Cleveland morning leader. [volume] (Cleveland [Ohio]) 1854-1865, 1860-07-17

strong, well seasoned wood, but strov,
with all my strength against the doOr-hov
long knew not, it seemed to me an age
but at last, just as the flames scorched my
face, and threatened TO envelope me in theil
red embrace, the door gave way, and stag
gering in, saw my darling lying asleep upOr
the rude bench, and bore her forth un.
scratched, unhurt, from out the frey furnace
But in coming out, had to force my way
through a sheet of lurid flames. IremembeI
that it scorched my forehead and dazzled
/ my eyes but became unconscious, and when
/ recovered, found myself lying, with banda
/ ges about my head and eyes, upon a soft,
| cool pillow, and heard through the darkness
which seemed deeper than any had ever
known, some one weeping softly, close be-
mind me. Enough; there is no need Of pain
iul detail. It had been night to me ever
since; but had saved my darling-yes, my
darling. From that moment even as a wo-
man loves the babe for whose birth she suf-
fers, so loved Elsie Russell, for whose sweet
sake had lost the greatest blessing man
possesses; and from that moment she had
repaid my sacrifice by care and kindness the
most devoted. The only pleasure of my life
had been in her presence. Since the hour
knew the sun would never rise again to me,
her little hand led me tenderly and cheerfully,
as though it had been sisters.
"And now-now," murmured aloud, as
felt for the scorched relic of the bench
''now strangers step must come between
usP The sound Of my own voice. the cool
air, the quiet brought back my reason.
weighed my own account iu the balance of
my conscience. aPaul BlairI" said to NY
self ''you have not dared to hope that the
young years of one so fair as Elsie Russel
would be wasted for your sake; that no
strange eye would spy out the jewel which
you, blind and helpless as you are could new
er hope TO claim; that love which comes
sooner or later to every woman's soul, would
never come to hers2 Paul Blair you have
not dared to think thusp And even as l
bowed in shame at the conviction Of my
own heart, l almost prayed. "Not yet-not
yet; let her be ours little lOngerp-and
laid down upon a rude bench, and wept as
had not wept for years, for from the inmOst
core of my sad heart, wOrshipped Elsie
Russell.
A low trembling voice aroused me.
"Paul p it said, edear Paul, why do you
miss you, my son"
1t was my mother. 1 wiped away my
tears, laid my hand within her arm, and thus
went back into the house. had nerved my
self TO bear the sound of the strange foot
step, before I reached the parlor. was
right when l thought it would come between
us. Elsie was as kind as ever; but some
how, 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 footstep upon
the path, and it was all over for the day
By-and-by, almost grew to hate il.
One evening when she had gone to walk
with him, as she often did of late, my moth
er pausing in a cheerful click of her knit
ting needles, said pleasantly:
81 shouldn't wonder, my dear, if DR.. Clay
more seriously admired our Elsie hope it
is so, for he is a fine mans he not Paul p
/ 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 P'
What pain the best people will give unin-
tentionallyl Itwas a pang at my heart, not
in my head, although I told my mother that
it was, thatmade me start, and abruptly close
her speech. Only for the present however, l
was doomed to hear of DR.. ClaymOre's atten-
tions, and Elsie's beauty, and the little signs
by which my mother augured that the happy
climax was approaching, until could have
4 -, -, H. III
All this was wearing out my soul and
body, and my brain seemed to be on fire. l
could not think cOllectedly, yet 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 underneath my head, and talk to me
about Elsie and DR.. Claymore. She said shs
Hsaw it did me good"
One day l awoke with a strange giddiness
and fever upon me. It was late, and the first
news I heard, was that Elsie had gone to
ride with DR.. Claymore.
"And shouldn't wonder, my dear, if he
was gsing to propose to her. He looked
rather agitated, and certainly had something
on his mind, said my mother. "Just let me
60 and get you pillow on the sofa, and I'll
tell you what he 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"
1 could not bear it any longer. l said
something about headache and air, and man
aged to escape out into the garden. There l
wandered wearily up and down, feeling delir-
lum rapidly clouding my mind, and strug-
orlinor wildly arroinuf ! Al.
struck twelve, l groped my way faint and
trembling, to the wreck of the burnt summer
house, and sat down once more upon the lit
tie bench where Elsie had been sleeping when
l rescued her from the flames. l struggled
no longer with my reason, but muttered
wildly to myself:
"Here, here-yes here, where she slept
will die, and she shall never know that I died
for her love. Hal ha hal how they would
laugh at the idea of blind man in loveP
''Master Paul, come to luncheonl Don't
sit here, looking so wild-like,' said old Di-
nah, who was close beside me.
knew the voice. heard what she said;
but l went on talking.
''Why don't you laugh, Dinah2'
''What at, young Massa 2" asked the wO-
man.
HAtme-at blind man in loveP
30, Massa Paul, what ails yer2" sobbed Di-
nah, "what has happened to yer2"
HHushW whispered. 'You have heard
the step coming, night and day-that has
killed me; but do not tell her, for he will be
her husband then, and she would grieve. Tell
her how loved her, though, and how l
would have cared for her, if had been like
other men. She viii not laugh then, for l
shall be under the sod, and We never laugh at
the dead. Harkl the step is comingp
Firmly it came along the path; and, as
stretched out my arms, seemed to spring from
black precipice into gulf of deepest pro
foundest darkness, where hearing and motion
were buried in oblivion, heard her calling
out:
"0I Massa Doctorl Massa Doctor here's
young Massa Paul gone dead all along o you
as 1 knowed he would r.
Concluded tomorrow.