Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1876-09-28
Mr.. Chase, his gray head bowed beneath


clasping her transparent hand in his. Ar
thur hovers near, moving restlessly about
trying in vain to escape from the sharp pail
gnawing at his heart. Even now, he would
fain persuade himself, and persuade others
that there still is hope-that the progress o
the fatal disease may yet be arrested by skill
full treatment; but the effort is futile one
and secretly he feels that hope is past.
"Arthur, dear"-how weak and changed il
the tremulous voice, as she speaks-"wil
you not come and sit down near me, for {
little, and let US talk" ......
Curbing his restless misery, he complies
and draws chair to her side He shrink
from what be fears may be coming, but cal
not refuse her request
"Arthur, do you remember what day thi
isl"
He answers, with an effort, that it is tn
twenty-6 first of October. .5.. ......
eyes, know. Just two years ago to-day
I met you first--do you remember " .
Remember! Yes, he remembers-and tear
blur his sight, as before him rises the vision
of that wild western scene-the glowing wooda
the sweeping prairie-land, the grand noun
tains stretching afar of, and above him, a
he lies helpless beneath the tree, pictures
que figure bending with compassionate eyes
her slender shape and vivid dress standing
out in full relief against the pale afternoon
sky. The same figure, the same face, as thos'
pressing the white pillows on the couch, ane
yet how diferent-then, glowing with health
and animated, fearless and childlike and un
clouded, now darkened by the mysteriou
shadow which be knows can never be littee
from them again, the shadow Of the Death
Angels wing. Two short years have wrough
this change-but it seems to them both al
though much wider gulf stood between tina
time and this. .......
"Just this very day." she goes on softly
"How it all comes back to me now! You die
not dream then, Arthur, that the wild girl O
the woods was so nearly related to you
But was always fond of you from the first.
"And I of you-you have never knowr
how fond," he answered, in low tone. "Yor
are my first and only love, Leila" a.s .s.s
Mr.. Chase rises and quietly slips from the
room. He thinks he will leave them for
little while to themselves, for he feels that thit
is the leave-taking between them, and he
wants the young hearts to unburden them
selves without restraint. So the poor old mar
goes into his own chamber, to shed tears in
solitude over his broken hopes, while the two
dwell sadly on the "reminiscences of the briet
past. ...-. .... ... +. ;....
81 have valued your love, dear cousin
more than can tell, though I did not return
it in the way you wished me to- But feel
now that it was so much better that did not
for your sake. 1t would have made it harder
for you to let me CO." .1i.t .t.....:sl.. j.
"That could not we'll be, he says, under 'lI his
breath. '
II think, perhaps" she continues, eff had
kept on feeling quite we'll and gay and hope
full, as used to do in old times, 1 would have
felt differently about that But somehow
could not bring myself to look forward far
or to make any definite plans. knew they
could not last" &C.,. .-
"But Leila, tell me, darling, why you were
less gay and happy here than you we're be
fore? Were you disappointed, or what p
"Oh not was not disappointment. You
we're all so good and kind to me that could
not help feeling very grateful always, and ever
content. But seemed to miss something
don't know what It was the change from
the old free life, suppose, that weighed upon
me. used to pine for the mountains and the
lakes and the wide, wide forest. I felt shu
up, sometimes, as if could hardly breathe
and when this sickness began to creep ovel
me, used to fancy that if I could find myself
in my old home again, and my old dress, with
my bow and arrows, and range about at will
1 would get we'll directly. 1t was only fan
cy, you know. I don't think anything could
really have cured me"
Every word of her simple speech struck
deep into Arthur's heart, like reproach ye
she was far from meaning any reproach. He
felt that what she said was true, and in the
bitterness of useless regret he almost blamed
the fate that had led him to discover the
long.lost girl, since be had brought her away
from her accustomed haunts but to die. Like
wild flower uprooted from its native heath
she had pined and faded in the new atmos
phere to which she had been transplanted
She could never take root in other soil but
that in that which she had thriven from in
fancy. The high-built walls, the narro"
streets, the close air of the city, stiHed her
The conventional usages, the daily forms o.
social life which are so easy and natural te
those bred in their midst, were torture to her
Her soul yearned and throbbed with the rest
less craving of the imprisoned bird, who. sight
in his gilded cage for the freedom of the
woods, and beats his quivering wings in vain
efforts to escape. And now she could fee
nothing but joy in the conviction that her re-
lease was near at hand for in her chiidlike
and unquestioning faith, she knew no fear.
"Don't think that I regret coming" she
went on, tenderly "don't think for an instant
that you left anything undone, that could have
been done, to make my home here pleasant te
me. 1t was only that long habit had be
come like nature, and my real nature was 81
changed that couldn't go back to it again
But it is all for the best, dear Arthur
know that well and I am quite, quite happy
now"
IT., ,,neot oloxu fodad awav the prav hue