The Rock Island Argus. (Rock Island, Ill.) 1877-1885, 1883-09-24
Torenead, win tender, plying Minus,
looked him full in the face.


truth of that love you could never read.
Now. now that am the wife of anoth-
er. another to whom / owe so very much
affection in reparation of the wrong |
have done him, dare tell you without
thought which is sin against him,
how much l loved you-and you ask me
if | can forgive. As freely as | would
have resigned this money for your sake,
can | forgive You for the loss of it. This
confession has set all right. will be a
good wife to Henry Dalton, and you and
he may be sincere friends yet"
"What, Ellinor, do you think that,
did not know myself to be dying, /
could have made this confessionP No,
you see me now under the influence of |
stimulants which give me false |
strength: of excitement, which is strong |
enough to master even death. To-mor- |
row night, Ellinor, the doctors tell me, |
there will no longer be in this weary |
world a weak, vacillating, dishonorable !
wretch called Horace Margrave."
He stretched out his attenuated hands. |
drew her towards him, and imprinted |
one kiss upon her forehead.
THE first and the last, Ellinor," he
said. "Good-by."
His face changed to deadlier white |
than before, and he fell back, fainting
The physician, peeping in at the half
open door, beckoned to Ellinor.
You must leave him at once, my
dear madame" he said. Had | not
seen the dreadfully disturbed state of
his mind, | should never have permitted
this interview"
''Oh. monsieur, tell me, can you save
himPn l
Only by a miracle, madame. A
miracle far beyond medical skill"
You yourself, then, have no hope2'
mot shadow of hope
She bowed her head. The physician
took her hand in his, and pressed it with
fatherly tenderness, looking at her
earnestly and mournfuIly.
Send for me tomorrow, she said,
imploringly.
Your presence can only endanger
him, madame; but l will send you It'd
ings of his state. Adieu!'
The following morning, as she was
seated in her own apartment, she was
once more summoned into the drawing
| room.
The Sister of Mercy was there, talking
to her aunt. They both looked grave
and thoughtful, and glanced anxiously
at EllinoF, as she entered the room.
He is worse?'' said Eltnor to the
Sister, before a word had been spoken.
''Unhappily, yes. Madame, he IS
''0h, do not tell me any more! For
PHYS sakep' she exclaimed. 80
young, 50 gifted, so admired; and it
was in this very room we passed such
happy hours together years ago"
She walked with fearless eyes to the
window, and, leaning her head against
the glass, looked down into the street
below, and ont at the cherries gray
of the autumn sky.
She was thinking how new and
strange the world looked to he- now
that Horace Margraye was dead.
|
They erected very modest tomb over
the remains of Horace Margrave in the
Cemetery of Pere la Chaise. There had
been some thoughts of conveying his
ashes to his native country, that they
might rest in the church of Margrave, a
little village in Westmoreland, the chan
eel of which church was decorated with
! a recumbent statue of Algernon Mar
grave, cavalier, who fell at the Worcester
fight; but as he, the deceased, had no
nearer relative than few second cous-
ms in the army and the church, and a
superannuated Admiral, his great uncle,
aud, as it is Furthermore discovered
that the accomplished solicitor of Veru-
lam Buildings, Gray's Inn, had not left
penny behind him, the idea was quick
" abandoned, and the last remains of
the admired Horace were left to decay
in the soil of foreign grave.
1t was never fully known who caused
the simple tablet which ultimately
adorned his resting place to be erected
1t was a plain block of marble; NJ
pompous Latin epitaph, or long list o
virtues. was thereon engraved but {
half-burned loren, suddenly eXtin
guished was sculptured at the bottom
of the tablet, while from the smoke o
the torch a butterfly mounted upward
Above this design there was merel,
inscribed the name and age of the de
ceased.
The night following the day OF Hor
ace Margrave's funeral, Henry Daltol
was seated, hard at work, at his cham
bers in the Temple.
The light of the Office lamp fallin,
upon his quiet face, revealed q mourn
full and careworn expression not usua
to him.
He looked ten years older since hi
marriage to Ellinor
He had fought the b attic of life, ant
, lost--lost in the great battle whicl
some hold so lightly. but which t
: others is an earnest fight-lost in tn
7 endeavor to win the wife he could S
D tenderly and truly have loved.
e He had now nothing left to him bu
his professionals other ambition-n
: other hope.
: II will work hard he said, ''tha
l she, though separated from me forever
9 may still at least derive every joy, G
r those poor joys which money can buy
# from my labor,
n He had heard nothing of either Hor
l ace Margrave's Journey to Paris, his il
e ness, or his DEATH He had no hope c
: beng ever released from the OATH whic
It bound him to silence-to silence whic
| he-had sworn to preserve so long q
l Horace Margrave lived.
o Tired, but still persevering, and at
!, sorbed in a difficult case, which needle
i AL the professional acumen of the cleye
IL young barrister, who read and wrote o
e until past eleven clock.
g just as the clocks were Ginning th
e half hour after eleven, he heard the be
of the outer door ring, as if pulled b
II an agitated hand
n His chambers were on the first flool
e- on the floor below were those of ger
r tleman who always left at six o clock.
l Z" do not expect any one at such a
Il hour; but it may be for me-" h
thought.
is He heard his clerk open the door, an
e went on writing without once lifting b
+, head.
y Three minutes afterwards the door {
n his own office opened, and person ell
1t tered unannounced. He looked up SUI
y denly. A lady dressed in mourning
10 | with hor fooo aofiralv concealed Inv