the physician did not hesitate to say :
came in for his evening call he found “I would not change her nurse her still sitting there, holding fast the now for the price of the patient's thin emaciated hand, with the untoid life. Mrs. Glendenning is inex- agony of a deadly suspense upon her perienced. Miss Vaughan is no face. doubt weary, but she has a look of “ He will wake at midnight,” said endurance yet.
emain.” the physician, “and you will know So Elsie was written to, and ad- the worst then. If
me, vised to stay where she was, and she send, and I will come; though after
this it is nature and not medicine There came at last a day when a which must decide the case." crisis evidently impended. All through He left her then, and for four hours
more she watched and waited as one ing audibly in her soul, which had waits and watches only for one bidden her down to Brockendale in visitant.
season to gain that experience and The town clock struck (welve. wisdom which were necessary to save She counted every stroke, and, when the life of the man she loved. Of the last vibra ion died away upon the God, and of Him only, too, it seemstill and waiting night, he lay yet un- ed to her, had been that indwelling conscious, but even through his sleep strength by which she had been able, a calmer influence seemed visible. firmly and steadily, through all The fever seemed abating, his breath- weariness and all hindrances, to per. ing was easier, and his few severe in her arduous task till full and movements were more like those of perfect success should have crowned sanity and health. Still, all these her efforts. To God, then, belonged symptoms might be delusive : only all the praise, all the glory : and, his waking could fully decide the falling on her knees, in the dusk of question.
her silent and solitary room, she His hand, that had dropped from poured forth her whole soul in prayer hers an hour ago, trembled at last and thanksgiving. with returning consciousness, and he But when she rose, instead of the threw it over his head as a child tired peace she hoped for, she felt only a with play tosses his arms in sleep. sadder and deeper sense of loneliness Then the dark eyes opened, and and desolation. into the waiting ones, that bent with Her prospect was a cheerless one. tenderest solicitude above him, there Dependent entirely upon her own Aashed a weak, but still a soulful efforts, she had spent her last penny ray.
among the sick at Brockendale, re“ Eloise,” he said, “ can you give serving, simply, funds sufficient to deme a drink? I think I am better." fray the expenses of her journey Tears gushed from her eyes as she
The autumn was coming on, turned to grant his request, and she and she had to face all the needs murmured, with a fervency of spirit which a change of seasons renders which comes only with such crises : imperative. But to an empty purse “Oh! Richard, thank God.”
added an empty brain, and He took the glass from her hand, physical energies so exhausted by her refreshed his parched lips, and then, severe labors and watchings, that with her tender help, and a fresh present exertion in the way of her pillow from her ready hands, he plac. profession seemed impossible. What, ed himself in a more comfortable then, was to be done? position, and fell into a tranquil re- In this emergency she remembered pose.
a letter which had been received dur. She had played a fearful game, in ing the terrible weeks of her anxiety which the thing at hazard was his and suspense concerning Richard. It life, and she had won it back from had been thrown, unopened, into her death. Whose was it now?
She searched it out now, Three days later, worn and weary and, lighting a lamp, sat down to in flesh, but in the spirit strong with read it. an immortal strength, she packed her It was from the solicitor who had trunk and returned to her city home. drawn her uncle's will, and contained
Going back to her accustomed a copy of its provisions so far as they quarters, she reviewed, solemnly and related to herself. Reading it, she silently, all that had occurred since found herself the richer by a few she had left. It seemed to her that articles of little value except as keepit had been the voice of God, speak. sakes, most of them things which had
belonged to her own father, and had some comforting word of cheerful, been given to her uncle when he had trustful forecast, which, in this dread died, — and fifty dollars in money, gloom and stillness, I could recall with which to buy herself a mourning to build a hope upon.
Oh! God; gown.
my brain is throbbing ; my heart is She read the letter through carefully, breaking; give me rest ! give me and laid it upon the table. Then she relief!” leaned her head upon her hand and
at last to her dreary meditated.
couch, but it was no better there; her “ Well,” she said to herself, “I eyes stood wide open instead of closloved Uncle Abner well, and I am ing, and great black shadows, like evil, glad he has provided for my mourn- vengeful spirits, hovered and flickered ing; I could not have bought it if he about her till she dared not sleep. had not, and it would have gone to “ I am nervous,” she said, “ I fear my heart to have worn colors when I shall be sick: but I must not be everybody else was in crape.” sick ; who would take care of me?
