Grass Valley telegraph., 1854-03-09


far over the lawn. The dark shadow is fail
ling, she feels it's chilling fold over her heart,
for she murmurs "Not yet, not here; must
see t1y child must bless her and then die"
Her step grows frmer as she walks up the
grand carriage-way, and her figure is drawn
up to it's proudest height as she wells her face,
and rings at the dwelling where she was
'1ong ago. mistress. Her voice is calm as
she imperiously commands the old porter to
tell the master of the Hall that "a lady is in
waiting" he looks at her half suspiciously as
he goes up stairs to the masters room.
The "lady inwaiting" sees the door ajar
! | lsss.s. - sasssia.s room. and goes
to it quickly and looks in. A little girl in
the first bloom of childhood and large grey
hound are the sole occupants of the room.
There is a cheerful fire burning in the crate
and before it, on pile of crimson cushions,
the child is lying with one white round arm
over the New-foundland's neck, while the
other is half hidden by the little golden fling
letted head. The child is awake, for the ga
zelle eyes are following the restless motions
of the little hand on the dogs head.
1t is but moment that the lady stands
there, for in the next she has thrown aside
her wrappers, and is kneeling by the startled
child, has her in her arhls, and she cries as
she presses her to her heart with frantic kiss
es, 80, kiss me, my darling, my darling; Pm
your own mama" The child looks at her
with wondering eyes and says, "No, no, my
mama is dead" and puts up her rosy lips to
cry. 80, God, it is just" and there is dead
ly pallor stealing over the lady's face. Sure
ly the shadow is falling now! The master is
coming, she hears his step on the stair one
more eager embrace, a wild prayer, and the
mother puts down her child, and hurries from
the room But as she is going through the
door of the great hall she is stopped by a
hand upon her arm !; she turns quickly, and
it is her husband. The light from the hall
lamp shines in her face. "Ruthl O God ~
and the master of Preston Hall reels as though
under the weight of sudden blow
II am dying, Herbert, forgive" and the
injured but erring wife falls heavily at his
feet, while the crimson life-tide gushing from
her pale lips leaves dark-red spot on the
shining oak floor.
Forgive, o, Ruth, it is for you to forgive /;
you have suffered much-would that my life
could atone for the past" and the repentant
husband lifts her in his arms-but she can
never more listen to his wild prayer for for
giveness; she is dead in his arms, and the
stain of her blood is upon him.
80, Lille, Lille, darling, look here, it is
your own mama lying there so still and white !;
she is going to heaven, and she wants you to
love her, Lille, and never to forget her." and
the master of Preston Hall holds his mother
less little one in his arms, bends his proud
head until it rests upon his pale wife's cheek,
and sobs like child.
'PoOr mama, dear mama, what made her
go off to heaven again just when she came to
see us, papa? Will she live with the angels
always, and wont she come back sometime to
kiss poor little Lillie?"
80, hush, hush, Lille, you'll kill me-" She
looks like beautiful piece of statuary, does
Ruth Preston, as she lays in her rich burial
dress. Around the sleeper's beautiful mouth
there are deep marks of suffering, but other
ways there is no trace on her tranquil features
of the wild passions that wrung her heart SO
dreadfully. And they don't forget her at
Preston Hall. The willow droops over a
third grave, and on the white marble above
it the one word "Ruth," is craven. That
the grave is often visited is evident from the
wild beauty of every thing around it. And
Lille, as she grows to womanhood, is a con-
slant reproach to her father, for looking from
the large dark eyes of the daughter he sees
the mothers spirit; and as the silver threads
twine with his raven hair, he turns from earth
and prepares to meet his judgment.