The Weston Democrat. [volume] (Weston, W. Va.) 1875-current, 1875-11-15

LuC AcAb th1 D ouA NOLlu AAoc' L ouA pAN'
Kathleen were talking in low tones, and
now and then could hear few words.
"'Is your mother like you, hath.
leen2 Then l shall know her. Now,
tell me what l must say
"'Tell her, Paul, that am living out
her life that though the road be long
md the path set thick with thorns, my
feet, like hers, will one day reach the
goal Then her voice broke, and she
said, sobbingly: 'Oh, Paul, my brother,
can you not take me, tool' His answer
was too low to reach my ear, but pres
emily her sobs ceased, md then ho call
ed, faintly: 'Philipl' was beside him
Immediately. Raise ME up, Phil. No,
don't ring for lights. I wish you could
take mo home, Philip, and lay mo in the
churchyard Kathleen speaks about.
Hush, Kathleen, dear, and Philip, you
must hope and be patient. The begin.
ming of the end seems very near to mo.
Then bis voice sank. Presently he
stirred knthleen-Philip-and when
l laid him down the smilo that had set.
tied on his pale young face was the smile
with which he woke in heaven.
Glowing the dead body Of my Paul
in the care OF our kindly landlord, I took
Kathleen to her carriage. Then, afraid
to leave her, I accompanied her home.
She was quite silent, only every little
while she would sigh, shudderingly. As
we nearcd their hotel, she turned to me
with MI agonized glean in her darkeyes;
Now Paul is gone, have no one-no
one' Then I said to her, quietly, with
the shadow Of our great sorrow lying
between us: Promise me, Kathleen,
that ii your burden shall become too
great for you to bear, you will let me
help you :; and she stillcd her sobs to
say, solemnly: Philip, I promise.
1.-THE next year was terrible to me. l
missed paul daily aud hourly, and life
that had once seemed so full and bright,
grew only weary load, which ! yet
must bear. Then read Mr.. Lambert's
death in French journal. Poor kath-
leen was released. Then I knew the
great hunger OF my lie might yet be sat.
isfied. A love, whose mighty presence l
had not guessed, sprang up in my heart.
wrote to her, sending tho letter to
Paris. knew she did not love him, SO
my haste was no insult. I am going to
that village among the hills to wait.
When you are free, come to me.
az havo looked for her every day
since then. Paul, in the churchyard yon'
der, and l iu tue old house here, wait
for Kathleen's coming. Her room is
alwaysready. Wouldyou like to sec til"
asscnted eagerly. Phil took up the
lamp, and unlocking door 1 had not
observed till then, led mo into n large,
handsome room, bright with soft, warm
tints, and made cheerful by the fire
which cracked and played upon the
hearth. Tho walls wero hung with pic
lures, the tables covered with books,
and in one corner stood cabinet filled
with bronzes, exquisite statuettes, and
here and there shine Of gold and gems.
On tue top lay Bible, o prayer-book,
and beautifully.bound copy OF
"Thomas KOmpis." Opening the lot
ter, read: "To my wife, December
II, IS
at will take her somo time to look
over her birthday presents" Phil said,
in answer to my look of inquiry. "Yes,
tint is the last. December lit will
soon be here" He stood looking into
tho fire and musingly stroking his long,
prny benrd. "ShO will be thirty-niue,
Archie, and I am nm old man. My iaitll
sometimes wavers, but if 1 lost it,
His face shadowed suddenly, aud lie sank
into chnir with weary sigh.
Seeing he for the first time was un-
conscious OF my presence, l continued
my survey of the room. In one corner
were grouped several rare ferns and n
tea.roso bush, covered with buds. In
ono OF the windows hung bird cage,
its pretty occupant curled up into asoit,
yellow ball. How pathetic to mo were
tho faded yellow curtains, telling, rs they
did, Of the long, patient waiting, the
richness OF hope deferred.
When I returned to the fire Phil'seyes
were fixed on q picture TINT hung over
the mautelpiece-a woman's fnce, bcau-
tiful md sad, yet lighted with the RI.
diancc of divine hope. Beneath the
picture was n bracket, OH which stood II
vase Of flowers.
"Phil, is that
"My wife. It was not meant for her,
yet the likeness is perfect. With that
look on her fNce, she is waiting some
where. I must not despair now,
Archie, when she may be near"
On the morning Of the 18th OF De.
cember I was sitting III my room, think.
ing of my friend. The wind whiStlcd
without, and now aud then n few HAkes
OF snow were whirled against the window
panc. I was wondering whether Phil
would rnthcr be alone, or If l should go
to him. when note was handed to me.
1t wAs in Pills writing. "Archie, she
has come. I want you. Bring Abby
with you; she is Il sensible woman, and
can hold her tongue"
Scizing my hat and cloak, and telling
Abby to follow, 1 hurried over. Phil
met me in tho hall he clasped both my
hands aud drew mo into his Office. "Sho
came tonight, in the early darkness
she has followed her father from city to
city, the only link that bound him to n
purcr life; he died n month ago, in
London. She has been cold, hungry,
desolate, but size hns come ut last.
Then he led me into tho warmth and
brightness of the nest, whose bird Ind
ut length flew home.
A figure was lying on he low couch
before the fire. "My wife," Philip
said, fondly; then l saw her face beauti.
ful with the beauty Of heaven, and
frightened now with light like the
nfter.rlnw of thn silnsct lrr hnir wns