She had heard, incidentally, before There would be only the hospital for leaving Brockendale, that Elsie was me, and there I should go mad.” the recipient of a legacy of twenty She rose and bathed her brow with thousand dollars. She did not envy camphor, and tried again to sleep, but her the money ; but to-night, with the grey light of dawn was visible her tired frame, her aching head, her through her windows, and the rattle desolate, bereaved estate weighing of occasional wheels had begun in the upon her spirits, like an intolerable streets before she closed her eyes. burden, she did, somehow, feel that Late in the morning she rose, with the blessings of this life were very a feeling that she must go to the bank unequally bestowed. It was not usual with the check which had been enfor her to murmur or complain. In closed in her letter, and then provide ordinary circumstances her strong free herself with mourning. She did not spirit soared above the limitations of feel that she ought to be seen much this life, and she felt that while all upon the streets till it was ready for the wide realms of spirits were at one's
Beyond that, lay the dreadful command, one's future in this life was necessity of painting. How could she of small value. But to-night she was ever paint again, with this dead so weary, so faint-hearted; she hat weight upon all her energies ? such deep need of strength from with- Still, she must go out and make her out, of encouragement, of love, of purchases of black, and, after repeated the firm hand underneath, the strong trials, she did get on a bonnet and arm round about her ; and instead, shawl, and started upon her weary came this chilling letter, with its de- round. At night-fall she came back pressing sense of withdrawal and with an empty purse and three or four estrangement, nay, worse, of that packages. Next day she began to sew. most hopeless of all disapproval—the She was glad it was not necessary to disapproval of the dead.
go out of doors again, the streets had She felt a longing tu cry, but she all worn so strange an aspect to her, could not cry; the grief was too deep and sometimes the effort to cross a even for tears. She wished herself thronged avenue had given her such a back at Brockendale.
feeling of exhaustion. She would “I need not have left him so soon,” just sit still and finish her m
mourning, she said ; “he is not yet beyond the and then - then she must get out her possibility of relapse ; I might have easel. given myself one hour with him after But the work seemed heavy ; and he had grown strong enough to say the black stuff made her flesh crawl.
She dreaded it with an almost insane No, I think not,” said Eloise ; terror.
“I am out of funds just now, and “ I believe I am going mad,” she couldn't pay a doctor.” said ; “and, oh! if anything should The face was pitiful in its earnest happen to me now, what should I do struggle for coolness and composure. -what should I do?”
She could get on well enough when At last there came a morning when she was left alone ; she wanted noshe could not rise out of her bed. thing, but this woman goaded her Towards noon her landlady came in
fearfully. to see her. She was shocked at the “ But what is to be done if you get pale face and sunken eyes that looked
sicker?" up to her from the pillow. She was “I don't know,” said Eloise, fainta woman of low, broad stature, with ly, “there is the — the-a face that expressed a certain rude “ The hospital,” said the woman, strength of character, the result, main- bluntly ; " that is what you mean,
I ly, of a strong physique; but in her eyes suppose." there was a shrewdness, and withal, Yes,” said Eloise, in a voice that a hard, incisive look, which made it would have drawn pity from a stone. certain that she would not long keep The woman sat still for a minute, an unprofitable boarder upon her pondering. Eloise made
a great hands.
effort : Why, Miss Vaughan,” she ex- “ You must send me away from claimed, “ You're dreadfully sick. here to-day. Will she asked. What ails you?”
No," said the woman, at length, “ I have a headache,” said Eloise, “not to-day ; you be still, and I'll do “ and am a little sick besides. But I what I can for you ; but I can't have shall be well soon.
Don't make any
all this responsibility on my hands trouble about me.”
always." “Ain't you going to have a doctor?” She rose with a resolute air and said the woman, with a determined left the room. interest.
C. F. CORBIN.
The revivalists continue the farce of prayer- den is by first ministering to their bodily meetings and conversions at the house of necessities, is timely. So many are kept in John Allen, “the wickedest man in New ways of wickedness by physical necessities, York.” John is reported to have got rid of that it seems the most cruel tantalizing to all his sins, but that of intemperance. It is offer them spiritual food, when the starving stated that his recently advertised lecture on body is dragging the hungering spirit with it religion, at Stamford, Conn., (tickets, fifty down to perdition. We do not doubt the sincents,) was prevented by an attack of delirium cerity of those who are working in this cause, tremens, but we would not like to vouch for
but we can only regret the methods of work. the truth of the report. It is not pleasant to It seems to our benighted understanding that be almost compelled to ridicule a movement instruction in the art of living would be a in which so noble a man as Rev. S. H. Tyng, more effective means of grace than prayer jr., is engaged ; neither is it pleasant to con- meetings, or at least a most necessary preparatemplate such a spectacle of religion as has tion for the reception of spiritual truth. been made of the conversion of John Allen, and the transformation of his domicile from a dance house to a house of prayer. The re- SIDNEY SMITH, in a sermon, said that “the minder of the Tribune, that the only effective sin against the Holy Ghost is dullness." This method of reaching the souls of the degraded genial wit threw the blame of sleeping hearclass in the neighborhood of John Allen's ers upon the parsons.