The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1879-05-30

1t seemed to me that night, as l laid
my head on the pillow, that my posi-
ton was anything but an enviable one
and, to save my life, l could not help
contrasting the cold and passionless face
of Miss Marian, with the SOULFUL,
earnest expression of the little girl had
named st. Marie. Moonlight flooded
the apartment; but the rays were cheer
less, and served only to remind me OF
the rigid, ice-cold, society-fettered
woman / had just left. Sleep came at
last-blessed relief In dreams, the
saint only was visible. Strange, how
near she seemed to mel 1 heard her
voice in every conceivable tone-now
soft and melodious, now earnest and
thrilling, now stern and commanding.
A dreadful weight pressed down upon
my chest. I could hardly breathe.
Frank Sinclair Frank Sinclair !"
rang out in terror-stricken tones, and
with such wealth of tenderness that /
lOnged to open my arms and Unfold the
saint; but was powerless to stir hand
or foot.
J felt myself forcibly lifted from the
pillow, and held in sitting position.
Frank Sinclair, the house is on fire
Will you not awaken? For Gods sake,
get up quickly! They are all out but
you and II The hall and rooms below
are all in blazeP
For a second / gazed at the rapt
countenance, then commenced to realize
<Ie o,k ,,at,a,, TIL &c fha
the kissing and sputtering of the flames,
the earnest pleading of my saint, fell
upon my ears with strange commin-
Cling of emotions. Good Heavens! how
l loved the little woman that moment,
fraught though it was with danger, and
perhaps death.
do you not hear the terrible noise ?
We are lost if you do not make haste"
came again from the blanched lips.
1t was but the work of moment to
prepare myself for flight, and then
cover the dear child, who for my sake
had risked her own precious life, with
thick blanket snatched from the bed
and, more like q mailman than the con-
ventional member of society 1 had
always considered myself, 1 rushed
through the dense smoke, through the
kissing Jamestown, down, almost
suffoeated, scorched, on fire, more dead
than alive, into the open air with my
burden. and then knew no more. L
crime to my senses in neighbours house,
my mother aud sisters weeping round
me. Sitting by table, her fair face
resting on her hand, exhausted and
grief-stricken, sat my darling. I tried
to rise, but could not.
"Marie-Marie, come to me; I want
you!" 1 exclaimed, agonized at the
thought of the poor child's loneliness
and suffering.
"What does he mean?" asked my
mother, evidently supposing me bereft
of my senses.
Il mean my friend, my preserver, my
saint. Will you not come to me,
Marie?"
She crossed the apartment, and shyly
advanced to my side, placed her hand
in mine, and said, "Mr Sinclair, 1 am
so glad you are not dangerously injured.
l feared that, in saving my life, you had
sacrificed your own and the little
one burst into tears.
"St. Marie, it was you who kept nae
from destruction. Mother, sisters, SER
vants-all left the house without one
word of warning. You stood by me,
and believe would have still stood had
I failed to awaken, and met death at my
side. ST. Marie, 1 believe I have always
loved you"
"Let me examine his pulse" inter
rupted my mother. "He is certainly
raving."
"Not bit of it, mother" I replied,
gaining strength by the opposition, and
rising to my feet. "This may not be
just the time and place to declare ones
love, in accordance to your strict ideas
of social etiquette; but this night have
l turned my back for ever upon the
heartlessness, vanity, and selfishness of
your so-called refined society. Marie,
L love you'll" and, drawing the dear
child to my side, defied the whole
household. "Tell me you return this
affection, and / shall be the happiest
man on the face of the earth"
She made no answer, but allowed her
head to remain where had placed it.
That was answer enough.
The next day, "Miss Marian" was APP
priced of the change of affairs. My
mother has not yet become reconciled,
but have never had reason to regret
the confagration which disclosed to me
the boundless love of st. Marie.