The home journal. (Winchester, Tenn.) 1858-188?, 1882-01-11

ilands, SAID, wildly. Oh, God, she
has come, she has come Alice, Alice.
forgive me am dying now!"
Forgive her? Yes, with the grim
shadow OF death hanging over her l
could not do otherwise. l went to the
bedside and took her hand.
II am glad to have found you,
Eloise all is forgiven"
l could say no more tho poor, thin
face, feverish eyes and shrunken form
made my heart ache. She raised her
self up, and, clutching my hand, said
Listen, Alice, I am dying. must
speak now; my punishment is from
Heaven he has left me. You are re-
venged, and my little girl has gone. and
"--pointing to the boy" the image
of his father, will soon be alone, all
alone My father and mother and sister
are all dead, and his father-I dc not
know if he is living or dead, but he
should not have my innocent boy to
ruin. Oh, Alice, you look the same as
ever will you take care of my boy ?"
For aninstant | recoile1; / take Edwin
Anderson's child to my house TO live
with my children2 1t seemed impos-
sble; but those large, wistiul eyes were
fixed on me I; must answer.
81 will find home for him, Eloise."
"You will not take him yourself,
Alice?' And she raised herself up, and
excitement lent strength to her voice.
"Alice, / heard Of your marriage to a
good man. Have you children"
II have a little girl 3 years old and q
baby"
"Ihen for Gods sake take my boy
and make him good; let him be your
child, and, when he gets Old enough to
understand, give him that DESK" point
ing to one on table at her side. "I
have written out my history as a warn
ing to him, and all my papers OF any
value are there / have nothing left Of
my fathers property; he has sold it all
and squandered the money. l believe
he went to Europe and is living some
where in Italy with another of his dupes;
my boy is portionless. Will you, oh,
Alice, will you forgive all and take
him ?"
81 will"
could say no more, and, the excite
ment being over, she fell back exhausted
| summoned assistance from one of the
other rooms, and begged them to go for
the nearest physician but it was too
late; he came but to say that she was
going fast, and ere night she died with
her head on my shoulder.
! had sent note to my husband ex-
planning my absence, and he was there
with carriage to take home myself and
our new child. He knew all. / had
told nim the sore secret of my heart
before | married him As Eloise had
said, he was II good man, and when |
told him her wish about her boy he
said quietly;
"The child is ours now"
There was quiet funeral, and Eloise
Anderson was laid beside her lost little
girl.
And this is the story of our two lives.
Years before, Elose Grayson and |,
Alice Browne, We're together at Madame
C.'s boarding school for young ladies.
Her father was called wealthy, and she
and sister several years her senior
were all that were left Of large family.
Eloise was very beautiful, and, when at
school she had admirers who would meet
us and bow in our daily walks
After we left school | made her visit
of few days and invited her to come
and see me in our quiet country home
when she liked. She had, however, too
gay life and too many admirers to care
to accept my invitation then. Mean
while ! settled down at home and he ped
my mother sew and learned to keep
house, and also learned something else
to love with all my heart handsome,
dashing young man who had come to
our quiet village to stay for a few days,
but had heightened out those days into
weeks. Edwin Anderson almost lived
at my fathers house, and, at last, with
my fathers full consent, we We're en-
gagged.
OF course in the fullness Of my JOY L
wrote to all my friends, and Eloise
among the others. Not long after, she
wrote to say she was coming to make me
that long promised visit. Well, she
came, and at her very first meeting with
Edwin she completely monopollzed his
attention; she came to my room that
night and declared herself charmed with
him-"a perfect Adonis." She envied
me, called me sly puss for catching
such handsome man in that out-of-the-
way place; then kissed me goodnight
and left me with strange chill at my
heart. l do not know how it was, but
she was always with us; we never
seemed to be alone, and she engrossed
him completely; sometimes she woule
laugh and say so carelessly:
"Oh, Ally, you must not mind; bu
your Edwin's voice just chords splendid
ly with mine; you will lend him to me
won'tyou?"
So they sang together and I listened
I, too, could sing, but my voice wa
nothing to hers. She was very fond o
riding. and we had but one ladys hors'
and she had forgotten to bring he
habit; 30 nearly every morning sh
would borrow mine, and the two woul'
20 off for ride and not return untildin
ner- time.
My father began to look coldly at hel
and my mother often sighed as she say
them together. l was too proud to sho'
what felt, but | locked my door @
night now; L could not bear to hea
Eloise rhapsodize about my lover, whor
, never saw now except in her society.
: She stopped for six weeks-six wear
: weeks to me. Then one day, after
longer ride than usual with Edwin, sh
announced that she must go home
once. Her talk and manner were flight
,, all day, and until late at night we hear
her moving about her room packing he
trunk-such elegant clothes as she ha'
putting my quiet muslins and cambri,
> in the shade. Next morning she bat
. us good-by and went away, my faith
remarking after she had gone:
l "Well, Idon't want to be inhospitabl