The Bloomfield times. [volume] (New Bloomfield, Pa.) 1867-187?, 1870-09-20

| bohON AOl lllo ldHlcy dIu SCIlb III " CuTu OH
which was written, "Rev. William Spen-
GER Montclair." Then he waited his turn
He dared not think how long the time was
or what suspense he was in. He just kept
his simple child's prayer in his heart, and
steadied himself with it.
The time came for him at last, and he
followed the boy who summoned him into
a little room shaded with green furniture,
and on a table a vase of flowers The
stiffness of the cool-scented air refresh
ed him. He saw dimly, as he saw every
thing that morning, a tall, slight man,
with kind face and quiet manners, who
addressed him by name, invited him to sit
down, and then inquired into his symptoms
with such tact and sympathy, that he felt
as if he were talking with friend. At
last the doctor asked him to take q seat by
the window, and have his eyes examined.
His heart beat chokingly and he whisper
ed under his breath
THY will, o God, be done; only give
me strength
two-it seemed ages to Mr.. Spencer Then
he said, with the tenderest and saddest
voice as if he felt to the utmost all the pain
he was inflicting .ta,-.. al. o.
b,'" l cannot give you any hope. The mall
ady is incurable. You will not lose your
sight not just yet, but it must come soon."
The minister tried to ask how long it
would be before he should be blind but
his tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of
his mouth, and he. could only gasp. "
DR.. Gordon understood, and answered
very kinkly, that it might be a month !;
possibly two.
He stood up then, to go. He knew all
hope was over. He paid his fee, and went
out of the room, and out of the house. 1t
seemed to him things had grown darker
since he went in. He hardly knew how he
found his way to the cars. 1t was about
two hours past his dinner time, and he was
faint for lack of food, but he did not know
it. He got to the station somehow and
waited for the train to start for Montclair.
All the way home he kept whispering to
himself "One month, possibly two'--as if
it were lesson, on the getting by heart of
which his life depended He heard the
conductor call out 'Montclair' at last, and
got out of the cars mechanically. His wife
stood there waiting for him. She had been
anxious about him all day.
go, William % she cried, and then she
saw his face, and stopped. There was a
look on it, of one over whom some awful
doom is pending, a white, fixed look that
chilled her. She took his arm, and they
walked on silently through the summer af-
ternoon. When they reached home, and
she had taken off her bonnet, he spoke at
last.
Mary, come here and let me look at
you. want to learn your face by heart
She came and knelt by him, while he
took her cheeks between his hands and
studied every lineament.
care you going away?" she asked, after
while for his fixed, silent mysterious
gaze began TO torture her.
Yes, dear, 1 am going going into the
dark"
"To die ?" she asked.
eyes, to die to everything that makes
up a mans life in this world" he answered
bitterly.
"MaTy, am going blind. Think what
that means. After few more weeks l
shall never see You again, or our children,
or the dear, beautiful world where we have
lived and loved each other The whole
creation is only an empty sound, forever
more God how can bear this ?''
" Is there 10 hope?' she asked with Gu
rious calmness, at which she herself was
amazed
None. 1t was my errand to town to-
day, TO find out. have felt it coming Oh
for months, but hoped against hope, and
now know. Oh, Mary, to sit in darkness,
until my death day, striving for sight Of
your dear face 1t is too bitter and yet