The Plymouth Democrat. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1869-1941, 1869-12-02


On looking more closely, saw that this
little lady was young girl, but so pale
and hollow-eyed, that at first glance
might have taken her for twice her age.
"My DEAR said, taking her hand,
"you have come here to look for some
friend. Do you know whether he is living
or not ?"
She painted out breath or two, and her
pale lips fashioned the word "dead!"
l turned to the table and poured her
glass of wine She took it obediently, and
leaned her head against the back of the
chair, but with her widely searching eyes
still fixed on me.
"Will you tell me his name ?" 1 said,
presently.
She strove to speak, but seemed unable
to utter the name. Then she put her
hand to the bosom of her dress, and
taking therefrom card photograph, held
it toward Inc, but without relinquishing it.
/ looked and saw a fine likeness Of Ber-
nard Heine, in civilians dress, evidently
taken two or three years be fore.
The sight electrified me. / glanced up
at the white forehead, and there were the
pale yellow locks drawn back from it, and
there was the violet blue Of the eyes, in
which Heine had never seen such anguish,
so that only the color was left true of his
description.
"YOu dear little creature |" exclaimed,
taking her in my arms, and tenderly re-
moving her bonnet and shawl that l
might hold her more closely. $50 you
love Bernard well enough to come here
for him"
"Can 1 get him?" she whispered faint
ly, too much exhausted to weep. al
have come for him. l came as soon as
l heard, and have not slept or eaten
since"
eyes, you can get him % said, hardly
knowing how to temper the news had
for her. You can have him forever.
Do you know, dear, there was mistake
made?"
She lifted her head from my shoulder,
and clasped my hand in her shaking
palms, her startled eyes on my face.
BE happy - said joyfully. He
livesw
The sweet head nodded aside, and she
slipt down fainting.
was long before l could quiet her. and per-
suade her, not only that Hcine lived, but
it was best she should not rush to him that
minute. At length bethought me of the
little curtained window in my room, look
ing into the ward and drawing the cur
tain partly away, gave her peep at him,
as he sat there reading Trembling all
over, she stood, and, without removing her
eyes, drank in the sight, as one perishing
of thirst drinks in water. The tears began
to flow fast and the SObs to come.
81 loved him so all the time, she said;
"and once l thought he loved me- But it
seems not, or else they made mischief be-
tween us. l would never have sought him
living, never but when / thought him
dead, my pride was in the dust. 1 would
have crawled here on my knees, if could
have got here in no other way. How pale
| and sober he looks Is he very i'll ?"
mo; his foot has been bad, but it is
getting on so well that he can walk about
little with crutch."
81 have suffered so during the last year,"
she sobbed, but wiping her streaming eyes
that she might not lose sight of him. ut
has worn me to a shadow. And | couldn't
tell anybody. They thought that I was
in consumption, and let them think it
but it was only heartache, and that is
worse. You may think it strange, dear
lady, that / talk so to YOU" stretching
out a little white hand to me, but unable
to remove her eyes from him." but this
shock has broken my reserve, and l must
speak once, or diep
"Dear child, confide in me, "I said
"and trust also the future. Now | must
go back to the ward. Will you stay here
alone; or do you wish to go in now to see
him ?"
"Oh, D." she cried in alarm, the blood
pouring into her face "What would he
think / only wanted to go in when l
didn't know what was about. Iwouldn't
have him know, not for worlds, that am
herep
"Whati you will go back without speak
ing to him, or letting him knOw?"
asked.
"Surelyr' she said. "It is enough for
me that he lives. Dead, l might have
claimed him; but living, am nothing to
him"
"You are much to him." 1 could not
help saying He has told me of you,
and l think he prefers you to any other.
Besides, you should pity as well as love
him. He thinks that he has scarcely
friend in the world. That is what he looks
so pale and sober about now"
"But don't tell him / am hereI" she
pleaded, as l went out of the door and
turning to promise, l saw the light of
new hope blooming in her face.
could think of nothing else, and made
every excuse to go often and speak to
Heine, that she might see him more and
look up. But she nor l could see no smile
on his face, though he had seldom more
reason to smile. Little did he know
whose loving eyes were watching him.
| went back to my room presently, and
the more saw of this young stranger, the
more admired her, and the less wonder
| ed at him for loving her She was so
sweet and dainty and such strong,
| true heart beat in her breast did not
| like her less that she persisted she must go
back the next morning, and refused me
permission to tell him of her coming,
| though had no intention of obeying her
| She stayed with me that night, and was
| expecting to start in the morning at 10
o'clock. My morning labors done, / went
and sat by Heine's bed, mindful of the
| eyes that unseen watched us.
Heine," 1 said, wouldn't you like to
know how Helen Ayre took the news of
your deaths"
He was sitting pale and gloomy, all his
old cheerfulness gone. AT my question,
he half turned away his head.
mo" he answered, bitterly. 81 have
had enough"
| "Oh, very well, then! / won't tell you.
But thought you might care to know"
l said, carelessly."
"What do you mean," he exclaimed,
turning his eager face to me again.
"Oh, it's no matter" l said, making a
pretense of going away. "1f you don't
feel any interest"
A powerful hand grasped my wrist and
held me. Heine must have been strongly
moved to do that. He did not even apollo
gize when resumed my seat somewhat
disconnected at such an exhibition before
a score or so of men who couldn't know
what the matter was.
HAS she written ?" he asked, trembling
with impatience.
"NO; but happen to know her. She
had business in Washington, and called to