Mexico weekly ledger., 1876-10-19

was paler and graver@ thar OF OLD, out
his manner was as calm, and as full OF
quiet, brotheriy tenderness to Madeline
as to his own sister.
He was1goiag abroad; he had long
been contemplating goinginlseareh OF
his brother, of whom for nearly a year
they had heard gncthing, and now he
felt that he could not stay; that it was
better for him to go. And so, In the
first dreary November, days, he went;
and the long winter passed, cherries
and lone, but still made brighter to
Madeline than any since her childhood
had been, by the cinging love OF the
children, and Mrs. Rutherford's SYM
pathizing, sisterly affection, before
whose tenderness Madeline's GOODNESS
and reserve gave way. -
They had letters often from Mr..
Kingsley, who was seeking always,
through busy citiess and peaceful ham
lets, under bright and cloudy skies, in
glad hopeful sunshine and dreary chill
ing rains, for him who was to be DOOM
| ed to be all his life long an outcast and
a wanderer upon the face of the earth.
At length a letter came to the patient
walters at home, saying that he had
found traces of him, and the next let
ter, waited for with such anxious sus-
pense, told them that he had found him,
! but that he could never be found
to them any more in this world. He
had found him i'll, dying, at a little way
side inn; he had recognized his broth
er, had told him of his. wife, with whom
his last thoughts seemed to be; he
begged him to seek her, and ask her to
forgive him for the wrong that he had
done her. ftC ,-..a
And so he had died therein foreign
land, and they to whom he had caused
so much miserywept tears of unfeigned
grief for him, and remembered him
with the blessed merciful memory in
which the dead are ever held, striving
to think of him only as he had been ia
other days, and to forget the wretched
folly and crime that had darkened his
later years. And so Wallace Kingsley's
quest was ended, but still he did not
come home. The spring came, joyous
and sweet, with balmy breath, and
robes of tender, trailing green; and
then summer, with languid, sultry airs,
came and tarried until herb and flower
tainted under it's s~corehing sun, and still
he came not.
All through the long autumn and
winter that followed, Madeline sat by
a seward window, watching half-un-
consciously for his coming, but she
watched in vain. The summer came
again, and she stood one night in her
old place on the piazza, watching the
sunset fade into twilight. 1t was not
just the same Madeline that had stood
there two years before; the old dreamy
look had not gone wholly out of the
brown eyes, but it vas nOt SO hopeless
as it used to be; but there was q CLEAN,
of hope, a subdued, patient trust in
them that was not there of old.
Suddenly Il football echoed on the
stone steps. A football that she knew;
surely the echo of none other could 50
thrill her pulses. She stretched her
hands out to him as he approached her,
with a blind motion like a tired child,
a she said, simply:
"You stayed SO long!"
Sand you wanted me to come, Made
line? My Madeline, is she not?n And
she was folded in the strong arms that
should shield and protect her always,
And so, after her long dreary night,
the day dawned-a bright, rosy dawn
ing in q sky where there were no
clouds.
And Mrs. Rutherford's governess laid
aside her sodden gray robes fer snowy
satin, and hOarfrOSt lace, and orange
flowers, as became a bride.