The Bolivar bulletin. [volume] (Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tenn.) 1865-1888, 1872-05-31

tonished to see In him an old servan
of the Darley family, and more so t,
learn his errand.
The family we're in great trouble
he said. Mr.. barley was dying, anC
had sent for me in great haste.
I realized all and nodded assen
from time to time, although 1 dit
not speak. I was little child,
babe, who looks at the speaker Will
round eyes. and mods its head me
chanically.
Still, as I made ready to accompa
ny him, my thoughts were perfectl,
coherent and logical, with this ex
ception: it was a peculiar and para
dOxical combination of the real anC
the impossible.
ley and my old relations with her
It seemed that many years had pass
ed since I met her, so completely hac
she passed out of my life; for I swear
to you that I had never bestowed two
hours thought upon that girl since
my eyes last rested on her face.
Through all this, how time few by
This was the only phase of my illu-
sion left. Ihad been babe, and ]
was growing up so fast. I entered
the carriage. I was seven years old
Il was fourteen-I was twenty-one
The distance to the barley man
sion was not more than two miles,
and the horses did not lag, but as we
drove under the iron arch that spans
the entrance to the grounds how
familiar it all was to me-Ihad pass
ed seven times seven years.
The carriage stopped; another ser
want, who had evidently been await
ing its arrival, received me, and with
mysterious signs and whispers led
the way whittier l was to follow. ]
numbered ten times seven years,
mans allotted period here on earth,
as slowly and with difficulty ascen-
ded the stairs after him. I followed
him through long hall, and tottered
into room in which dimmed lights
and hdshed sounds we'll suited my
aged eyes and senses. In this room,
surrounded by his family, the physi-
clan, and a clergyman, lay a dying
man, Mr.. barley.
The slight disturbance caused by
my entrance seemed to attract his
attention, for he asked in a faint
voice: "Has he come? Bring him
quickly"
Wondering much why my pres
ence was desired in this solemn cham
Der, I advanced to the bedside as
well as my aged limbs would bear
me.
The dying man grasped my hand
in bis, clammy with the sweat of
death, and beckoning me to bend my
head, he whispered "Hatty, Hatty
loves you. She has loved you all the
time. When you asked her to be-
come your wife, she was rich: now,
she is poor; but you-you are rich
you are honorable-you will not love
her the less for that. have lost
everything; I am poor; [ am dying.
L leave my child to you. Take her
-happy-death-"
With labored breath these disioint-
ed sentences were breathed in my
ear.
How slowly he talked. How years
on years flew by before he had fin
ished.
a8,trH- z;srrp was movement of
some c.sa 7ulrnzing the room; a white
robed ngure advanced and stood at
my side. Her face was pale, her
eyes swollen with weeping, but I re-
cognized Hatty Darley. She clung
to my arm, murmuring, "Phillip,
dear Phillip, forgive me. I had no
idea that you would take my coquet-
tish refusal as final that night at the
springs"
'I know to what she alludes,"
thought; "thsi was ages ago" She
proceeded:
"When you left us all so suddenly,
1 thought 1 had driven you to des-
pair. Can you forgive me?"
Her father beckOned to the clergy
man. "Be in haste, he whispered,
''my strength fails" He took the
hand of his daughter, placed it in
mine, and held them fast with his
clammy fingers.
The man turned toward us and
commenced speaking. 'FWilt thou
have this woman to be thy welded
wife?' be said.
''This, then,"C thought, 'is the
purpoTt Of his singular aceue." I
was ready to laugh at the inexpIica-
bic capriees of women. Here was a
woman, the loveliest that I ever saw,
save one-(Poor Francesca, [ lost
her long ago that I cannot remem-
Der how or when she diedD who
refused my hand when I was young
and handsome, but who now sends
for me in this strange manner and
time to claim the last remnant of my
poor life. But" I said to myself,
''since this as her caprice, why not
humor her? Why not humor this
dying man, who has set his heart up
on seeing us united. I am an old,
old man; what matters it?'' and /
answered to the formula, 81 will"
I heard, distinctly, the words: 81
pronounce you man and wife!'
"Thank God" the dying man ex-
claimed, and his fingers released
their hold of our hands.
Iheard fresh burst of weeping
and 1 knew that the soul of the hus
band and father had fed. While
they bent 'Over his ;lifeless body,
staggered from the room, and from
the house.
AS I passed through the open
door, clock rang out the hour o.
ten. With the last stroke, I thought
that my life numbered one hundred
years, and then at once, the illusion
began to leave me.