The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1882-01-13


forgive me 1 am dying now
Forgive her? Yes, with the grim
shadow of death hanging over her
could not do otherwise. went to the
bedside and took her hand.
CT am glad to have found you,
Eloise all Is forgiven"
/ could say no more the poor, thin
face, feverish eyes and shrunken form
made my heart ache. She raised her.
self up, and, clutching my hand, said |:
Listen, Alice, 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
he 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 do 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 an instant recoiled 1 take Edwin
Andersons child to my house to live
with my children 1t seemed impos-
sible but those large, wistful eyes were
fixed on me L must answer.
+" i will find home for him, Eloise."
"You will not take him yourself,
Alice2" And she raised herself up, and
excitement lent strength to her voice.
"Alice, heard of your marriage to o
good man. Have you children?"
81 lrave little girl 3 years old and
baby"
"Then 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 a table at her side. 81
have written out my history as warn
ing to him, and all my papers of any
value are there 1 have nothing left of
my fathers property he has sold it all
and squandered the money. / 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 ?"
at will"
I 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 ior
the nearest physician (; but it was TOO
late he came but to say that she was
gong 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 L married him. AS Eloise had
said, he was good man, and when L
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, Eloise Grayson and I,
Alice Browne, were together at Madame
C.'s boarding-school for young lades.
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 helped
nv 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 few days,
but had heightened out those days into
i nIa oil
at my fathers house, and, at last, with
my fathers full consent, we were en-
gagged.
OF course in the fullness of my Joy I
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
might and declared herself charmed with
hin-"a perfect Adonis." She envied
me, called me a 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. 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 would
laugh and say so carelessly:
ooh, Ally, you must not mind; but
your Edwin's voice just chords splendid
ly with mine; you will lend him to me,
won't your"
so they sang together and I listened.
/, too, could sing. but my voice was
nothing to hers. She was very fond of
riding, and we had but one lady's horse
and she had forgotten to bring her
habit; so nearly every morning she
would borrow mine, and the two would
go off for a ride and not return until din
ner-time.
My father began to look coldly at her,
and my mother often sighed as she saw
them together. / was too proud to show
what felt, but locked my door at
night now; could not bear to hear
Eloise rhapsodize about my lover, whom
/ never saw now except in her society.
She stopped for six weeks-six weary
weeks to me. Then one day, after a
longer ride than usual with Edwin, she
| tbot oba ,ouot r~o ho,,,a ~