Connecticut western news., 1875-01-15
MISS ERISM'S CODICIL.

MlSS IOeDeCC2 EflSm, ValoGuQlnar1aIl of sixty, lay dying at her house in town. She had held so tenacious grip upon life that it was difficult for the two young people to realize the end was so near. These two young people were Gerald Prism, her nephew, and Miss Luane Williams, her companion and nurse.
 Gerald had seen the young woman every day for the three years she had lived with his aunt, but never until that moment had bestowed serious thought upon her. He did not even know the color of her eyes, till his aunt gasped out @ sentence that caused him to look at her attentively. Then he found them shining luminously in the somber gloom of the sick chamber, and something therein forbade him to hate her, although the sentence his aunt had uttered was to the effect that she had left Miss Williams all her money.
 eff you expect to pay for that horse for Emily Thorpe to ride with the money you get by my death," said the dying woman, "you're mistaken"
 "You don't understand" began Gerald.
 '' It was m infamous transaction, J said the old lady, "and what I call a post-obit. I found out enough about it to make mo put codicil to my will. That rascally horse-dealer'l lose his money after all, and Emily Thorpe shall Haunt none of her finery at my expense. I've left every penny to Luane Will Hams p
 It was then that Gerald looked at Luane; but his aunt suddenly stretched out her hands to him pleadingly, and finding gray pallor spreading over her face, he knelt down by the bedside and took her cold, withered hand in his own.
 " If the horse had been for any one but that Emily Thorpe ]" faltered the poor old lady.
 "Oh, aunt: said Gerald. eff you'd let me explain ''-
 "I would if I had time;" she said "but must die now"
 In ten minutes 1t was all over, and Gerald went out of the house with a great ache at his heart. He was very sorry for his aunt; she had been very kind to him-too kind, for sho had reared him for the useless life of a drone, when now it appeared he must work for his living like all the rest of the bees. It had hitherto been something of bore to him merely to spend money, and the fact began to dawn unpleasantly upon his mind that to earn it must be infinitely more wearisome.
 Walking aimlessly on, his feet took mechanically familiar direction, and he found himself pausing before fine house in 0 fashionable quarter of the city, from whence shambled 0 some what bent and awkward figure that pres ently disappeared in brougham before the door.
 Gerald recognized the man as MT. Badger, the millionaire, and involun tarily contrasted his condition with that of the fortunate soap dealer. He was however, so absorbed with the direful news he had to tell Emily that before she came into the parlor he had forgotten Badgers existence.
 It was singular that her remarkable beauty and brilliant toilet did not appal Gerald nt that moment; that the fact o his no longer being able to grace that lovely hand with betitting gems did no prevent him from seizing it in both hif own and kissing it rapturously. But fol that enchanting moment he was allowed to forget the gloomy chamber where his aunt lay dead, and the woman that waited there for the money he had been taught to consider his own.
 "It seems to me that you are very beautiful this morning." was all that ht could say.
 Emily drew her hand gently away iron his caress.
 "Gerald," she said, ''I have some thing to tell you.'
 Her accent was cold. There was some thing in her manner that caused him tc step back and look at her with Q din premonition of what was to come.
 "You know," she continued, "hov bitterly opposed is your aunt to your af lection for me. She has told me herself that she will never consent to our happi ness. Gerald, I am too fond of you tc wreck your whole life. There was but one way to end it all "-
 She paused. He leaned forward, an6 still kept his eyes, now wan and haggard upon her face. Then she sank pale anc trembling into chair, and covered hel eyes with her hand. She was moved with pity, perhaps, or vague regret At last she spoke.
 "I have just accepted an offer O marriage"
 "From Badger" cried Gerald, and l "o1hOO oo oIlO uoOI' AOlI pIuI5ICe, he added, standing upon the threshold has served you well. You have jus got rid of me in time. My aunt diec this morning, and has left everything she had to her nurse and companion"
 Then he got out into tho street, anC walked along with faltering, staggering step. His eyes were wild, his face lividly pale. People turned to look at him as he went by, and two or three wondered what was sending that man to the devil
 He went home and stood by the bod, of his aunt. There was singular fascina tion about this death-something yer, wonderful and tempting in that mysteri ous and absolute rest. Suddenly he be came master of himself, of the bitterness and despair of the moment. He walked firmly to the door; but step followed him, and turning, he saw the pale per tUrbed face of Miss Williams. Then h. remembered her presence in the room but his madness and grief had prevented him from realizing it.
 "Just one word, MT. Erism," sh 'said. "Of course you know that vii not touch one penny of this money!"
 "It doesn't matter now," he replied "It might as well be yours as any body's!' p
 "But it is yours," she naid. "Oh, as for me-" said Gerald, (" shall not want it. He walked on througl the hall. Miss Williams followed hin otoo1tbi1u Ho ontaro1 bis rooT, l,,1