Kenosha tribune & telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1856-1859, 1857-01-29

| the hall, when that narrowing cry rang
out. saifnothing of what had heard
and seen; and there had been such noisy
mirth in the kitchen, they did not hear.
would not have idle stories made about
my sweet lady; so, all people knew was,
that she was taken i'll on Christmas Eve,
and died early in the new year: that was
enough to set them talking. | didn't
leave her: she wished to have me with
her, and stayed till the end. Such a
death as hers couldn't frighten even such
a young thing as | was then, though
there had been times, when she first lay
ill, when her spirit seemed torn with
agony. She seemed to put great trust
in me; and | promised her never to leave
her children while they needed me-
She would have prevented my making
that promise, hut she had not strength
to speak. When had said the words,
all the blood rushed from my heart and
back again; for | remembered | was
engaged to Roger Raines, the bailiff' s
son; but | wouldn't have recalled the
promise for worlds, for my sweet mistress
looked pleased and content. She lay in
the south chamber; I'll show you it one
day. One afternoon she had her chill
dren brought in-Miss Clara and the
baby-and she blessed them and cried
over them a great deal. When they
were gone she said she would sleep, and
| know she prayed. fancied she felt
stronger all day, and the master had rid
den off to fetch another doctor; and as ]
sat, almost stopping my breath, lest it
should wake her, felt hopeful-like about
her. As it neared sunset, the red beams
slanting in touched her face, | went to
screen them off; and found they might
shine there as well as on the white mar
bic figure they touched in their way, for
any chance there was of their waking
her; she was dead My lips were pat
down on a brow as cold as marble-ay,
she was dead lying there with the sun
set flush over her sweet still face. 1t
was long before | could believe it.
We had none of us thought her SO
near her end. | didn't think to tell any
one, but stood here quite with awe,
watching the play of the red beams on
the weite face 1t had just faded off,
when heard the chatter Of ,hoofs in the
court. 1t was her husband; and then l
felt afraid
"Many's the passion of grief I've seen,
many's the storm of rage I've tried to
quiet; but, an hye-as God grant
may not--twice the length of my past,
life, I'll never forget that scene. O! the
fury Of terrible grief the husband poured
over the still, unheeding form. 1t would
have seemed less strange to me to see
the life come back into the quiet body,
than to see it lying there, deaf, dumb,
and blind to all his rawlings. You know
some things are never forgotten, that
sight was not to be. There was the
raging man mad in his grief, clasping
and wildly caressing the pure, fair, pas
sionless form, alternately wailing a1d
raging, accusing himself and God. Q.
even now do not like to recall that
day."
We neither Of US spoke for a while.
Living so many years alone in such a
palce, with such strange memories, no
wonder there was something peculiar in
Marg'ret's look. Sometimes her eyes,
fixed on you, to things beyond; some
times their gaze turned entirely inward.
She was Away very gentle and woman
ly, and must in her youth, have been
very fair.
"And have your never married, Mar
g'ret?" / asked, wonderingly, follow
ing out my own thoughts.
mo, | have never married"
Why not, learned atterward,
The lady,s death closed the second
AFT in the tragedy of Greystonc Hall.
The house was again deserted. Dir.
TreyIynn, as soon as Spring came took
his children to a sister of his living in
Italy. The children We're both delicate
and the Hall was pronounced damp. or
course Marg'ret went too. She made
no comment upon this deed of hers; but
Roger Raines, the baIiff's son, whom !
am sure she loved passing well was not
absent from my memory. Poor Roger.
poor Marg'ret!
CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK.