Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1872-06-01

LILY AND ROSE.
CONTINUED FROM YEsTERpAY.1

for the summer, her father. There was the
slightest undertone of sadness in NOrman's
voice, but he concealed the pain at his
heart with quiet fortitude.
When somewhat later he rose to go, she
felt perfectly assured that her meaning
was plain to him. She gave him her
hand-a cool, soft hand, but with a firm
touch-and said in her gracious way, with
her voice so musical so sweet, and so cold:
II shall always count you among my
friends. Mr. Norman, and shall not easily
forget the pleasant hours we have spent
together
He took her hand in the lightest clasp,
and said easily, though his face was still
pale, Goodnight and good-byt" !" and was
gone.
When Miss Ashley sat in her own room
that night, combing the long, bright hair,
that crowned her stately head, She said
half aloud, and sighed:
Poor boy How eloquent his eyes were
before checked his words. 1t was quite
impossible, of course But through her
dreams those dark eyes, SO full Of beauty
in their pleading tenderness, seemed to
follow her with reproach.
John Norman walked slowly across the
short pace between the Ashley house and
his own home. The fresh green grass was
Just as soft beneath his feet as it was few
hours ago, the breeze, that blew softly on
his face, as cool and fragrant, the golden
stars shone as brightly in the unclouded
sky, natures infinite rest and peace was as
deep and full, and yet how changed tor
him He had never understood until now
how strong had been his hope of winning
this beautiful woman. As well might
stretch out my arms and cry for one OF the
stars, to fall thought he bitterly. For
wild moment he doubted if there were any
object in life for him, and thought how
bissful to sleep the sleep that no pain or
sorrow can waken. Why had he permitted
sible for him to do otherwise than love
he not struggled against the sweet infiu.
that filled his heart and life was the mere
est ripple in her calm existence.
He was young. but he was not weak,
however; the selt-denial, and quiet, earn
est endeavor of his every day life made it
easier for him to bear this trial than any
less-disciplined soul. But he could not
talk that night He kissed his mother with
fervor, but in silence, and she, seeing his
pale face, and the lines of pain about his
mouth half OWNED the cause and forebore
to question him. So he left her, and 60
ing up TO his own room, shut himself in
with the darkness and his sorrow.
Miss Ashley left in the morning, and
time laid its healing touchNpon John Nor
mans wound, until by-and-by there re-
manned only the carefully hidden scar. 1t
was impossible he thought, that he should
love another. or displace from its shrine
ielen's beautiful image. AS well might
some pious Catholic enthrone Mary, moth
er of God, the holy embodiment Of wo-
manhood, and motherhood, and exalt in
her place some inferior saint But he
could live and work, without despair, and
without losing his faith in goodness and
truth.
The purity and unseltishness of his life
and character won him even worldly sue
cess, in an age when honesty and integrity
seem at discount, and shrewdness and
greed at premium. Like Sir Galahad,
His strength was as the strength of ten,
Because his heart was pure.'
In a few years he became member of
the firm of which he had been clerk.
His increased means made it possible for
him to adorn his mothers life with certain
elegances and retinements she had ALWAYS
longed for. But he could not keep her
long with him. The seeds of disease, suwn
in the early days of privation and poverty
began now to bear their fatal fruit. She
grew weaker day by day but was so quiet,
SO brave, SO patient that John scarcely
suspected the truth until few days before
her death. Then she called him TO her
and taking his hand and looking up into
his face with loving pride in her large dark
eyes, said to him very gently, but cheer
fully.
John, you have seen it will not shock
you. if | tell you must soon leave you"
''But | thought, mother-the physician
does not say
mo John dear, not in so many words,
but feel it to be true, and you will hear
me. have one last request to make.
When shall fall asleep and you can keep
me no longer with you, You will open my
husbands grave and lay me on his breast
can scarcely believe, after all the wears
he has lain in the cold arms of death, he
will not take me to his heart. and she re-
peated softly the words that have stirred
so many hearts:
'She is coming, my own, my sweet,
Were it ever SO airy tread,
My heart would hear her, and beat,
Were il earth IN an earthly bed;
My dust would hear her, and beat
Had lain for century dead,
Would start and tremble under her feet
And blossom in purple and red"
No one would have suspected the quiet,
practical, subdued woman of such passion
ate depth of affection, or of so much po-
etic feeling, but as she looked forward and
beyond her son, with such holy, tender
light in her eyes, such a wistful, yearning
expression, like that of child. on her
! lips. this woman of fifty seemed to see
again, with the vision OF youth and love,
her husband, whom death had taken from
her twenty years before.
So, not long aiterward. the faithful
heart was laid 70 rest on the beloved dust,
..dust unto dust, and John Norman was
alone.
Some months after, and five years since
his parting with Helen Ashley he sat in
church on a warm June morning. He was
somewhat worn and tired, half inclined
1 to ask himself concerning his life Ito what
end ?" but strong-hearted and brave and
trustful still. The windows of the church
were open, and he could hear the murmur-