The Emporia news. [volume] (Emporia, Kan.) 1859-1881, 1860-08-04

/ face, and threatened to enTeiop me IN their
red embrace, the door gave way, and, stag
gering in, I saw my darling lying asleep
upon the rude bench, and bore her forth
| unscratched, unhurt, from out the fiery fur
| mace. But in coming out, / had to force
my way through a sheet of lurid flames.
l remember that it scorched my forehead
and dazzled my eyes but became uncon
scious, and when recovered, found myself
| lying, with bandages about my head and
eyes, upon soft, cool pillow, and heard
| through the darkness, which seemed deeper
than any l had ever known, some one weep
ing softly, close behind me. Enough !;
there is no need of painful detail. 1t had
been night TO me ever since but / had
saved my darhng yes, my darling From
that moment, even as a woman loves the
babe for whose birth she suffers, so I. loved
Elsie Russell, for whose sweet sake I had
lost the greatest blessing man possesses !;
and from that moment she had repaid my
sacrifice by care ard kindness the most de-
voted. The only pleasure of my life had
been in her presence. Since the hour l
knew the sun would never rise again to me,
her little hand led me tenderly and cheer
fully, as though it had been sisters.
"And now-now," I murmured aloud,
|
-"now strangers step must come be-
tween us % The sound of my own voice,
the cool air, the quiet, brought back my
reason. l weighed my own account in the
balance of my conscience. ''Paul Blair !''
said to myself, ''you have not dared to
| hope that the young years of one so fair as
Elsie Russell would be wasted for your sake;
that no strange eye would spy out the jewel
which you, blind and helpless as you are,
could never hope to claim that that love
which comes sooner or later to every wo-
mans soul, would never come to hers :?
Paul Blair, you have not dared to think
thus % And even as 1 bowed in shame at
the conviction of my own heart, l also
prayed, "Not yet-not yet let her be ours
little longer !''-and 1 laid down upon the
rude bench, and wept as had not wept for
years, for from the Utmost core of my sad
heart, worshipped Elsie Russell.
A low trembling voice aroused me.
paul p it said, ''dear Paul, why do you
stay in this sad place alone? Come in. we
miss you, my son.
1t was my mother. I wiped away my
tears, laid my had within her arm, and thus
went back into the house. I had nerved
myself to bear the sound of the strange
footstep before I reached the parlor. l was
right when I thought it would como be-
tween us. Elsie was as kind as ever but
somehow, whenever she was singing to me,
or reading to me, or whenever we were
walking in the garden, or chatting in the
parlor, would hear the ring of that foot
step upon the path, and it was all over for
the day. By-and-by almost grew to hate it..
One evening when she had gone to walk
with him, as she often did of late, my mo-
Their, pausiDg in a cheerful click of her
knitting needles, said, pleasantly:
ri shouldn't wonder, my dear. if DR..
Claymore seriously admired our Elsie
hope it is so, for he is fine man-is he
not. Paul ?
1 answered in the affirmative, and she
went on:
81 was afraid that living in this lonely
house, Elsie would lead dull life as she
grew older. 1t is not as though you could
pay her those little attentions girls are so
fond of, you know, and really Dr.. Claymore
is quite-What is the matter, Paul 90
What pain the best people will give unin-
tentionally 1t was pang at my heart, not
in my head, although told my mother that it
was, that made me start, and abruptly close
her speech. Only for the present, however, 1
was doomed to hear of DIR. Claymore's at
ten:ions, and Elsie's beauty, and the little
signs by which my mother augured that the
happy climax was approaching, until could
have prayed to be deaf as well as blind.
All this was wearing out my soul and
body, and my brain seemed TO be on fire.
I could not think collectedly, yet I grew
only more silent and sad although my
mother saw that something was amiss, she
never guessed the truth. Her greatest
pleasure was to make me lie upon the sofa,
with pillow under my head, and talk to
me about Elsie and DR.. Caymore. She
said she ''saw it did me good
One day awoke with a strange g;ddi-
ness and fever upon me. It was late, and
the first news heard was that Elsie had
gone to ride with DR.. Claymore.
''And 1 shouldn't wonder, my dear, if
he was going to propose to her. He looked
rather agitated, and certainly had some
thing on his mind" said my mother
''Just let me go and get you pillow on the
sofa, and I'll tell you what be said to her,
| as you have her interest almost as much at
heart as have, my dear, and it will cheer
you to talk it over
could not bear it any longer. I said
|, something about headache and air, and man
aged to escape out into the garden. There
wandered YEARLY up and down, feeling
delirium rapidly clouding my mind, and
struggling wildly against it, until, as the
! clock struck twelve. CROPPED my way, faint
and trembling, to the wreck of the burnt
summer-house, and sat down once more
! upon the little bench where Elsie had been
sleeping when rescued her from the flames
I struggled no longer with my reason, but
j muttered wildly to myself:
Here, here-yes, here, where she slept
Il viii die, and she shall never know that
e died for her love. Ha ha ha how
? they would laugh at the idea of blind man
in love !''
r ''Master Paul, come to luncheon! Dom
: ii, here, looking so like" said old Di-
nah, who was close beside me.
ii knew the voice. heard what she said
o but went on talking.
''Why don't you laugh, Dinah 90
2 '.What at, young massa % asked the
' woman.
|