New Orleans daily crescent. [volume] ([New Orleans, La.]) 1851-1866, 1852-08-23
NUMBER las.

her heart was his TIe hated Mortfmer-hated {
him with bitterness Of spirit he had never {
nourished before; and in his madness he 1
Thought, that could once a doubt Of his truth ,
be raised in the mind Of May, he might succeed
in winning her pure and guieless heart On
the day of our excursion to the maple grove, it
happened that Forest was returning from a
business iaunt, and, in taking the shortest way,
his path led through the heart of the grove.
The sound of voices arrested his attention, and,
stopping just behind the thick vine that con-
eealed us from view, he learned BY few words
the object Of our mission, and the wicked
THOUGHT that arose in his mind was followed
without moments reflection. He hastened to
the old sibyls presence, and with handful Of
silver bribed her to utter those cruel words to
sweet May Morton, which were to throw so
deep a shade over her hitherto thornless path /
way. And this was not sll; he had since that |
day Intercepted several letters from Mortimer
They were then in his trunk, and he directed |
her to them; Mortimer was well and happy, |
and would soon, very soon be with them.
The effort was over, and the exhausted invalid |
fell back upon his pillow, yet with his strangely
eloquent eyes fixed upon the ashy face Of her he
had so dreadfully wronged, and from his open |
lips came but one word-one trembling, scarcely |
audible sound" Forgive!" Hardly had May |
| whispered her forgiveness when the spirit left |
its frail tenement; and upon the bosom Of her /
| mother the fainting girl was borne to her own |
| chamber. The shock had been 100 great fer her |
weak frame, and for days and nights after that |
strange announcement from the lips Of the ex-
piring youth, we hovered about the sick couch |
of our own beautiful May, listening breathlessly
to catch the faint whispers which came from her
| pale lips, and vainly trying to soothe her to
slumter. It seemed as if the weary and over
taslzed spirit would never sink to repose; and
for q long, long time, we vainly prayed that
sleep might bind the invalid in its silken chains.
DR.. Grey, dear old man, never left the room for
half an hour together, and we all watched his
anxious. troubled face, as he bent over the poor
child, with his trembling fingers upon her slen
der wrist, to catch the first faint glimmering Of
hope in his sorrowful eyes. Mrs. Morton was
proud and disniied in her demeanor usually
| but now, how humble and childlike had she be-
| come She would sit for whole hours upon the
side Of Mays bed, now with her low gentle
words trying to hush her disturbed and wander
ing mind, and now putting back the raven locks
which streamed over the pillow, and pressing
her lps to the white forehead of her darling.
And Mr. Merton, he seemed bowed to the very
earth in his great grief for May had ever been
dearer to him than his own life blood, and the
thought of losing her thus in her beautiful
youth was agony.
1t came at last and, oh, how every heart
was hushed in its throbbings How every eye
grew humid with grateful tears DR.. Grey
|
|full of 10y broke OYER his kind old face, and
Mrs Morton buried her fnee in the pillow,
while her whole frame shook with wild emotion.
It was t5eaceful. quiet, undisturbed slumber :;
so very quiet that re almost feared the spirit
had passed away. But nc' though the cheeks
and lips were snowy white, and the lovely fore
head cleaned out from amid the profusion OF
ietty curls thst strewed the pillow like piece Of
marble, we could sec that the breath came
> | b,,rr a11p frnTn hnnpnth the
, folds Of muslin that covered her bosor, and a
sweet smile would often fit over her lips, as if
: some bright vision were haunting ner sleep.
The day wore away, and still she slept, as
, peacefully, as calmly as at first. 1t was her
only chance for ife the doctor said, and so they
| let her sleep on. Just as the sun was sinking
to rest in the gaudy west, and throwing his de-
parting glory over forest and hillside, Clara
e Day and I left the chamber with noiseless tread
5 and descended to the portico in front of the
t mansion, where we seated ourselves beneath the
e shadows of the woodbine that wound about thu
h slender trells work.
D Oh, it was lovely evening, so still, so calm
il and holy, with the last lingering smile of day
! thrown so sweetly and sadly over the fading fac
% of earth. No sound, not even the taintest muir
d mer, disturbed the profound stiffness, and VI
g scarce breathed as We nestled together in thai
# pleasant shade. At last. away in the distance
: came the-taint rumbling of Wheels and nearer
:. and nearer it came, till at length the stag'
coach nth its tired and painting horses drewup a
e Wilson'S, just opposite. The passengers alightec
e and all but one entered the open door Of tnt
7, hotel that one, a tall, graceful young man
is with q hurried step, and without looking to th
le right or left, came across the broad road an'
e approached the gate leading to the door OF MIR
e Morton's dwelling. Clara Day uttered Il 10y
9, cry as she sprang to her feet and grasped m
Of arm, while her face turned deadly pale
r, sit is Mortimer!' she exclaimed. :" it
u Henry Mortimer, and oh, how can we tell him'
d. He was already by our side, and before on
es agitated, broken words of welcome had falle
ne upon his ear, the happy smile that had beame
all over his fine face, giving it peculiar beauty
er faded away, and his lips were ashy pale, an
he said in husky voice, 'wllat is it. girls wha
H. has happened Tell me, Clara, is May" Ii
We could not finish the sentence, but sank, over
I'd come, upon the seat and covered his face wit
I'd his hands, while his strong frame quiyered wit
T. intense suffering and dread.
nd 'She is BETTER whispered Clara, trying t
a look cheerful, and commanding her voice by
of strong efforts she is better, but, oh, she ha
Il heen very, very i'll. She sleeps now, and Dl
he Grey says this quiet slumber will save her life.
id ''Thank heaven she is better" said Mort
el mcr, and he looked up again, but the chang
n was almost fearful. He arose to his feet an
er approached the door, murmurisg to himself, ''
of must see her; oh! May, my own dear May, is
rk thus find thee, after this cruel absenee:'
n Clara laid her hand gently on his arm, ar
ed turned him to the low seat again, as she wou
have done a feeble child,
ng s'Be calm, Mr.. Mortimer she said sootl
ed ingly. 'May is very weak, and she needs rest
nd it alone will save her precious life. You mu
on not see her now, but will call her mother, l
in her decide. Oh they will be so glad to 81
its YOU
to She left us, and in a few moments more, Mr.
hs, Morton was weeping upon the bosom of h
ere cherished and ever loved boy; for Henry WI
the child of her adoption, and she had alwa,
"a regarded him with mothers deep love- 1t w
of a sad. yet joyful meeting, and when, a few m
in ments after, Mr.. Morton grasped the hand
his restored child, he could give him no word
m welcome-his emotion was too powerful f
me words
his Henry promised to be very calm, to govern /
;he excited feelings, and so they led him to Mary
led sick room. His cheek grew even paler than
,ut FORE as he bowed above her motionless form a.
red gazed tenderly, lovingly, yet with look almt
ted of agony, into her strangely altered face, a
ice his hands trembled as he extended them convl
the siyey as if to clasp the treasure to his achi
ng. heart, but no groan, no audible sigh escaped
in breast, and still she slept that calm, unbrok
md slumber.
yer Mortimer did not leave the bedside of
i'll sick girl that night Through its silent watcl
ve he sat with one little thin, pale hand in his oy
l. f,,3 xratb fu1 l