Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1881-02-10

late, and leavib,; her two daughters to watch
beside their lit le sister, Mrs. Hope went in
search of Cyril. whom she had not seen ex-
cept in that frst hour of his arrival. She
longed to have him near her, to comfort him.
1t seemed to her more fitting that they should
all be together at this solemn time, than that
he should shut himself up in solitary indul-
gence of his feelings. She knocked at his
door, finding it locked, and receiving no re-
sponse, knocked again.
"It is I, Cyril, love; may come in 7" she
gently called to him.
After moments silence, heavy step
slowly crossed the floor. The door was un.
fastened, as it appeared, with reluctant
hand, and Cyril, with averted face, admitted
her.
"Dear child" she said, putting her arm
around him, as they walked together towards
sofa where he had been sitting,"I have
come to be with you for little. You know
l haye scarcey seen you yet"
He made no reply, but flung himself weari-
ly down, and leaned his head upon his hand.
She took his other hand in hers and fondled
it but it lay limp and cold, and gave no re-
sponsive pressure to her clasp.
81 am so thankful you came when you did,"
she went on presently, trying to draw him on
to talk. at would have been so much worse
if you had been too late; and was fearing
all the time there might be some unforeseen
delay"
II don't see hat there could be anything
worse" he answered in dreary undertone.
"Worse than this-our loss you mean ?
1t is hard enough, dear-hard and bitter for
US all. But it might have been far more
hard, far more bitter, if there had been pro-
longed suffering, hours or days of agony. to
witness and be unable to relieve. Think
how calm, how peaceful, the end has been
and then the joy at having you with her.
That was the one wish, and it was gratifed.
l feel that we have much to be grateful for.
And she was so sanity, so pure, so un
tit for conflict with the world. Surely it is
better that He who loved her has taken her
thus early to Himself.
"Aye, its better for her, no doubt" answer
ed Cyril. "Life doesn't hold much that's de-
sirabIe, or worth living for"
There was depth Of bitterness in his tone
that Jared upon the mothers ear. So ac-
customed to read the emotions of his heart in
the inhexions Of his voice, and in the expires
sions of his face. she judged now from both
that it was not his sisters death alone that
caused his suffering. Instinct, that wonder
full maternal instinct, that seldom errs, whis-
pered to her of something beneath and beyond
this natural sorrow, that she was not able yet
to fathom. Shc looked at him anxiously and
long. For the first time, she perceived that
he was looking very i'll.
"Cyril," she asked him after this scrutiny,
which he did not appear to be conscious of,
shave you not been we'll lately? Have you
been working very hard?"
working? No, mother; I have done no
work at all, to speak Of"
"You look SO tagged out, was afraid you
might have 'avertasked your strength"
"Oh no."
Her tender tone, the caressng touch of her
hand, invited his confidence; but he felt as if
he could not betray all his misery. He must
keep it shut up within himself.
"Did anything 60 wrong in the parish while
you were there ?" she persisted, still watching
his face, whose changed look struck her more
and more forcibly. 1t seemed so much older
than when she had seen it last.
Nothing went wrong in the parish" There
was a touch of impatience in his tone, as
though he would fain have escaped from her
importantly.
"Then something has gone wrong with you.
Forgive me, dear boy, if press you against
your will" she added, with mixture of af-
fection and authority, as she drew him nearer
to her and kissed his cheek. "But am 50
used to watching you'll can read your face
so well-and feel that you are hiding some
thing from me now. If you are in trouble
any trouble that don't know of-who so fit
to help or advise you as your own mother p
"You can't hel p me, mother. No one can."
His selfrestrant gave way now, unlocked by
the loving sympathy which from his child.
hood had led him to reveal every passing
trouble, sure Of finding counsel and comfort
with the mother who had ever made her
chldren's joys and griefs her own. BY and
by, as she urged him, he told her, in broken
tones, all his unhappy story, reserving moth
ing his heart insensibly growing lighter as
he spoke, for it seemed as if the very fact Of
her sharing his burden with him made it cas-
ier to bear.
my poor boy" There was no reproach
in her tone. Indeed she could find nothing
to reproach him with. 1t had not been his
fault that he ad been betrayed into so fatal
passion-tha he had fallen blindly into so
cruel snare. She thought Miriam wicked
woman, but she would not say so. She knew
that it would be no solace to Cyril to hear
her blamed As yet, he could not realize
how far she deserved reproach. He could not
bring himself to believe that the whole of old
Priscilla's tale was true.
Il feel that it is at least due to her that |
should write" he said, "even if never see
her again. Don'tyou think owe it to her p
No, Mrs. Hope could not think so. 1t
seemed to her as if his only wise and right
course would be blot this episode out of his
life-out of his memory, if possible-at once
and forever. But she told him she would
think it over-would talk to him about it
again, after while.
"It seems almost wicked in me to have
brought such subject to your notice at this
tme,' he said, remorsefully. But | have
been so wretched land when you asked me, |
could not help telling"
"Thank God that you did, my own boy.
What am fit for, if | cannot hear my chill
dren's griefs as we'll as my own?" she replied.
And then, by mutual consent, the subject was
dropped, and Cyril, feeling softened and
soothed, went with his mother to look on
the beautiful remains whose aspect, with all
the memories they enshrined, lifted him out
of the atmosphere of earthly passion and
strife into a region where feverish and unholy
desires we're unknown, and all breathed OF
purity and peace.
The next day passed, and then Lou was