The Dickinson press., 1883-12-01
MIRIAM.

MIRIAM.
Before decays efflc:ng fingers
Have swept the lines whsrs bsauty liugers."
Beneath the lofty cliffs which frowns
above the "silver streak" there is a
sheltered spot called Madeira, which ls
much affected by those who love the
gentle glow of the winter sun.
1t was there, upon a certain morning,
that Herbert Trevannion found himself
in a bath-chair, A fall from his horse
and q broken limb had brought him to
Brighton. He was horribly bored, of
course, and had he had a sym%pathizing
friend, he would have expressed him
self thus:
"What in the world am I to d. with
myself in this abandoned placer There
is not a horse open to me; not a soul to
speak to, not even a woman to love-at
least, not a g%ood-looking one. And to
think that it will be at least a month be.
fore l can cross q horse! It is madden
ing"
In despair he produced paper-the
Daily Telegraph-and abandoned him
self to the charms of its sparkling col.
umns.
He was in the midst OF a letter from a
suburban butterman lamenting the diff
fculty of providing. in these hard times,
with a due regard to their position iii
society, for eleven sons lawfully begot-
ton, when the sound of wheels dis
turbed him. It was only a bath. chair
passing. An ordinary occurrence
enough. But in this chair was a woman
with a face which seemed to interest
him, for he followed it with his eye
steadily till it passed away up the cliff
out OF sight. Then he exclaimed:
"What u perfect beauty! She is the
very image of that Greuze at home.
Who can she be?"
Perhaps he obtained an introduction
to the ''image Of the Greuze" through
the French chairman, or more likely,
presented himself sans ceremsnie; at all
events, he IS standing a month after
ward by her side. He is quite we'll now
and able to hunt, and in fact, is hunting,
but not the fox. "For beauty lures the
f~ull-grown child" as etfectually as the
red vermin of the woods, and as often
as not leads him ga chase of idle hopes
and fears" to finish up, alas! with tears.
That the quarry is hard pressed is
evident, for her face is unusually pale,
and her voice trembles as she muir murs
in reply to an appeal of her companion.
1T can not, can not bel"
"But if you will not marry me, what
will you do?"
"Go home and try to forget you"
"You dare not go home, for you can
not forget me-"
the sea-, and was silent for q while.
Then said, "What you tell me is, alas,
too true; l can not forget you"
"Then marry me Mariam!"
~ can not marry yon," she repeated.
Tell me are you engaged to be mar
II am not"
"What, then, is the meaning of it all?"
"Never mind what it means; enough
that / love you too much to leave you"
"Place, then, your hand in mine,"
said the hunter, land I will lead you
far away beyond the sea, to where we
shall be to one another all in ALL"
Again there was a silence. Then said
the woman, "Close your eyesfor a mo-
ment. Herbert, and promise me on
your honor that you will never seek to
lealn who l am and whence I came,
o to speak to me again of marriage"
81 promise"
Then she drew from her left hand a
glove, and cast something with a sigh
into the sea.
"Now open your eye,,"she said, "and
here is my hand, and with it is my heart.
Let the dead past bury its dead. 1 viii
go away with you whenever and where
soeyer you please"
"In one unclouded blaze of living
light" the sun is sinking behind the rug
ged outline Of Les lies Sanguinaries.
From the bosom Of cobalt sea the pur-
pie peaks Of Tardina project themselves
far into the pale transparent ether,
light CLEAN through the chestnut trees
upon the desolate house where, two
years before, Trevannion had brought
the fair captive of his bow. They are on
The terrace, watching the dying day. ST.
lently and sadly, hand in hand, thew
note the shadows of the "isles of blood"
creep slong the sea. Presently one
speaks-il is Miriam.
II have been happy, yery.happy, here
with you, my well-beloved, and the
thoughts of parting is bitter pain; but
my days now, ! know, are numbered"
Irevannion leant over the couch on
which she was lying, and looked steadily
into her face. There was a change he
perceived. even since the morning. He
had known for many a day that she was
too fragile to live. He saw that the
shadow Of death vas indeed upon her.
But he answered never a word.
You have always been SO good and
kind to me-" she continued, "that 1
know you will not refuse me another
favor tho loot I oho11 oeb IF x,o,,O
"What is it that you would have me
do for you, Miriam?"
II would have you by and by-when
l am gone-rake me away from here,
and lay me away in the old churchyard
on the cliff at home; and I would like
you to beg the rector of the place to
read the service of the church over me.
The rector, you understand, not the Gu
rate"
He kissed her brow, and said, "You
have never told me, darling, where
your home is"
81 know. But when it is all over you
will learn that from my papers, and the
name Of the rector as WE'LL"
"Shall l take you there now? Perhaps
you would like to see this clergyman"
She did not reply, only shivered. The
air of the Mediterranean at sunset some-
now, Herbert" she said, presently; 81
feel a little tired"
That night she grew worse. In a week
the wauderer was at rest.
To Rev. Josiah Smithers, Old Haven, I'd.
Club, London, july
Dear Sir-Shortly before the death
of my wife, which too place last month
in the Island of Corsica, she expressed
q wish to me that her remains should be
removed to England and Inferred in
the c%hurchyard of the parish of Old