Shenandoah herald. [volume] (Woodstock, Va.) 1865-1974, 1870-08-04

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| He obeyed the summons with alacrity,
though wondering much what could be
coming low.
| Edith was awaiting him, Uloaked and
hooded, evidently in great haste to be of
somewhere.
L hope you will pardon me- she said
as he closed tho door behind him, but
really did not know how to ask, and
mamma will not allow me to 60 myself
A poor womon down on the beach is sick,
perhaps dying, and must 60 TO her. Her
lite boy just came after mic. | was there
yesterday, and they are in great distress.
Could | trouble you to 60 with me!
L will do the errand. It is too stormy
for you to venture out
ooh it is no errand. | am sorry to
trouble anybody
Mr.. Gray saw what she wanted, and
saying he would be back directly vanish
ed for his rubber suit.
The rain drove in their faces, and the
wind howlcd through the black night like
a minister of evil, but Arson Gray felt
as if he could brave thousand storms
not for a iisherwoman, perhaps, but for
one SO good and fair as Edith Willough-
by, he would not have hcsitated moment
When they came upon the beach the waves
fairly leaped into their faces, and Edith
chung half terrified to her companion in
spite of herself
4 believe you had best return now. and
cave it to me- Mr. Gray said
No, we are almost there. I should
never forgive myself if | did, she answer
ed, catching hex breath as she spoke. 1t
is only you [ am worrying about
1 am glad to be able to help you, lie
said. And | shrink he spoke the truth.
I Iuside the cottage poor Grace Pooley
lay on her bed, trying to breath on a little
longer, If SO the good God might bring
her some good friend before she died, to
care for her orphan boy.
When the door opened her eyes bright
ensd, and she raised up little.
! 'rhc Lord bless ye for coming! | know
he WILL she said, as Edith threw off her
covering. and went towards her.
This is only one of the boarJers, who
came with me- she said. in reply to the
! Woman's questioning look. L should
have come to-day had l known you were
worse
She sat down beside the bel, and An
/ son Gray watched her as she spoke in a
low, tender voice to the grateful woman.
Among the words which he could distin-
gulsh was promise to see to Jamie and
when the old woman, who seemed to be
nurse. come up to administer something,
and in half whisper asked Edith to pray
with them, he began to think he was in
another world. Aud it was another to
him, truly Surely she would never dare
do that But she did Knccling upon
the bare floor, and clasping her white
hands, she sent up such prayer for help
and strength as Arson Gray had never
dreamed of hearing before. In spite Of
his attempts, tears would come and blind
and blur his eyes, 50 that he lost sight of
her, and at last had to wipe them off by
stealth.
After that night. Arson Gray knew
what his heart was, bat for his life he dar-
ed not approach Edith. She seemed au
immcasurable distance from such as he !;
but he cherished the memory of her pray
er as one glimpse into heaven, for which
he could thank God all his life.
Two or three times afterward chance
threw them together; once he walked With
her to the beach, and passed the very cot
tage where they had gone, through the
storm, long ago--or SO it seemed now
but neither of them referred in any way
to that night; he, because he dared not,
and she, because she had likely quite for
gotten him as IN any way connected
with it.
Edith's mother was gay woman, and
such she meant her daughter to be, though
for her life she could not help ferret ng
out, aud helping also, an innunerable
number of forlorn, poverty-strieken peo-
pie, who had no earthly claim upon her.
as they went their fashionable rounds. 1t
was notifying, even exasporating, but
she was powcrless to prevent it. They
were again to be off soon, Arson Gray
T beard; bat he would have missed seeing
Edith, had he not accdcntly met her, as
she was hurrying up the beach towards
t. cir boarding house, on the very day he
left
lie could not let her go without telling
her what was in his heart.
May speak to YOU momentT
Certainly
AS the word left her lips, she saw what
his speaking was going to be.
sOh, not that Mr.. Grayp
Somehow he took courage from the
quick palling Of her lips.
/ yes, that love you and want you foi
my wife,
L am to be married Christmas =
He turned and was leaving her. when
something made her speak,
Mr.. Gray
He faced her again, aad she saw how
white and stern he looked.
Had I been free you would not have
asked in vain"
For days and weeks afterward. Ansor
Gray Rugged the memory of her look, as
she said those blessed words, to his heart
caring more for that than for the love
and caresses of any other.
Christmas came, but death came with it
and L lith's lover went his long journey
leaving lis aRianced bride and her schem
ing mamma to console themselves as bes