The Van Buren press., 1874-06-16

saw. But, ali more vividly than all, he
saw the great red sun with its hazy veil
lingering above the trees, as though 1t
pitied him with more than human pity
He was God fearing, and God serv'
ing man. He had long made his peace
with heaven. Nothing stood between
him and death-nothing rose pleading
between him and those who were to de
ts,roy him, hut the sweet face OF Lily Dc
We're, whom he loved she had kpclt Al
Cromwers feet and pleaded for his life
She had wearied heaven with her prayers,
but all without avail.
Slowly now the great sun went down.
Slowly the last red rim was hid behind
the greenwood Thirty seconds more
and his soul would be with his God. The
color did not forsake his checks. The
dark rings of hair ,ay upon a warm brow
1t was his purpose to die as martyrs and
brave men die. What was life THAT he
should cling to it? He always felt the
AIR pulsate with the first heavy roll OF the
death knell But no sound came. Still
facing the soldiers with his clear gray
eyes upon them, he waited. The Grim
son banners in the west were paling to
pink The kline had ceased their lowing,
and had been gathered into the brick
yards
All nature had sounded her curfew ,
but old Jasper was silent!
The bell ringer with his gray head set
barred had traversed half the distance that
lay between his cottage and the ivy GOV
cred tower, when a form went Hitting
past him, with pale, shadowy robes float
ing around it, and hair that the low west
ern lights touched and tinted MS with a
halo
"Ah, Huldah, Huldah!" the old man
muttered; how swift she flies ! will
come soon, dear. My work is almost
done" Huldah was the good wife, who
had gone from him in her early woman
hood, and for whom he had mourned all
his long life But the lleeting form was
not Huldah's. it was Lily De We're, hur
red by sudden and desperate purpose
toward the old cathedral.
SO help me God, curfew shall not
ring to night! Cromwell and bis dra.
goons come this way Once more will
kneel at his feet and plead.
She entered The ruined arch. She
wregehed from its fastenings the carved
and worm. eaten door that barred the way
to the tower, She ascended with flying
and trcnzed feet the steps, her heart
lifted up to God for Richard delivcrancc
from peril The bats flew out and shook
the dust Of centuries from the black
carvings AS she went up she caught
elimpses of the interior of the great
building, with its groined roof, its chev.
rons and clustered columns; its pictured
saint and carved image of the Virgin,
VIII ch the pillagers Of ages had spared to
be dealt with by time, the most relentless
Vandall of all.
Up--still up--beyond the rainbow tints
thrown by the stained glass across her
death. white brow; up-sliIl up--past
open arcade and arch, with griffin and
gargoyls staring at her from under brack
ct and cornice, with all the hideousnes
of medieval carving the stairs, flight by
fight, growing frazier beneath her young
feet, now but a slender network between
her and the outer world but still up.
Her breath was coming short and
grasping. She saw, through an open
space, old Jasper cross the road at the
foot of the tower. Oh, how far! The
seconds were treasures which Cromwell,
with all his blood bought commonwealth,
could not purchase from her. Up--ah-
there, just above her, with its great
brazen mouth and wicked tongue, the
bell hung
A worm-eaten block for step, and
one small white hand had clasped itself
above the clapper-the other prepared,
at the tremble, to rise and clasp It's mate,
and the feet to SWING off; and thus she
waited. Jasper was old and slow-but
he was sure, and it came at last A faint
quiver and the young feet swung from
their rest, and the tender hands clasped
for more than their precious life, the
wreathing thing. There was groaning
and creakng OF the rude pulleys above,
and tnen the strokes came heavy and
strong. Jasper's haAd had not forgot
its cunning, nor his arm its strength.
The tender, soft form was swung and
dashed to and fro But she clung to and
caressed the cold, cruel thing Let one
stroke come and thousand might fol
low-for its fatal work would he done
She wreathed her white arms about it, so
that ut every pull Of the great ropes it
crushed into the flesh. Ii tore her, and
wounded and bruised--but there in the
solemn twilight the brave woman swung
and fought with the curfew; and God
gave her victory!
The old bellringer said to himself:
AYE. IIuldah, my work is done The
pulleys are getting too heavy for my old
arms. My ears, too, have failed me at
last dinna hear one stroke OF the eur.
few. Dear old bell, it is my ears that
have gone false, and not thou. Farewell
old friend "
Aud just beyond the worn pavement u
shadowy torn again went fitting pas,
him. There were drops of blood upon
the white garments; and the face was'
like the face of one who walked in her
sleep, and the hands hung wounded and
powcress at her side.
Cromwell paused with his borsemen
under the dismanted may pole before the
village green He saw the man who was
to die at sunset standing up in the dusky
air, tall as king and beautiful as Absa-
lom lie gazed with knitted brow and
anyry eve. hnt his Inns did nOt Give ut