The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1881-05-19

days that would dawn and bring me
nothing but sorrow and misery2 No;
all my life there would be nothing foI
me but the memory of q white stone in
a church-yard-the grave where I would
lay my broken lily.
Up and down paced, up and down
in the blazing sun, till the very sound
of my own footsteps on the tagged plat
form seemed to be driving me mad. At
last l stopped, and, pushing back my
hat, pressed both hands to my aching,
throbbing head. would not think!
What was the use of thinking? Nelly
was dead, and was going back to her
funeral. shut my eyes and tried not
to see the white face with the awful
look of agony imprinted on it; but II
was of no use. saw it yet-the hor-
ror-stricken face, the arms stretched
out for the help that never came. Oh,
could live with the memory of that
sight to haunt me?
The time crept on slowly; every min
ute seemed to be an hour, and the hands
of my watch appeared scarcely to move.
The heat was dreadful. There was no
shade-nothing but the dazzling sun,
which was now high in the heavens;
but still 1 walked backward and for
ward, unable to rest, trying to keep
calm outwardly, to withstand the awful
temptation that would come again and
again when l contemplated my lonely.
heart-broken future. Would one o clock
never come?
Suddenly caught sight of the poor
little bunch of flowers that Nelly had
given me-her last thoughtful, loving
act. l broke down then. Hot tears
rushed to my eyes; and, leaning my
arms on the low wall bounding the
station, gave way entirely. kissing the
unconscious flowers passionately, and
realizing how much I had loved and
priced the treasure 1 had lost, while the
merciless sun shone down hotter and
fiercer, scorching and drying up every
thing.
With a swelling heart 1 placed the
fading flowers carefully in my pocket
book; and then, lest any one should see
my emotion, 1 drew my hat low down
over my forehead and resumed my soli-
tary tramp up and down the platform,
envying Nelly, who was at rest. Her
agony was only for a moment, while
mine would be for years and years-as
long as I lived.
A quarter to one. The train would
soon be in. Those last fifteen minutes
were the longest of all; time seemed to
make no progress; but at last l heard
afar off the rumble of the coming train.
The station began to get little more
animated, and then the long cattle
train appeared in sight and drew up
slowly at the station. went up to the
engine-driver.
"Here is sovereign. Will you let
me go on the engine as far as Morley?"
"Jump up, sir, and welcomer' was
his prompt reply.
1t seemed as though they never in
tended 10 start that train. thought
they would never stop shunting wagons
and running the engine up and down.
1t seemed as if we were an hour wait
ing; but at last the train glided slowly
away; and soon l had seen the last of
the hateful station where three of the
most miserable, the blacklist hours of
my life were spent.
The cool air tanning my brow Gained
me. Motion was pleasant-anything
was better than waiting; and yet the
two hours on that engine seemed in
terminable. But finally we drew nearer
and nearer to Morley. Afearful fascina-
ton seemed to attract my eyes to the
fatal spot. Setting my teeth, looked
long and steadily at the place. A little
crowd had collected on the bank. They
had found her then, all that remained OF
Nelly! And a kind of faintness came
over me for moment.
When alighted at Morley felt ten
wears older than when had left it only
a few hours before. The first thing my
eyes rested on was the hamper Of
plants still standing there; and the
sight of them almost unnamed me.
"A gentleman, friend of mine, came
up and put his hand on my arm; but,
breaking away before he could utter a
word, l left the station, and walked
hastily along the scorching, dusty road,
scarcely able to drag my limbs along,
and wishing could just lie down and
die. Over the little bridge l went, and
across the lawn that we had traversed
together that morning. The door was
wide open dogs welcomed me
noisily; but their joyous barking and
caresses Jared upon me, and l re-
PEELED the animals. In the dining
room found Mr.. Sinclair, the rector,
sitting silently and gravely at the table.
He started when he saw me. and took
both my hands in his without speaking.
"Where is she?' I asked, hoarsely.
"Up-stairs," he said, gently. "Bpt
you must not give way like this. Calm
yourself before you go upstairs"
The door opened, and Mrs. Sinclair
came in, with her face showing the
sorrow and pity she felt.
"My husband has told you thenr'
she said.
EYES," 1 answered, bowling my
head; II am going up to see her.
Slowly l went up the stairs, treadins
softly. as though feared to wake he1
from her last slumber. Ipaused with
my hand on the handle, and struggled
for calmness, then opened the dool
softly and went in with dreadful feel
ing of awe and strange, hopeless
misery.
The room was darkened, and the su,
shone softly through the closed vene
tians; all was dreadfully still. Thu
curtains of the bed were drawn, and
paused again ere with trembling hant
drew them back. Nerving myself,
raised my eyes with an effort, and saw
% Heaven, was l dreaming? Was i
but a cruel mockery, a delusion, or wa
it really Nelly lying sleeping calml,
and peacefully, with the warm bloot
mantling her cheek and the waves O
brown hair, damp and wet, pushed OF
the peaceful brow?
With a beating heart bent forwar,
and, STOPPING, kissed her. Yes-sh
was breathing; my darling was not dea,
after all! The dear eyes opened, and
loving voice said: "Frank!''
1 clasped her tightly to my breast
and felt as though she had been give
back to me from the dead; then. hold
ing her warm, soft hand in mine, sanl
down upon my knees, and thanke'
Heaven for preserving my darling.
did not know how she was saved; i
was enough for me to know that sh
was alive, to hear her voice again, an,
to look into her eyes, which flied will
tears when 1 told her what l had fel
and suffered since we had parted.