The National tribune., 1882-06-03

! dclicately transparent, SO that the faintest
! tints Cf color gl0wed through it, and the
least excitement brought the color to her
! cheeks and forehead. She was delicate, and
| do not think her bust and shoulders ever
rounded into perfect womanly contour. Her
voice, however, softened and improved re-
markably, and the little catches of song she
vas continually singing or humming to her
self were sweet and full of touching path0s.
! Lutte was passionatsly fond Of music. She
had been carefully taught before her in
trinity came upon her, and sometimes, when
she was improvising at the piano, with
wondrous skill and feeling, even Frank
failed to WOO her away from 1t. think
that her soul was more awakened in these
moments, and more nearly conscious Of itself
than at any other times. There was something
weird and uncanny about these remarkable
imprOvisations. She did not seem to take
any particular theme, but rather to let the
emotions Of her stronGly-constitutcd soul
flow forth one after another in songs with
out words. I doubt if any musician could
have followed or interpreted her unless in
deed, his mind had been tangled and out Of
tune like hers
Thus some years passed away, Frank grow
ing bigger, but not any the less mpic-hcartcd
toward his ward and Lutte becoming scdaier
and apparently more rational every day. She
was entirely member Of the family now,
and my wife treated and regarded her rs a
daughter At last the time came for Frank
to go away to boarding school We had put
off the separation, and looked forward 10 it
now with dread. But the two seemed 10
contemplate the parting without excitement.
They were a little sadder, perhaps, aud WeFc
together constantly, and ] could SEE that
Frank was laying many charges upon her.
which she heedcd with implicit sad painful
attention, as if she wished 10 impress them
indelibly upon her mind. When the day
came the parting was warm but quiet a kiss.
an embrace, long clasp Of the hands and
then, as the carriage drove Off with my boy,
Lutte retired to her room and locked herself
in. She came down 10 dinner, but did not
eat, and was pale and agitated. After tea
my wife sat with Lutte in her room for a
quietly sleeping
1t was January then. and after nightfall a
cold rain set in with hail and sleet We
congratulated ourselves that our boy was
already safe in his new home. About an
hour after midnight my wife suddenly called
me, in great panic and tremor: "Hush!"
she said; do You not hear it?" I raised
myself up IN he'd and listened. 1t was the
never forgotten cry of pain and madness and
despair, now high, now low, now far, now
near" Lutte! Lutte, Lute."
l hastily threw on some clothes and went
to Lutes room. The door was bolted l
burst it open, but she was not there, and the
raised window revealed everything Through
it | saw Lutte in the garden, among the dead
flower stalks, moving back and forth with
indescribable swiflness, in her night clothes
and bare feet, in all that terrible storm, and
crying her refrain Of dolor ard despair to the
needless, bowling wind. AS swiftly as I
could | rushed forth, pursued, captured and
brought her back to the house. She did not
resist or struggle, but she did not recognize
me nor my wife, nor cease her pitiful cry of
Lutte! Lutte, LUte!" We put her in bed,
changed her clothing, wrapped her in blan-
kets, and gave her stimulants, but the fright
full chill would not. be fought off, nor the
acute fever, and when daylight came, so that
we could send for the doctor, knew that
pneumonia had fully developed itself
Out of that four days frightful struggle
we brought Lutte at last, alive and herself
once more, saner perhaps than ever but her
vital forces sapped at the very root. She
will never be well again" said the doctor,
and so it proved. She fell into rapid, bat
almost painless consumption, her mind SEEM
ing to flicker up more and more brightly still
as her poor, feeble body crumbied away /
Lutte would not let me send for Frank "No /
no. she said; :" 1 have been too selfish. l |.
must not stand in Frankie's light" But she /
seemed anxious and uneasy about some
her physician at Beechwood. When he came |
she asked him in her frank, innocent way to /
examine her mind, and see if she had recoy- |
cred it completely. "I want to make q .
will" she said. "If make will can the |
lawyer and people break it? want Frank |
to have everything that is mine or to be !
mine. Can I?n
1 caught the doctors eye and shook my
head, and he told her he would have to see |
her again before deciding. With that answer .
she seemed to be content. As the end drew .
rapidly near I sent for Lute's father. He .
came day too iate-the care-worn, troubled |
man, more troubled and care-worn than ever.
But Frank was at her side in time, and she .
died, with her head resting upon my sturdy
boys shoulder, and her eyes looking into his .
as if for guidance along the untrodden path .
she was about to try. Poor little Lutel She
needed no guide to lead her now-E&+carG .
Spencer, tn The Day.
REJECTED at THE ALTAR.
A certain Dean of Chester, England was
III