Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1876-04-15

extremely duAtOuS TO KNOW
Because, dear, it seems that I can
not part with you for d long time now. ,
/ have such strange, sad forebodings; /
feel that al IS not right here; that my
hearth realily diseased, and"
Say. rather. your Imagination is dis
eased, " said Henry, interrrpting her.
Do you put more faith IN your own
foolish fancies than In the skill Of such
a physician as DIR. Arondale? Why,
Mary, it would seem that you intro
duced this subject again at this time,
to render me anxious and uncomforta-
BILE while / am absent"
To this harsh charge Mary Only re-
piled:
oh, Henry, how unjust and sat
tearfully watching her husband as he
walked the room still more rapidly and
pertInaciously than ever.
There is person waiting to see you
in the Office, sir, said a servant, APP
pearing at the door.
AS Henry took up his hat to 60,
Mary laid her hand on his arm and
SAID, gently:
May | look for you by Saturday
afternoon, next week n
With greater impotence than he had
yet shown. Annesley replied
When my business will allow me
to return, expect me, not before.
At that moment none might tell
which of these two was most profound
" Wretehed; the husband who closed
the door hastily and went forth with
proud, stern look, but a remorseful
heart, or the wife, who gazed mourn
fully after him, then sank into seat,
covering her face with her hands, and
weeping bitterly.
At midnight, just week from the
time of his leaving for New York,
Henry Annesley reached his home.
He had written once during his abb
sence, though but a nasty note, and
had received an affectiOnate reply from
Mary. Yet his mind had been iii at
ease, and he had hurried home sooner
than was expected. There was no one
up to receive him, and letting himself
in with his pass key, he stole softly up
stairs, careful not to awaken the house
hold. He first sought the nursery to
see if it was well with the child. The
fair creature lay in all the exquisite
/ RI1CGlutuGES
one hand against her rosy check, and
her soft golden hair floating over the
pillow. The fathers heart yearned
over it in unspea kable tenderness, and
he raised his eyes In mute thankful
ness to heaven. Suddenly the child
turned and moaned in her sleep, then
slowly opened her eyes, raised herself
in her bed, and began weeping silently
"a touching popularity Of the little
girls always. When she saw her ia
Their she sprang to his embrace and
nestled against his breast. When he
questioned her why she wept, she said
Nurse put me to bed without let
ting me go to mamma for ergood- light
kiss"
After little soothing, Annesley left
his daughter fast falling asleep, and
entered the chamber of his wife. The
room was dimly lighted and bad a
strange stiffness to him. He listened
in vain for the sound of the deep drawn
breath Of slumber. He walked softly
to the bed and drew aside the snowy
curtain, saying, Mary"
She was there lying before him, but
she did not start up at the sound of
his beloved voice; she was very pale,
her hands were folded on her bosom.
Alas she was dead
With one wild cry of unutterable
anguish, Henry Annesley threw him
self beside his lifeless Mary; caught
her cold form to his breast; called her
fond names, and kissed her cold lips
and closed eyes, as with a terrible
transport, in the passion of his agony.
But one took him at last, almost by
force, from her and led him from the
room. This was Mr.. Herbert, the
desolate father of Mary, who, upper
ceived by Annesley, had been sitting on
the opposite side of the bed, the sole
watcher by his dead child.
Poor Mary had died very suddenly
on the morning of the day of her hus-
| bands return. She had been reading,
as was her usual custom, portion of
the Sacred Book to her dear father.
! Suddenly she started, dropped the
volume, pressed her hand to her side,
and with a succession of sharp, quick
cries, fell forward in swoon. From
this she partly revived, but, though
medical aid was promptly summoned,
she did not regain her full conscious
ness till the last, when she spoke once,
these words. very family:
My dear ones-bring them also
home, o, my Redeemer.
In a little more than an hour from
the time she sat reading by the father S
side, supported on his breast, she
breathed out her life, and her meek
| spirit returned to the sheltering bosom
of the Divine Father.
The flowery May turf was broken in
/ the neighboring cemetery for one more
grave beneath the cool shadows and
beside the clear waters, and Mary An
nesley was laid to her rest, with all
1 the loneliness of nature In her lovehest
season gathered about her. The light
and warmth of sunshine, and the warb-
ling of innumerable birds were abroad
in the air above her, but the spirit that
| lived and mourned her felt only the
more sad and desolate for it all.
The day succeeding that on which
Henry Annesley had seen the grave
close over the bride Of his youth, he
was sitting in his favOrite room, with
his child upon his knee, gazing fxedly
upon a portrait of the lost. which hung
I opposite to him. Suddenly his glance
Z fell upon rOse-tree which stood on a
J flOwer-stand at his side. 1t was that
from which Mary for many weeks had
been accustomed to take daily half
opened flower for him. 1t now bore
one single rose, the last of the season,
and to this was attached a small slip Of
paper. This Annesley removed eager
ly and read, For Henry"
Oh, how like his lost Nary In her
loving care, in the exquisite refinement
of her beautiful devotion, jealousy
watchful, lest another should take
even a rose-b bud dedicated to him, the
one beloved. Oh, as he tenderly sew
cred the rose from the stalk, believed
/ pressed them apart with kisses, how
did he look into the still, buried heart
of his Mary, as he had never looked
into it when it throbbed and glowed
for him. How did her life of gentle
forbearance, of humility, patience and
( loving kindness, rise up before him
with sweet Representatives, How she
ever stood affair, as he last beheld her,
with mournful eyes. looking farewell
through tears. and that hand pressed
close against her heart.
From that hour the sacred rose, with
those dear words wrapped around it,
incloSed in a small locket, has been
worn, as the most hallowed of memen-
toes, near the bereaved and softened
heart of Henry Annesley. Around