The Princeton union., 1881-08-25

and listened to the expressions Of ineffa-
BILE love, and faith and consolation. which
her son found strength to utter, to sustain
her soul. Yes, in that hour her recon.
pense had begun; in lonliness, and secret
tears, with Christian patience and endur-
ar;e, with All exalted and faithful spirit
had she sown; and in death she reaped her
high reward.
They had been silent for some minutes.
and she lay back exhausted, but composed.
while he sat beside her, holding ner hand
in his, fancying she slept, and anxiously
listening to her breathing, which seemed
more than usually oppressed. A rustling
was heard amid the flowers at the window.
and bright young face looked in.
Hush! !" said Edward, recognizing the
step. Hush, Mary, she is asleep!'
The color uni the smiles passed from
Msry face, when she glided into the rosnl.
oh! Edward, Edward, she is not asleep;
she Is very, very i'll"
Mary; darling Mary" said the dying la
dy, With difficulty rousing herself. Il have
had such pleasant dream; but I have
slept too long. It is night. Let them
bringcandles. Edward, I cannot see YOU
now"
Night, and the sun SO brightly shining!
The shadows of the grave were stealiSp
fast upon her.
Other steps now sounded in the room,
and many faces gathered round the couch:
but the blind man heard nothing was con.
sclous OF nothing, save the painful, labored
respila' ion, the tremulous hand that flut
tered IN his own. the broken sentences.
Edward, my dearest, take comfort. i
have hope. God is indeed .merciful.
oh, Edward, do not grieve so sadly! It
breaks my heart to see you cry. For Ter
sake be calm-f0r my sake, too"
Mary knelt down beside him, and en-
deavored to eooth the voiceless anguish
which it terrified her to witness.
Another interval, when no sound broke
that stiffness that prevailed, and again Mrs.
owen opened her eyes and saw Mary
kneeling by Edwards side. They were as
sociated with the previous current of her
thoughts, and smile lighted up her face.
"As l wished, as prayed to die! Ny
children both. Kiss me, Mary, my bless
ing, my consoler! Child of so many hopes
and pray ers-all answered now!"
And with her bright vision unalloyed. her
rejoicing soul took wings, and knew sor-
row and tears no more.
-Four months have passed since Mrs.
Ovens death and her son was still staying
at Woodland, the residence of Mary's faith
er, Col. Parker. at about two miles distant
from Edward Ovens solitary home: hither
had he been prevailed upon to remove, af-
ter the first shock of his grief had sub
sided.
Colonel and Mrs. Parker were kind
hearted people, and the peculiar situation
OF Edward Owen appealed to their best
feeilngs, so they made no opposition to
their children devoting themselves unceas-
lngly to him, and striving by every innocent
device to render his afliction less poignant
and oppressive. But kind as all the family
were, still all the family were as nothing
compared to Mary, who was always anxious
to accompany him in his walks, seemed
Jealous Of her privilege as his favorite real
er, and claimed to be his silent, watchful
companion, when too sad even to take an
interest IN what she read, he leaned back in
MS chair, and felt the soothing influence of
her presence.
AS the time wore on, and some of his old
pursuits resumed their attractions for him,
she useu to listen for hours as he played
Npon the piano. She would sit near him
with her work, proposing subjects to his
skill, as her old custom had been; or she
would beg him to give her q lesson in exc
cutting difficult passage, and render it with
due fe cling and expression. In the same
way in their readings, which were gradually
carried on with more regularity and interest,
she appeared to look upon herself as the
person obliged, and appealed to his judg-
ment, and referred to his opinion, without
any consciousness of the fatigue she un-
derwent, or the service she was rendering.
One day as they were sitting IN sthell-
brary, after she had been for some time
ward, fearing she would be tired, had en-
treated her to desist, she answered gaily:
Let me alone, Edward! It is 70 pleas
ant to go through book with you; you
make such nice reflections, an d point out
all the finest passages, and explain the diff
hcult parts SO clearly, that it does me more
good than dozen readings by myself.
shall grow quite clever now as we have
begun our literary studies"
Dear Mary, say rather ended; for you
knew. this can not always go on, I,must
return to my own house next week; have
toespassed on your fathers hospitality. in
diligence and forbearance too long"
Leave us, Edward!" and the color deep
ened in her cheeks and tears stood in her
bright eyes. "Not YET
Not yet? The day would still come,
dearest, delay it as might, and is it man.
ought to be? have to begin life in eaxn-
est, and if I falter at the outset what will
be the result? have arranged everything;
Mr.. Glen, our clergyman, has cousin, an
usher in school, who wishes for retire
ment and country air. I have engaged
him to live with me as companion and read
er. Next week he comes, and then, Mary,
farewell to Woodland!"
No, not farewell; for you must come
here very often, and must read to you
still, and you must teach me still, and tell
me your own noble thoughts and beautiful
language of better and higher things than
l once used to care for; and then our
walks-oh, Edward, we must continue to
see the sunset from the cliffs, sometimes,
together. You first taught me how beauti-
full it was. told you of the tints upon
the sky and upon the sea, and upon the
boats with their glistening sails, and you
set the view before me in all its harmeny
and loveliness, brought it home to my
heart and made me feel how cold and in
sensible had been before"
aAh, Mary" said Edward. mournfully,
"nearyou am no longer blind.
The book she had been reading fell un-
needed on the ground, she trembled, her
color came and went, and she laid her
hand timidly on his arm; indescribable
tenderness, reverence, and compassion
were busy within her soul.
aE1w Won will 0honOo in onv-