The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1873-04-17

were Aockinp up from all parts of the house,
and the hall seemed full. ga railway acci-
dent" "a collision" was being whispered from
one to another.
Yes. He whom they bore was John Gresham;
John Gresham in life so recently, but dead
now. One of the railway porters who had
come with the body explained. The gentle,
man did not die directly, he said; he lived
long enough to write a note, which he, the
porter, had brought. 1t was addressed to the
gentleman's wife, Mrs. Gresham.
She took it in her hand mechanically, and
passed into the room where they were placing
her husband. Respecting her grief, they lett
her alone in silence, awed by the white face;
full of dumb, fearless sorrow. Olive opened
the letter then and read it over the dead:
"Olive-my wife-lying here, with the
shadow of death falling over me, l can see
things as they are, and / know now that | have
been blind cruel, utterly mistaken. Blind to
all that is right, cruel TO you, mistaken In my,
self. l do love you, Olive, with truer and
better love than I ever felt for any other,
though you have not lately been thinking So
Heaven forgive me my sin and folly. The
love, or, would rather say, the fascination
felt for Gertrude Dorne is gone. Death Is 80
near that I can look into my own heart and
understand it. did like her once-hut never,
Olive, with the pure affection learned to feel
for you; and when we met again here she
bewildered me, turning my head with its own
folly What would have been the final result
1 scarcely can hide from myself. Other men,
strong as I, have succumbed to false passion
and folly. The hand of God has interposed
and stopped me and her-yes, and her, for she
ia deadIin our reckless career. am dying,
and do not say am sorry that it is 80 Bet
ter be away from temptation. And-if a
death bed vow of repentance may avail-mine,
as the Saviour knows is sincere and bitter
enough. If l could live, you might never
fully trust me again. But now at the last L
can tell you, and tell you truly, that love you.
long to see your face again, and hear you
| forgive me. But that cannot be. 1T we could
but realize in life what it must be when this
comes Perhaps, when am dead, you will say
what would be glad to hear before Isay good
night to life. If you do shall hear you, Olive,
my dear, wronged, faithful wife! | shall hear
you. I can hardly hold the pen. l am grow
ing blind-but love you-I love you at the
| last-and.- .-in-Heaven-"
And then there was great blot where the
pen fell from John Gresham's nerveless fingers
as the blot of death fell on his life.
She lifted the cloth that covered the dead
face. knelt beside her husband, and called him
sweet and tender names.
81 forgive you, John" she said softly. You
hear me, don't your You are mine, now-all
mine love you, John p
Was it fancy, or did the dead face take on
more peaceful look than it had worn before
She thought it did. :.
And then Olive Gresham kissed his white lips
and put away the soft hair from his brow, and
held his hands in hers. In death their spirits
had come together as they might never again
have been united in life. And twas better so
| Better so.