The Manitowoc tribune. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1866-1878, 1871-05-18

there is anything serious?'
"What can be more serious than a
disease of the heart ?''
''But Allan has no such thing ?'
"My dear girl, you must not deceive
yourself. You may not keep Allan long
with you. Excessive labor-ambition to
achieve great results-and want of
healthful recreation. have strained his
heart more than it will bear. tell
you plainly. Allan is dying.
''DyingW
Yes-surely. 1t is but question of
time. We may save him to prolonged
and useful life if we can remove the cause
of his disease. Have you not observed
how pale and thin he has grown? and
have you not marked how often the pain
comes to his heart? Alas poor Allan
[ dare not tell him how near he is to the
brink | spoke with him once-a few
days ago-upon the subject. l told him
there was danger
''Yon told him? And how did it effect
him p
'tHe only smiled, and shook his
head"
"Smiled ?'
Eyes; with tears in his eyes. He said
if he could only leave his wife and chill d
well and comfortably provided for he
should be willing to go. Thatwas when
he had great pain in his heart.
Mary arose, and went and placed her
hand upon the doctors shoulder.
''Uncle Ralph do you-do you-tell
met truly ?'
81 only tell you what fear, my child.
[ tell you what is possible; nay, what is
inevitable, sooner or later, if Allan con-
tinues to be so overworked. But do not
tell him what [ have told to you; it
might break him down at once. He must
not fail and die now, in the noontide OF
life, if mortal power can save him. But,
my little girl. you must be prepared; the
blow may fall at any time These heart
troubles are most treacherous. It is fol
you to make his pillow smooth, and
| give him comfort for the few short days
that
'Oh ! uncle-uncle do not say so! On,
my soul! Allan must not die Better, a
thousand times, that [ should 60 and
leave him in the use of his bright and
useful life -
DIR. Graham drew his weeping niece to
his bosom, and gently whispered: Stay
with, him Mary, and give him strenth, and
hope, and courage. While I give him
such medicine as [ have to give, be it
yours to draw him away from his labors
when you can, and make the burden
light. Let us do this, and leave the rest
with God"
After her uncle had gone, Mary NOV
ed about the house like one awakened
from a troubled dream, gathering up the
threads of the past and weaving them
into the wool of the present. How the
old old love burned up, and how dear to
her were the memories of the brighter
times Her husband dying? Oh, it
could not bet should not be
And yet-and yet-what could she do
if the die were fatally cast? Oh! she
could bless him while he lived. Yes, she
could do that.
That evening, when Allan Moore re-
turned home, his wife met him in the
hall and put her hands mp to his shout
ders, and then kissed him.
"You are late, Allan. Dinner has been
waiting fou you
''But you have not waited, Mary ?''
Eyes, Allan. l could not eat alone this
evening"
''You could not ?"
He spoke like one in dream.
No. | wanted the light of the other
times, Atlantic light which only your
presence can give.
And she helped him to re move his
overcoat; and when he had pulled off
his boots and put on the slippers, which
she had ready for him, she led the way
to the dining room.
His old fayorite dishes; the silver
bright and clean f; the china drinking the
gaslight into its translucent substance !;
the napkins white, like snow and the
food as she knew he preferred it and,
above all, her own face, wearing a smile
of the old sweetness, presiding over the
scene.
Was he dreaming, or was it real? Al
most afraid to speak, lest breath might
dispel the happy illusion. he drank in the
joy of the occasion. When the meal was
concluded, Allan arose from the table.
Now, now, Allan; where are you 60
ing?"
$50 my room, Mary I have papers to
copy
"Cannot others do your copying for
your"
These are papers which I dare not
trust to others eyes"
But you will trust me, Allan p
Trust--you - He was In dream