The Cincinnati daily star. [volume] ([Cincinnati, Ohio]) 1875-1880, 1876-12-18

Il EiSu WE pOlGl ulJS OlInlS duCeobUIS lOOh-
ing dark and stern in their armor, and
paintings ofrare beauty rom the hands
Iot tile old masters, that he had collected
III his ramblingS. He had forgotten none
;of them, and gave her the history OF
leach.
"This is my mother. A perfect woman.
l can hardly tn nix her earthly. AMI if
sDe had lived my lie would have been
iuiiferent."
1t was picture of fair, delicate
woman; her beautiful face was sur
jrounded by rich waves of raven hair,
the blue eyes iull OF u tender light-such
q face as one would want Tor a home
angel.
"Who is thisY asked Grace, as they
paused before dark, brilliant woman.
with a face proud as June, but rare
beauty.
"What do you think of herT' he asked,
1 with kind OF tremor in his voice.
VI do not like her, Tor all her wonder
GUS beauty. She lacks soul, and would
crush everything in the way OF her am
bition,. even TO her own heart. Who is
she?'
"Come to this window seat, and will
| tell you her history"
| Seating her beside him, with one arm
thrown caresslngly around her waist,
| the little hands clasped in his, he told
her the story Of his love and its betrayal,
keeping back nothing except the new
| love that had blOssomed into life. AS
| he proceeded, he felt the hands nestled
| i'm his grow cold, but he could not see
| the paIlor of the bright face, or the look
| Of pain that crept into the brown eyes,
as she looked into her heart and found
| how dear this handsome guardian had
become--Gearer for his blindness and
dependence upon her. But the llgnt
came back to her eyes as he told her how
his love for the false syren had died u
speedy death, and peace had come back
| TO him once more.
at was your hand, Grace, that led me
back to the sunshine, giving me new
| hope in life. can never repay you for
your kindness, and the sweet blossoms
you have cast over my life. What shall
| / do without you? For, if l remember
rightly, you are to return to school in
| few weeks"
II will not go back to school. You
need me, and l am happier here than
elsewhere. Please let me stay" she
said, pleadingly, with an earnestness
that was hard TO resist. q
II can not, Grace" he said, drawing
| her closely to him. 81 must not be SO
| selfish. l will try and be content till
your school life is ended, when you must
stay with me till you are married.p
| ''Ihen shall stay always. But come,
| let us 60 down and have some music :,
and snake off the gloom that these pic
lures have cast over u.s."
| swiftly sped the intervening weeks,
| bringing the time OF separation. Mr..
| Gleason determined to execute plan
long thought of, to visit Germany, and
lhear from an eminent oculist il there
was any hope OF toring his sight. Ii
SO, he would try to win this sweet hui
man flower that mad shed so much fra
GRANGE. over his life; if pot-but he
| would not think of that. ,. .'
Seating himself at The piano one even
ling he drew forth a few rich notes; then,
as his thoughts wandered back to the
past, he gave them utterance in an i'm
provisation. AS he closed the piano,
lhe turned to her, feeling her presence
IintuitiYely, ...
"Grace, you hereW
| "Yes. l nave been listening to your
music. What is it that pains you so?"
| .Nothing now. l eau have no pain
while you are with me, my sunbeam"
He drew her to a seat beside him, and
clasping her closely, as If to dely the
world to separate them, said, "Grace,
Grace, can not let you 20. love you
| u.
[ know that you can not return it. |
could not ask you to link your sweet
Young life with that of a poor blind man.
Forgive me, darling; did not mean to
tell you this, but in The thought of sepa-
ration forgot all but the pain it would
bring. Only tell me this, Grace. If we
| had met earlier, ere the darkness came,
could you have loved mep
| Her tace had grown very white as she
| listened; but the crimson tide rolled in
Irosy waves over neck and brow as she
answered softly, Il have loved you from
the first, More precious than anything
else in life is the love OF Henry Gleason"
"Graee, do not deceive me. l could
not bear it. Tell me truly. Do you
can you love a blind manw he cried,
with face whittier than her own. =.
"You obdurate mortal! Can't you tell
| that I love you, since every action pro.
claims how dear you are TO me? Dearer.
far, on account of-the darkness shroud-
ing your lite," she said, creeping closely
in 10 the shelter of his arms. ''''
With low cry Of intense Joy, and a
| face radiant with this new-fouLd happi-
ness, he gathered her to him, pressing
kisses on the dewy lips, calling her BY
so readily at such times. .. Ff"aH o.
81 am going. to Germany to- morrow.
Grace. rhave faint hope that my sight
will be restored. Ii not, ana i come
back blind still, will you'll be mine r'' q
..Yours always! Tne greatest happi-
ness of my life will be to make the. sun,
shine OF yours"
80
Six months sped swiftly by ON golden
wings treighted with joy and sorrow,
somet times SUNSHINE predominatlng. At
Gleasonwood all was hustle and prepar
ation, servants tumbling over each other
In their zeal to have all prepared for the
coming of their beloved master, who was
returning home, but whether with re-
stored sight he did not say, and his
silence they attributed to disappoInt-
ment. irf '.'- '@ i''.
What state Of excitement Grace was
| in, fattering from one room to another,
Like ahumhfng- bird, and glancing down
the long line oil road to see if he were
coming. She had donned a dress ol
Waite, with clusters Of forget.me.nots
embroidered over it,. the delicate lace
sleeves alooped up with sprays or the
same, while a cluster, nestled in green
Ileaves, trembled on her bosom. She had
changed ligtle, save that the face had
1 Al Fs sn.N. Ii