The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1878-05-01

in town ?n
"Yes, Aunt Ellen, | told him long
ago could not love him.
"And why could you not love him?
You are a strange girl"
'Do you wish to get rid of me?"
"No, Louise, you are the great
est comfort | have in the world; but
| cannot live always, and the thought
of leaving you alone when | am
gone is at times really painful to
me-
Nv aunt's words made strange
impression on me and that night
alone in my oEn room, | fouad my
self repeating the question she had
asked. WHY could not be Colonel
Ransom's wife ~ He was man
every way worthy Of my regard
his position was an honorable one,
and | sincerely esteemed him as q
friend-but more than that | could
not give. | did not love him; |
could not be bis wife.
And in that hour of silent self
communing, new revelation came
to me- | looked down deep into my
own heart, and saw that, all uucon-
sciops to myself, an idol had been
enshrined there Without any voli.
ton of my own my thoughts went
out to q lonely, sorrowful man, who
had been for three years a wanderer
in distant lands, not entirely joyless
and hopeless now, for every letter
breathed a more cheerful spirit, but
still mourning the loved and lost ;
and he, knew, was dearer to me
than all the world beside. Aud yet
no v ord of love had he ever breath
ed. His letters were kind, brotherly,
nothing more. Humiliating thought
| had given my love unaskcd. And
he was on bis way home--would
soon be with US But, thank heaven,
he did not know it. We parted as
friends three years ago; as such we
would again meet
NY aunt's death was sudden and
unexpected. | did not understand
when she spoke so feelingly of leav
ing me alone in the world, why it
was she manifested so much emotion.
Ii must be she had a presentiment of
her approaching end, for it was the
last conversation of the kind we ever
had together
| will rot attempt to describe the
loneliness of my life after her death.
| felt es if | had almost lost second
mother
When her will came to be opened,
it was found that after giving few
thousands to public charities, and
providing handsomely for her old
and retired servants, some Of whom
had grown gray in her service, the
rest of her fortune was left to ne.
| sat aloEe in my own room some
three weeks after my aunt's death,
thinking of. the past, and trying to
decide for the future, when Willie
came to me, and looking up inqulr-
inglv into my face and said: "Will
papa ever come? | want to see him
so much What makes him stay so
long 2"
And as be said this, be laid his
curly head in my lap placed my
hand on his forehead, and fer the
! first time noticed how hot it was.
"Are you i'll, Willie ?"
"No, only tired Let me lie here
and rest and put your hand on my
head again, it makes it feel so cool.'
Strange that | had been 50 absorb
ed in my own grief that | had not
noticed Willie was dropping That
night be was in q burning fever, and
before morning in the widest deliri-
um. For days after be wss danger
ously i'll, and the physicians gave
but little hope of his recovery.
The last letter | received from bis
father he was in Egypt, on bis way
home but that was weeks ago, and
| could not imagine what detained
! him. And Oh, if Willie should die
before be reached home, | did not
think how lonely my own life would
be without him | only thought OF
his father, and most fervently prayed
heaven to spare him for his sake
For days and nights scarcely left
him. | administered the medicine
with my own hands, carefully noted
avery changing pulse, still hoping al.
most against hope. The physician
said | must have rest and food, or |
should take the fever too But nc
persuasion of his could induce me to
leave the little sufferer, whose life
hung as it were on a thread, which
the least neglect on my part might
snap asunder.
The crisis came ct last-the fever
left him. And then, after one long
night of almost breathless anxiety to
those vino watched beside his little
bed, be awoke from the death-likt
stupor into which he had fallen, re
freshed, knew me, aud asked for his
father. When the physician came ht
pronounced him out of danger, and
said with careful nursing he would
soon recover.
Then, for the first time for weeks
| left Willie and went to my owl
room, resolved to take few hours
rest while tie little fellow agair
slept | do not know how long
slept, but when | awoke and attempt
ed to rise, my limbs refused to d.
my bidding A burning thirst op
pressed me; | felt faint aad dizzy
and was obliged to lie down again.
! When the physician came in tht
morning be said his worst fears wer,
realized l had taken the fever from
Willie. For a few days after my at
tack, though suffering intensely,
knew all that was passing; aud then
for days after, it might have teer
weeks for augbt knew, all was 1
blank But at last the violence o
the fever spent itself, and / awoke t,
consciousness.
The 6rst object | distinctly recog
nised was Willie, who, now entirely
recovered, and beautiful as serapb
stood by my bedside, eagerly watch
ing me.
"Oh, papa, she is awake. Do speal
to her,"