The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1867-06-12

and, what is more, she did die, rather
than murmur; and none but those
who knew how tenderly Simon, stern
to all else, loved his wife, could have
OWNED the bitter agony with which
he must have reflected that his exile
was costing him the life of her who,
through all his trials, had clung to
him with unchanged affection. Even
she had never dared to speak of the
recreant; but when the last scene Of
all came, and that bright loving face
was wan and dull, and the gentle
voice had sunk to whisper almost,
she and Simon had their first and
last difference. All others sent away,
they two remained together. What
passed could only be guessed, but
Simon's heavy tread was long heard
in the sick room, quick and agitated
as none had ever heard it before,
and when he left his wife, the poor
soul, radiant with q last Joy, had
scarce strength left to murmur her
thanks to him who had watched over
them i'll their grievous exile, and had
given her power to extort the
pardon of the. frst-born, for whom
her mothers heart still yearned.
From that time to her death, which
happened after n few days, during
which her husband did not quit her,
she could only thank him by looks,
and by the faint pressure Of her thin
white hand. At times she seemed
to listen eagerly, as if for some *
pected sound, the Joy of which would
render death easy. Did she think
perhaps that the disobedient son
would hasten to throw himself at his
fathers feet? Was her disappoint-
ment the grief that wrung her heart
in the last agony? He was beyond
the reach of his fathers pardon!
Stung by self-reproach or by the
taunts of others, he had tried to justi-
fly his abandonment Of his family
by the show of n proselyte's zeal,
and had volunteered, under NTontre-
vel, for the infamous crusades against
the Camisards. Some weeks before
his mothers death he had fallen in
the Cevennes.
After the death Of his wife, Simon
gave up his house in Spital Square.
His bitterness against his native land
increased. He now dropped the de
from his name; the loose photography
of his day did the rest, and from de
Ncuville the namo grew to be the
one so long known in Lombard street,
Simon's stern character, uncontrolled
any longer by the gentle being to
whom 1t had bowed, became gloomy
and morose; and to those who knew
his history there was something too
sad to be grotesque, in his never
ceasing effort to forget, ut an adj
vanced age, the very accent of his
mother tongue.
How 1 have fingered over the ira
ditions of the old house! All, we'll!
you won't find its name in the obi
rectory" now. Swinbrook and Ne
vile could't stop payment; but they
are gone. What boots it to know |
whether they "amalgamated, or
were "taken over" by joint stock
bank? | was only head clerk in the
bank. Had been a partner 1 would |
have shut the doors after paying
every one, and so have kept sacred |
the grand traditions of the old house.
I'm an old fool, know; but when 1
was asked to GO into the new con-
cern, said, no; I'd been brought
up in Swinbrook's, and wouldn't
give it up. If it gave me up L
couldn't help it; but I was too old
fashioned to change" It's only
some ten years ago; but Swinbrook's
then was just what it had been all
along. We still burnt candles,
although now and then young
fellows did snigger; and down in
the strong room were kept religiously
the old eXchequer tallies that ] had
myself taken to the West End in II
hackney coach many Il time.
CONTINUED IN OUR NEXT