Eaton weekly Democrat. [volume] (Eaton, Ohio) 1866-1875, 1872-02-22

1hey did not take 1t, Harold! 1t
was his-all heaven and earth were his
He was free-at the judgment-seat-on
the cross-in the gravel 1t was the
man this, that a man lay down his life
for friend And they were not even
that ~
A great wave of emotion swept over
the boys frame, and left him still. At
last, "his life for his friends p he re-
peated softly. Then lifting his head,
he said in voice strangely altered, 81
think it might be doneI p
She looked into his face and knew
that she had won his heart. Do you
wonder that she trembled? 1t is fear
full thing for one soul, clinging fast be-
meath seething seas of doubt, to know
itself the only anchor of another near
to wrecking? God be thanked for that
human love which teaches the Divine.
For the power which shapes the little
acts and words Of common life into an
angels ladder, whose top is lost in
cloudless heights.
Miss Waring walked on now alone.
At the turn of the road, she paused and
looked back 1t was quiet scene-the
winding street bordered by double rows
of elms, a ceE tury old; the white
church-spire cleaning through the clus-
tering green. On the right, visible from
her slight eminence, stretched the
meadows, green and undulating, en-
broidered by the silver thread Of the
babbling creek; on the left, rose the
the pine-clad hills, full of the weird
lights and shadows of sunset The
chestnuts were in full bloom, their long,
pendant tassels bright against the vivid
green of their luxuriant foliage. The
near hill-slopes were flushed with drifts
of laurel -blossoms-some laughing chill
dren were heaping them in their hands
like rosy snow.
him, looking toward her, with the red
ligh y, Midas-like, touching his hair to
vivid gold. Through all the years of
her life she would carry his image as he
was that night
She entered a cottage whittier her
errand had been to offer her services as
night-watcher with one of her little
scholars, who lay sick. A neighbor
having been already engaged, Miss
Waring begged to stay, at least until
she should come. 1t was late in the
evening when she walked home, and
Mrs. Moss, not expecting her, had re-
tired an hour before. She let herself
in with duplicate key which she car
ried, and went noiselessly up stairs,
where she lay, for long time, sleepless,
but, about midnight, sank into a deep,
dreamless slumber.
Outside, the cool wind blew fitfully,
and dewy pearls stung themselves upon
the grass-blades. Night, with her mys-
terious processes of rest and growth,
folded her dark wings over all.
But within the old house there was
breath, a subtle stir, creeping, but not
of mice, in the wainscotting- ticking,
between the measured beats of the an
cient clock upon the wall.
A late foot-passenger upon the high
way startedto see two windows glaring
redly on him through the darkness, like
demons eyes. Breathlessly he fastened
forward, and great shout tore the still
air.
"Firel Firer'
Mrs. Moss leaped from her bed in ter
-ror at the thunderous beating on her
door, to see one-half the wall of her
room a lurid, smouldering mass, which,
even as he rushed past it toward the
outer door, burst into live fame behind
her.
The street was already full of half
dressed people.
Miss Waringr' cried half score of
voices. "Where is she ?"
"Not here-she did not come home
last night" came from the widows pale
lips.
"Thank God for that I'
And through it all-the tumult, the
shouting, the hurrying steps, the rush
of the destroying fire-she lay in that
strange, unbroken trance of sleep. No
one could reach her now; the whole
lower story of the old house was one
shell of fire, which burst through melt
ing panes and smoking clapboarding.
Men, women, and children ran aimlessly
to and fro, or stood, as if fascinated, with
! their useless pals and buckets in their
hands.
Suddenly, cryI Shrill, sharp, freez-
ing the very hearts blood of those who
heard
She stood in the little gable window,
the black masses of her hair sweeping
down her white robe, her hands out
stretched in an agony of fear and en-
treaty. A deep groan of despair went
up from the crowd below, seeming to
her quickened senses to fall back from
the leaden sky with dull, hopeless re
bound She understood ali now. One
thrill of dreadful anguish from the
strained chords that bind every human
heart to life, and Margaret Waring was
calm.
In that supreme moment, she seemed
to have outlived the patriarchs. Life,
with all its hopes and fears so real last
night seemed now long past and dreamy
She felt the breath of eternity on hel
sense. Yet, with mysterious double
sense, she was conscious of all the small
details of the scene. She saw the strange
lights and shadows playing over the
horror stricken faces below, the vivic
outlines of the nearer trees against the
inky sky beyond, even the huttering O
frightened birds amid their branches.
Some of the old Huguenot BLOOD
burned in the veins of this girl; he
slender limbs were moulded of the pur,
stuff out of which martyrs were made
An old hymn of her childhood spran
to her lips; wild and sweet quaint melod,
rang out upon the air:
1.-THE Lord is coming. is coming,
| In chariot of fire
Fly up my soul. to meet Him.
On the wings of thy DESIRE"
There is sudden movement in tn,
crowd, focal gathering of all eyes
What do they see?
A boyish figure, appearing, no on
knows how or whence, climbing toll
somely up the steep roof slope, cllngin
with bare feet and hands to the smok