Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1874-04-09

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you have outraged and disgraced, will be only
a clod of cold and senseess clay"
"Have mercy! Oh pardon p still pleaded
and besought the miserable woman, crouch
ing prostrate on the floor, and lifting up her
hands with a pitiful, pathetic gesture that
would have touched any heart, save the one
that she had so wronged by her treachery.
81 have no mercy! pray with my dying
breath that God will likewise grant you no
mercy! Igrantyou no pardon l took you
to my heart; loved you above all the world,
and beyond Heaven. I sacrificed my eternal
welfare to secure you, and you have wronged
me. You have fouly dishonored me! Lv-
ing, would have punished your treachery ;
dying, curse you endlessly-eternally"
He paused for breath.
"Air! air" he cried, sharply "more air !
Open the windows"
He fell back on the sofa, exhausted by the
great effort he had made to speak.
Cecilia obeyed him as one who is under a
mesmeric spell obeys every behest of the mes
merizer.
The fresh September breeze blew into the
room and famed the dying mans painting
lips. He looked out on the yellow light OF
the sunset, with most melancholy eyes, and
then out on the green woods which death so
soon would shut forever from his gaze.
Cecilia did not return to her husbands
side. She passed through the window, out on
the balcony with its boxes of oleander, pink
and crimson, yellow and white, and stood
there leaning on the balustrade and glancing
down on the ground beneath, with their grav-
eled walks, variegated fower-beds and neatly
trimmed borders of lockwood. She leaned
there, wrapt in the profoundest reverie, strange
and sad
Z. The woman was losing her mind.
Suddenly her husbands voice reused her,
and she returned to his side.
"Have you yet no tears to shed Are you
stone ?" he said with the fierce energy of
deathly struggles; "weep!-woman-a0eep-
aueepP
Il cannot O, I cannot! Here is my
heart" she moaned, barring her snowy breast
to his gaze; "kil me, as I begged you to do
last night, and 1 will not utter single sound
of reproach but don't ask me to aueep, for l
cannot I have no tears" !"
He seized her frantically by the arm, and
said in the most supplicating and tender
tones
"Oh ! Cecilia, I have loved you so! Oh 4!
Cecilia, appeal to you, do not wed him when
I am dead fyou do, l will curse you-
curse you-curse you !"
lie loosened his grasp and fell backward
with convuIsive sob. His eyes closed, and
his despairing voice died away into silence.
Again he raised it to mutter something who'll
ly uninteligible, and then gasped and was
still. His spirit had passed away.
Cecilia crouched down by the sofa, wiring
ing her hands and moaning distractedly but
making no sounds of words, save once when
she leaned forward and whispered in his sense
! less ears
"Dou't curse me! No, no, don't curse me!
am dying, too! Don't curse me!
Then she was silent.
For many moments she continued thus ;
then suddenly, starting to her feet, she ran
out on the balcony, and with one wild, pier
cling shrek after another despair unutter-
able and irrecoverable insanity dashed
herself from the railing of the balcony to the
stone steps below her. Her head struck and
she died almost instantly.
! Peace-the peace which the quiet grave
alone can give to weary heart and weary
brain-was hers forever more.
*
! For Irving Mcdonald? Well his heart
was mans heart and although sorely woun-
dcd, it did not break. The recollection of
that awful tragedy in which he played so
promnenta a part lived in his memory always.
He took to his heart no other love. All
the affection of which he was capable had be-
longed to Cecilia, and it was buried with her
in the grave
! Inflated, beautiful woman that she was,
destroyed unwittingly by his unhappy passion
He never entered society again. He avoi-
ded it; and if any one ever questioned as to
why he abscnted himself so studiously from
the world he once adorned by his intelligence,
his beauty, his wealth and his elegance, a
sombre shadow would settle down over his
proud face but he would never reply.
He never spoke of his grief to any living
being; not even to his faithful friend, Daaval.
And so the tragedy of the mans life closed
with the death Of Cecilia.
DESTINY marks out for us, one and all
fated paths in which our feet-ourtir tired feet
are doomed to tread
If we resist, we soon or late, learn how
powerless have been our efforts. We soon
or late, learn to bow submissively to the Dies.
TINY that HOUNDS Us DowN, with the mute
pathos of the Buddhist that prays at the
hands of his eternal Idol-only for the beni-
son of extinction.
TIE END.
A C.,oD Cropy-An onusinp story of an