Saint Mary's beacon. [volume] (Leonard Town, Md.) 1867-1983, 1879-05-08

not often that she sat thus, for she was
the most cheerful and busy ofliftIe NO.
men, the best Of sisters and sunts, and
the kindliest of neighbors. This being
The case, she found little leisure for
thought OF solitary musing, for. in some
one Of these relations. work enough was
always provided Tor her.
But tonight she nassned to have ST.
me- RE q 4''y ysSr = r. 3ophss, me Q Il
Of her charges, had that morning been
married. The old gray homestead had
bern left desolate when her smiling face
went from il, at least so Elsie thought.
True, she had tribe Of small nephews
and nieees staying with her, while their
mother, Elsie's sister Mary, and her hus-
band accompanied the bridal party on
their tour, but they had long been asleep,
and there was no token oftheir presence
in the somewhat prm-looking room, ex-
cept a great basket Of aythings in
corner, and row Of shoes, headed by
Willie's new boots" and closed by
baby ElsIe's tiny bronzed slippers, that
were ranged against the wall.
Elsie's iather had died suddenly, the
victim Of fatal accident, and his Wild
ow, overwhelmed by the sad and terri
Bile bereavement, soon followed him.
With her dying breath she commended
her younger children 10 the care oftheir
elder sister, and exacted from her pro-
mise that she would devote her life TO
them. The girl could hesitate at no de-
.mand made in The last feeble accents Of
her dying mother, She lifted the little
unconscious babe from the feeble arms
that clasped 1t, and holding il close TO
her bosom, and looking upon the tear
ful face of the little group gathered
around that death-bed. gave the requived
promise.
In an hour her mother had ceased 10
breathe, and Elsie's life-work had be-
gun. But il was not until the sad cere-
monies Of the funeral were over, and the
little family had returned 10 the desolate
home, that Elsie fully comprehended all
she had undertaken.
None who have truly loved will fail
TO comprehend the struggle that for the
following weeks went on in Elsie'e soul.
II was no light sacrifice that was de-
manded OF Elsie: duty and love, her
promise TO the dead and-her vows to the
living, were the antsgonisss that con-
tended every inch of ground. John
Francis loved Elsie full well enough to
have aided her IN her life task. He saw
no reason in the duties she had under
taken why she should not fulfill her
vows, and in becoming his wife divide
the burden Of her responsibilities and
care.
But she thought differently. She felt
that she bad no right 10. allow his gen.
erosity 10 lead him into such sacrifice.
He was young, and life lay bright and
long before him. Should she allow the
shadow Of her care to project across the
sunny paths Should she seek TO lay
upon has shoulders the burden that
weighed her down and doomed her to
life of toll 7 She could endure and sac
rifce much for the children, so dear to
her by ties of blood-the sacred legacy
Of her dead parents. But to hlm they
were nothing, save for her sake, and
she might have 10 see him grow weary
and discontented with the untimely
cares that marriage with her must thrust
upon him.
So Elsie and John Francis ra-ted, as
they feared, forever. When her lover
found that no arguments nor prayers
could change her purpose, that she had
solemnly recorded her VOW to the dead,
and was fully prepared to perform it to
the uttermost, even to the sacrifice Of
her dearest hopes and most cherished
wishes, he disappeared from the neigh
borhood without a farewell to any who
had known him.
After time letter came TO the par
Ish clergyman 10 tell that he was safe,
and about to sail for foreign land, and
from that hour, for all those twenty
years, no tidings OF John Francis had
fallen on Elsie Raymond's ears. When
she knew that he was gone and would
not return, she very carefully gathered
together every little memento of The
happy season OF her happy love, and
locked them in the casket he had given
her, thenceforth 10 be the shrine of her
1AC(thOu~s uCAs StCEHtY aUu uuCOtIf-
plainingly, she turned to her Iife-task.
Year after year rolled on. Elsie spun
and wove, aud directed her maidens and
her farm-laborers, and taught and nursed
her brothers aud sisters, and in all things
strove to supply 10 them the place of
the parents they had lost.
IntIme The wounds Other heart healed,
at least they ceased to bleed at every
touch. and she learned to find solace in
the affection of her children, as she called
them, while habit made her duties light,
and almost pleasant.
The mldnight hour had already passed
when Elsie. rose to retire. Her long.
lonely vigil had made her timid and
nervous, and she could hardly repress
a shrek of alarm--as just at that mo-
ment q heavy knock was heard at the
outer door, and resounded through the
house. .l.s. ~ f. a74~nnzs
But Elsie's only thought was ofa
summons to some sick or dying bed, for
in that quiet neighborhood people were
seldom abroad at night. on less urgent
errands; 50 smiling at heF causeless
alarm, and still trembling in spite of her
bravery, she undid the fastening of the
door, and threw II omen.