The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1855-08-30

this in my face, for he said, quickly but
faintly-
"Don't be frightened Eleanor" and the
coarse, rough men, looking pityingly in my
face, added, "'Twas the falling timber, ma'am
but take him home, and send for doctor as
soon as possible"
They lifted him into the carriage, and we
drove home; not as we had come, Margaret
not with that cold, naughty, reckless feeling at
my heart, but with such misery as lost spirits
must ever suffer, eating away there while his
head rested on my shoulder, and my arms sup
ported him.
DE did not speak or groan, but, as the car
rage ratified over the rough pavement, / could
hear the tirm setting of his teeth together; and
most willingly would have laid down my own
oody, to have spared him the agony which l felt
he was suffering. Once he strangled slightly,
and when / wiped the smoke and dampness
from his forehead and mouth my handkerchief
was wet-wet with blood; knew it just as
we'll then, as did when the lamphght, few
rods farther on, revealed it to me.
I have no memory of what did or said on
reaching home. / only remember the terrified
faces OF the sisters, and Mr.. Bigelow's reproach
| full look, as he said
"You have killed him, then !" and my stony
reply, that '"knew it, / have no distinct
memory of anything that passed for more than
! week, only of pacing the floor night and day,
in fearless, sleepless agony, and praying God
that might die in his stead. They say was
insane; perhaps / was, for surely was not fit
to die. They say would not look at them, or
speak to them; and / can well believe it, for
their gentle, loving words were worse to me
than curses.
At length there came one day message
from my guardian; he would see me. / looked
the kind physician, who himself brought the
message, a moment in the face, and burst into
tears.
"That is right cry away, child cry away
it will do you good" said the kind old man, as
he led me to the door of his room.
"Will he live, sir? Tell nae, will he liver"
81 great sight more likely to live than you
are, if you go on so much longer. 1t is ques-
tionable step, this" he added, good humoredly,
as he opened the door, "but he has the will of
Napoleon k Grand"
thought he was to enter with me, but he
closed the door, and left me standing alone.
That my guardian was lying on the sofa, at the
1 farther end of the room, felt rather than saw,
for dared neither look up nor advance.
7" Eleanorlh he said, " Eleanorl"
4 / sprang forward. Half rising, he made room
for me beside him, but took the stool at his
feet, and, laying my head on the edge of the
He remained silent few moments, and then
said
"You have given yourself a great deal Of
needless suffering, Eleanor"
Needless" / exclaimed; SIS the wrong
did you nothing? the wicked, wilful, hardened
spirit in which l drove you forth that night to
meet death, nothing? Is it nothing to feel ones
self murderer? 2"
"Hush, Eleanor" he said, laying his hand
lightly on my head; "you must not say this
The wrong you speak of was the scorn of a
right true and womanly nature, for what she
deemed false and mean--a naturea little self
willed and undisciplined. But did ! not tell you
nmOtherIess? think he went on. with one O.
those beautiful smiles lighting up his face anC
eye, ~ think would willingly suffer it all over
again, for the sake of the revelation it brought
We have hardly understood each other hereto
fore, Eleanor"
" The fault has been mine, sir" / said.
Not wholly" and then he went on to speak
} Of poor Julia; to tell how he found her quite
dead on his return; and, as there was every
probability that the fire would be checked be-
fre reaching that room, he had turned to save
ne living. / had given orders to the nurse
, efore," he went on, in case she should die
, ht Mr.. Bigelow took the matter under his
barge, and perhaps it may please you to know
r lat she rests in Woodawn Cemetery, and that
s lizzie Seymour and Rebecca followed her to
be grave"
e 1t did indeed please me, and l tried to say
!. ,, as | rose to leave the room.
d Where are you going now, Eleanor?" he
l. 1 sked.
"To thank them, sir"
y THAT is right; though they need little thanks.
:, Tut you must not shut yourself up in your room
d gain. They need you below. There is no
e eed OF explanations on your part; l have e1-
e iained it all. They are busy with preparations
pr WrPs marriage, and we must not delay
e pat; besides, between US both, we have driven
d tr. Bigelow beside himself. You must try to
q lin him back to a reasonable mood. You will
II ID this 2"
~ will"
N Eleanor" he said, with smile, do you
re Fmember gathering the flowers from the ledge
r, ! the woods at Oldfield?"
y 1t was the first time he had referred to our
Ihildish acquaintance, and l could not but
~ mile as well as blush as answered.
", "Well; and how disagreeable, and selfwilled,
nd hateful, you must have thought mel"
k, "Not hateful" he replied, but little fond
having your own way, it must be confessed |;
st lhich probably was not lessened by my impe
lous must and SHALL have been think
as tg it all over to-day, and l fear you find me
i Dry little changed" And he looked inquiring
in my face.
IT, u shall at least never question them again,
ut p" and left the room.
| did explain, for 1 knew that he neither
le- Puld nor would tell them my share in all this
lie, prov. | let them look into my heart, and see
TOT its wickedness; and they only answered,
at You were motherless, Eleanor"
we What multitude of sins these people would
in Fake that most sorrowful word covert Then
If fey were all so glad to have me back again
es, faong them Old Mr.. Bigelow shook nay hand
ed balm and again, saying
tn Never look back, my girl there are plenty
I'm kfblack shadows behind all of us. Why,
S. ka's myself: one minute / could have guillo-
rto IhIH you for taking Fred Summerfeld into
er Isul place, though doubtless should have
to mixed the person down who had dared to
rr, oS hair of your head and the next, when
, ought of that poor dying girl, and how
est lrsy you stood by her, Il knew he had not
ro- bAhem,) l was as proud of you as if you had
lg, lel my own daughter. No wonder she was
ut, lao see you, poor thing but the devil take
Dor dillingham; / told you he was wolf All!
in IT sure but you'll turn out as well as if
zee gohd as many brethren as Joseph, if you
ov- arb only child"
wv ly, or any of King Rehoboam's children"
put crRebecca, as she ran to- the hall, to meet
gh LII Seymour.
ow en they told me how they had borne poor
hat Jqto Woodlawn, but they did not tell me
led hfchly Mr.. Bigelow had rewarded the nurse
re- hrher sister, nor how he had gone about
md arg the poor wretches who had suffered
he lfrSthe fire, grumbling and growing all the
by wi but backing his words with such friendly
an. de that they really thought the gruf old
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