The Jackson standard. [volume] (Jackson C.H., Ohio) 1847-1888, 1879-11-27

preference for her vanquished, and he
openly chafed at the "other girls
leaving him so much to her society, as,
with malicious dutifulness, they per-
sisted in doing, except when expressly
commanded to the contrary.
1t was not much that Lydia had
lost, for it was little that she had
ever had. But it seemed a great deal
to her, and it was her all. Nobody
knew that she suffered; probably she
did not know herself; she was too
humble to think that anything she
could feel could be worthy the name
OF pain. But day after day the stairs
grew more wearisome, and the furni-
ture heavier, and the food less appe-
tizing: And one evening strange
mist hung over eyerything-indoors
as well as out-of-doors. And next
morning she could not lift her head
from her pillow, and Dr. Hardy had a
new patient.
DR.. Hardy understood the situation
very fairly, as doctors often do. He
had had his colloquies with Eliza and
Jane. Even now they were not slow
to lay Lydia's illness at her own door.
''She would not let them take their
fair share of their fathers illness, and
now she had come upon them herself" :"
He wanted them to hire trained
nurse to wait on their sister; and fear
ing lest their pride might resent and
resist any supposed slight on their
own powers, he slyly urged that the
train of illness was likely to lengthen
out if all the care were cast on deli
cate and sensitive relatives. That did
not gain his end, but it mollifed the
ladies. Had Lydia been conscious,
she might have wondered at the effect
produced by so slight compliment
from one Of that sex which her sisters
despised so heartily!
Lydia's illness was that sort of low
fever which fingers along and often
leaves deep traces behind it. Eliza
and Jane never quite believed in it.
They thought Lydia did not bear up
we'll. When she was worse they child
her; when she was better they exhort-
ed her. They would read aloud to
her; and if she asked them to stop,
they felt so injured that it was easier
to let them go on, at any cost of con-
fused brain and bewildered dream.
DIR. Hardy grew to pity the pale,
quiet woman, who seemed to watch
for his coming, because he brought
the comfort Of a comprehending and
sympathetic presence. She interested
him as the first revelation of the sad
subsection which underlies so many
women's lives. Its result he had
often seen before; the secret of its
process had not hitherto been display
ed to him. But he felt little more
than a pathological interest, with a
genuine healer's instinct to relieve.
Not only was she thirty-six, and wan
and faded, but her mind was as little
likely to fascinate him as her face 1t
had been starved on the direst and
poorest nutriment, and her sympa-
thies, like the limbs Of man long
fettered to a seat, were now scarcely
able to stir themselves. DR.. Hardy
was twenty-seven, his whole nature
throbbing with the ambitions and
visions of an ardent, warm-hearted
young man who does not even dream
that anything in the world or in him
self can hinder or check the strong
tide of energy he feels within him. 1t |
was simply because he was so glory
ing in the race of life before him that |
this poor thing, who had never left |
the starting-point, touched his heart
and craved from him little help,
which to its utmost could be so small. |
He brought her books to beguile
her convalescence. He could easily
see where she stood intellectually, and |
he did not startle her by presenting
too violently-opposed mental stand
points, nor shock her by requiring too
far leap from her accustomed ground.
1t might have astounded Edward Har-
1y had he guessed how difficult it
would have been for anything from
him to startle or shock her. Accus-
toned all her life to unquestioning
loyalty to her standards, she had now
made him one of them. Under cover
IF his medical authority had grown
up another She began to make an
reference to his opinion
IN all subjects. 1t was Formidable
.ival, even to that of Eliza and Jane.
As she recovered, one wretched
race of her illness did not yield. In
is course she had grown deaf; and
his deafness continued, though, like
most nervous Affections it varied
much in intensity. This troubled her
adly, because she saw it troubled 9TH
rs, who did not disguise that they
ound it troublesome. Jane wore
wrap round her throat because she
had strained it, shouting at Lydia"
.ydia's recovery was visibly retarded
Ehen she found the deafness did not
o. In her heart she wished she had
led, and then shed sorrowful tears
yer her wicked rebellion. She clung
1ore and more to DIR. Hardy's daily
isits. He did not seem to blame her :
or her suffering. After he had been
18th her for few minutes, she could
ear his voice more readily than the
theirs, though on his first coming in
he was always at her worst, since any !
painful or pleasing, serv- !
4 to increase the affection.
Still she gradually progressed, and
he said to herself that DIR. Hardy
rould very soon discontinue his visits. !
She had already overheard Eliza and :
ane discussing their cost, and she !
cit pang of self-reproach that she ,
ad pleasure in what involved the ex-
enditure Of their scanty means.) No :
urther thought was in that simple.
nworldly mind. There had been ,
rey days before-there was a CLEAN
f sunshine now-and then there ,
rould be grey days again, just little
arker. She hoped that perhaps DR..