The St. Cloud journal. [volume] (St. Cloud, Minn.) 1866-1876, 1872-06-13

NO. 4S.
my hand =? How can I hinder her 90
ing "
so be is gone, aud we are waiting
waiting with strained ears AMI hot ewes
TO see which will win The race to LIE.
nore's side, Death or Paul. Lenore
herself fights with all her strength
alas, how little with u strength not
her own-on Paul's eide, She refuses
to die. For more than week past she
has turned with loathing from every
species of nourishment; now she de-
mands it greedlly. Sne will not speak
bot utter word-for fear of wasting
tho little breath that remains to her,
People are very kind j.; every hour Of
the day solicitous faces meet us on the
landing place, With plying gestures and
expressions Of sympathy. Guests in
the hotel tread softly, ard scold their
children when they hear them whoop-
ing and noisily ,umb'isy, with the utter
unteeliogness of childhood, down the
slight stairs, and along the thin-walled
passages.
And now all the days between
Scrops's going and his expected back.
coming have rolled away. Before he
went, We calculated accurately together
distances and times :; this is the day on
which he engaged to return. Lenore
is still here-still 6ghting-disputing
her life, inch by inch, hand to hand,
with the all-victor.
"He will come to-day" she has said,
speaking for the first time for many
hours-spsaking confidently. 1t is my
lucky day; something tells ne So"
ha We drawn the scant window, and
looked out on the unutterable majesty
Of the morning hills.
~ UiN not die to-day ~ she says,
clinching her feeble hand. II have
some life left in me yet-more than
you think. It would be too cruel to
go before he came; he would be so dis
appointed" turn and gaze mourn.
fully at her. Her voice is stronger,
and the inward excitement of her sou
has sent last little fame Of color tc
her cheeks. "Let us be ready for him. y
she says, with tender smile. ''Takt
away oil those physic-bottles-everJ
thing that looks like sickness. Make
the room pretty gather plenty of flow
crs."
So I obey her. All about the room
following her directions, I place th'
say, sweet flowers. o wonderful, love
ly foaers Whence do you steal you,
tender stains :? Is it from the brown
earth or the colorless wind? Later OF
as the day draws toward noon, she ex
presses wish to be dressed. l remon
strate gently, fearing the exhaustion
consequent on so unwonted an exertion
but she is resolute.
II shall wish 50 few things an,
more," she says, simply and pleadingly
"you may AZ we'll let me have my way
Thus I tearfully consent. "The oil
blue gown" she says, with an eage'
smile "Louise will 6nd it among m,
things. 1t is the only one among m
clothes that he ever praised
He never was one to notice clothes
but he liked that. Only the last tim
l saw him he was talking Of it.
: So, with many pauses, slowly an
mournfu!ly, with sorrowful faces, Us
We were already dressing her for he1
grave, We dress her IN the old blu
gown. Alas it is pitifully large fe
her. But she is not yet satisfied. Il
spite Of pain, in spite of utter prostra
tion, she must also have her hair dres
sed-her long, bright hair-sEe on
l thing that remains to her.
"Plait it round and round my head,
= she says looking with feyerish entrcat
into my sad face. "Take great pain
but no frisettes-nothing artificial /
! does not like it; but let it be becon
3 ing"
Becoming at such time O Goo
Amazed l lcok at her, and half dou1
enters my mind that have been allo
ting her too short space of furthe
!, life. Her voice sounds certainly stroD
! er, and there is a ray Of living amin
' tion in her great, sunken eyes. Towa'
evening she grows very restless, and
hear her murmur to herself, "E
must make haste. The road 10 lor
. aud steep-so many sharp turns al
twists. 1 hope the horses are surs-foo
ed. But it Is only for once he migl
b make haste.' She is as one running
IS hard race that is nearing the goal, b.
y hears his rivals feet close upon b
track, and strains every tense nerve
o the effort and agony of attainment.-
n Will she attain her goal ? 1t is II
K question that, as day droops into nigh
g makes US all ever more and more breat
J less. She speaks little with her fair
?. lips but with her hunted, piteous ey
8 she entreats US to keep her. 1 Cam
II bear those eyes.
The Light is gone, AID the candle
Il are lit. "Let me read to you awhile,
say softly, in q tear-straDgled voice.