The interior journal., 1875-09-17

. NVntethete
"No. it's not q stroke" she answered
with the experience Of long years OF nur-.
ing. "His face isn't awry, you see and
he's only limp, not paralyzed. There
I've opened his cravat, and now, Jane,
bring some water. It's but fainting III
he often has 'em when he's worried; often,
I mean, since his daughter went away
She ran of, you know, most ten years
ago. He's never forgotten her; or rather
she's never, leastways Of late yesrs, ssked
TO be forgotten. The last time was when
she came herself, just after she was mar
ried, on a night as bad as this" All
this while Mrs. Scmers was busy In try
ing 10 revive her master, cha6ng his
hands, holding smelling-salts TO him,
even ordering the window opened. "He
turned her from his doors in a perfect
rage-I never seen him so angry afore or
since. But he's been sorry for II many
and many a time, I know. I have heard
him sigh sol He was a-tbinking Of her.
He'd have forgotten all, years ago, II she
would only have come again; but she
was as proud as him; don't know which
was the prouder. She went to ferrln
parts with her husband-he'd been her
music teacher, you see that's what made
Mr.. Ascot 80 angry; and she has not been
heard of for years and years There
he's coming to; what sigh! stand
aside, Mr.. Policeman, please, and give
some air. Poor man! but he's nobody to
blame but himself, after all. don't up
hold disobedience in children, of course,
but dearer, sweeter girl than Margaret
Ascot never WAS. Many and msny's the
time I've carried her in my arms when
she was baby and her mother was alive.
How are you feeling now, sirT
This last sentence was addressed to
her master, who, with deep drawn sigh,
opened his eyes
"what, what is the matter :" he said,
looking vacantly from one to the other.
Yes, I remember" putting his hand to
his brow. Margaret"
His eyes wandering about fell on the
boy, who, during this episode, had en-
tirely recovered consciousness, and was
now looking, with a strange sort Of won
der, at Mr.. Ascot.
"Please, SIR" said the lad, seeing he
had attracted the old mans eyes, "can
you tell me where Mr.. Ascot lives? l
was to 20 to him-only ! lost my way
mothers very sick-and she's had moth
ing to eat to-day"
With these words he broke down with
great sob, the tears streaming along his
thin, wan cheeks.
"Where's the note2 Order the car
riage," said Mr.. Ascot, incoherently, ris-
ing to his feet. as 1t from Margaret
Did somebody say she was starvingf"
His poor, weak, shaking hands vainly
tried again to unfold the paper which
the policeman had handed him. 81
am not strong as l used to be; think i
am getting DID," and he looked pit
eously at Mrs. Somers, and sank again on
the sofa.
"Drink this, SIR" said the housekeeper,
handing him restorative.
He drank 1t, and rallied.
"Ahi it is her-her writing" speak
ing to himself. "She is a widow, and
her only child named-after-after
me-"
He stopped reading, and turned to look
at the boy.
"Are you grandfather" ?" said the lat
ter. timidly. al think you must be, foI
mother has picture she looks at ant
cries over, and it's like you"
The letter fell again to the floor. But
this time it was because he opened hi
arms, and the boy, catching his meaning
came to him.
"You won't let her die, will you ?
said the boy, looking pitesusly into hi
face.
"Die, die I" cried the old man, risin,
up ; and his voice and air were that o
youth. "She must not die. Where j
the carriage' will go at once, and sh'
shall come home tonight. The carriage
/ say" he cried, almost angrily, and hi
turned toward the door, where the foot
man now appeared.
"The carriage waits, sir" said the ser
want, obsequiously.
"Get your cloak and bonnet, Mrs
Somers, a few blankets bit of food
there's not minute to lose. Good God
Margaret dying, and we wasting our tint
here! No. my brave little fellow" HI
said, "your mother shall not die"
In few minutes, during which tn,
thoughtful Mrs. Somers had provided I
biscuit and some hot tea for the boy, thu
little party set forth. While the carriage !
rolling over the snow, It's destination be
ing one of the most distant and obscur'
streets of the great metropolis, let us sa!
few words about the daughter.
Margaret Ascot had been one of thos'
sweet-tempered, sympathetic nature
that everybody loved. Beautiful, ac
complished, wealthy, and well-born, sh'
had crowds of suitors, but at nineteen sh'
turned from them all, and gave her hear
to a penniless lever. This was not becaus
she was foolishly romantic, like so man.
Others, but because her suitor wa
worthy of her in every way except riches
He was poor music-teacher, an Italia
exile, for this was in days, now, fortun
ately, long ago, before Italy was free, an
when to be an Italian patriot mean
banishment, or lifelong Imprisonment
or even death.
Andrea Fillippo had, when hardl
more than boy, joined in the Insured
tion of AS, and had been compelled afte
its failure to fly the country. lie ha
come to America, and, being pennies
had been compelled to take up the frs
pursuit that offered itself. In his ow
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