Gallipolis journal. [volume] (Gallipolis, Ohio) 1837-1919, 1862-07-03
he had half made up his mind to run
away with her himself.

| UC udu uult LuooO W LIZ A-AiAl0 " -
away with her himself.
| A strip of paper slipped from q vol
lume on Antoine's desk. and futtered to
his feet. DO not Be angry said the bit
of paper, piteously; forgive as, for s'e
love-
Three years went by. Antoine had
entered the Church, and was already
looked upon as rising man; but his
face was pale and his heart leaden. for
there was no sweetness in life for him.
Four years had elapsed, when let
ter, covered with outlandish stamps,
was brought to the young priests let
ter from Anglice. She was dying;
would he forgive her? Emile. the year
previous, had fallen victim to the fever
that ragged on the island; and their
child, little Anglice. was likely to follow
him. In pitiful terms she begged An
tome to take charge Of the child until
she was old enough to enter convent.
The epistle was finished by another
hand, informing Antoine of Madam
Jardin's death; it also told him that
Anglice had been placed on a vessel to
leave the island for some Western port.
The letter was hardly read and wept
over, when little Anglice arrived. On
beholding her, Antoine uttered cry Of
Joy and surprise-she was so like the
woman he had worsbipped.
As a mans tears are more pathetic
than q woman's, so is bis love more in
tense.-not more enduring, or half SO
subtitle, but intenser.
The passion that had been crowded
down in bis heart broke out and Law
ished its richness on his child, who was
to him, not only the Anglice Of years
ago, but his friend Emile Jardin also.
Anglice possessed the wild. strange
beauty of her mother,-the bending,
willowy form, the rich tint of skin, the
large tropical eyes, that had almost
made Antoine's sacred robes mockery
TO him.
For a month or two Anglice was
wildly unhappy in her new bome.-
She talked continually of the bright
country where she was born, the fruits
and flowers and blue skies. Antoine
could not pacify her. By-and-by she
ceased to weep. and went about the
cottage with a dreary, disconsolate air
that cut Antoine to the heart. Before
the year ended, he noticed that the rud-
dy tinge had fed from her cheek, that
her eyes had grown languid. and her
slight figure more willowy than ever.
A physician was called. He could
discover nothing wrong with the child,
except this fading and dropping. He
failed to account for that. 1t was some
vague disease OF the mind, he said, be-
yond his skill.
So Anglice faded day after day.
She seldom left the room now. An
tome could not shut out the fact that
the child was passing away. He had
learned to love her so!
Dear heart, he said once, what is't
ails thee?'
Nothing. mon psre.'-for so she
called him.
The winter passed, the balmy spring
air had come, and Anglice seemed to
revive. In her little bamboo chair, on
the porch, she swsyed to and fro in the
fragrant breeze, with peculiar undula-
ting motion, like graceful tree.
At times something seemed TO weigh
upon her mind. Antoine noticed it,
and waited. At length she spoke.
Near our house, said little Anglice,
near our house, on the island, the
palm.trees are waving under the blue
sky. Oh, how beautiful! 1 seem to
lie beneath them all day long. 1 am
very, very happy. I yearned for them
until 1 grew sick,-don't you think SO,
mon PEREZ
Mon Dieu, yes!' exclaimed Antoine,
suddenly. Let US hasten to those pleas.
ant islands where the palms are wa
wing
Anglice smiled.
Il am going there, mon perez
Ay, indeed. A week from that
evening the wax candles burned at her
feet and forehead. lighting her on the
journey.
All was over. Now was Antoine's
heart empty. He had nothing to do
but to lay the blighted flower away.
Pere Antoine made a shallow grave
in his garden, and heaped the fresh
brown mould over his idol.
In the genial spring evenings the
priest was seen sitting by the mound,
his finger closed in the unread prayer
book.
The summer broke on that sunny
land; and in the cool morning twilight,
and after nightfall, Antoine fingered by
the grave. He could never be with it
enough.
One morning he observed q delicate
stem, with two curiously shaped emer-
aid leaves, springing up from the CEN
tre Of the mound. At first he merely
noticed it casually; but at length the
plant grew SO tall. and was SO strangely
unlike anything he mad ever seen be-
fore, that be examined it with care.
How strange and graceful and ex-
quisIte it wasl When it swung to and |
fro with the summer wind, in the twi-
light, it seemed TO Antoine as if little
Anglice was standing there in the gar
denl
The days stole by, and Antoine ten
ded the fragile shoot. wondering what
"a