Iowa County democrat. [volume] (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1877-1938, 1884-07-04

que must rest. n lltIle IOnScI SA0
struggled, then sank, and there was
no help Tor her. Her earthly work
WAS done. X The old man
wept like a child. | could not weep.
In my heart d rebellieus voice was
saying: 1t must not be. Grace shall
not die. Life is worthless without
her. >"
THAT evening she was my wife [
begged that it might be so; that |
might not lose sight of her while she
remained. How beautiful she was
my Grace-in that hour, with the
dark hair brushed back from the pale
forehead, the unnatural brightness
that shone in her eyes and the burn
ing crimson IN her cheek.
ITO love and cherish till death do
us part" Are those words uttered
with full feeling of their significance
when hopes are bright and life seems
only 10 have commenced2 Tous they
were full of solemn import. Death
might come to do his work in one
week, one day, one hour, and / should
have no Grace, no wife.
But she was mine, mine! and to-
gether we waited tho summons that
should separate us. In the few days
that remained she told me of the
bright hopes of the future our future
that had sustained her in the days
of trial, and of the faith that had made
all things easy to bear.
eff | had known it would end SO,
Paul she said, i would have told you
but | thought | vas stronger, and
would work bravely without telling
you anything that would pam you,
and you would soon come. But it is
all right. | shall be yours in the
other home. Walk worthlly here,
Paul. Consecrate yourself to noble
life; remember all the dreams of your
youth, and let them become living
realities in your life, and perhaps in
the home to which am going | shall
know tall.
THUS the days passed till the mes
senger came, and Grace went with
him"
My uncle sat long time, with his
head on the table before him, before
he spoke again. Then he continued
1T is thirty years since Grace's moth
er and brothers came TO my home.
Mrs. Hyde lived but few years, and
one by one the brothers We're
three Of them-made homes for them.
selves, and / was left alone.
"In this room l kept the books and
plants she loved, and her portrait
hung always above my study table
and so | almost lived in her presence.
But there were times-when nay lone
illness seemed insupportable and life
was a weary burden-I would gladly
lay down that | might go to her.
"Once | have seen her. Do not
doubt it, Miriam. Five years ago |
was very i'll for many weeks. Grace's
portrait was taken from the library
and carried to my chamber, that dur,
ing the the long days, when | had
only servants for attendants, [ might
have her face continually before me.
The disease gained ground, and nay
physician insisted that l must have
some more suitable attendants [ had
at that time no near friend or relative
within many miles's distance, and so
DR.. Ives brought Jane Hope to the
house. | had met her frequently in
the homes of my patients, and | knew
her as a faithful nurse.
I'm my half -dreaming moods fan
cied that Grace was with me, and il
was not always pleasant to be awaken
ed by the touch of hand larger and
rougher than hers, and TO hear voice
that had precision and hardness in
its tones, when | had been dreaming
of the veice so long silent. But learn
ed to know Jane better and to value
her practical knowledge.
Zone night the narcotics | had
taken, instead of producing their
usual effect, had brought on state
of feverish wakefulnesS. Strange, shad-
owy forms hoated around me, some
times talking to themselves the faces
of friends | had known in boyhood.
| could not drive them away. l rub.
bed my eyes, and said There is the
table, and there the window. There
is nothing between me and them -
but the next minute the space would
be filled with my ghostly visitors.
Stephen Grant, who in college bore
the name of Euclid Grant, from his
devotion to his favorite study, and
something of mathematical precis-
ion in every action. stood at the foot
of my bed, in the dim light, wearing
the same look OF imperturbable
gravity, his head covered with tri
angles, and his hands filled with
circles and squares. In low, monot
onous voice he was reciting the caus
es Of my disease, and prescribing for
its cure. Let ALB be the disease, an3
CD the time. Then TO the square OF
- He was interrupted by the
dancing entrance of the young girl,
who 35 years before had taught him
lessons with which Euclid had moth
ing to do. She came with the fresh
ness of sprlngtime around her, bear
ing in her hands arbutus flowers
violets and daisies. which she threw
upon our Euclid. They fell upon him
and wreathed themselves around the
angles, circles and squares in which
he had buried himself Then a VIC
lin on the table commenced PLAYING
lively strain, and tables, chairs and
ghostly forms in wild confusion
mingled in the dance, and l saw nc
more.
When l awoke the light still burned
dimly, and the portrait of my los,
Grace looked tenderly, pityiugly
upon me, and l knew that through
all the long years of loneliness thus
had she looked down upon my desc
late home. When my sorrow had
seemed greater than l could bear one
thought had strengthened me-the
thought that in the home to which she
had gone l should nevermore be
lonely; she would be mine forever.
But that night the earthly future
seemed so long and the way leading
through it so weary and desolate in
my agony l cried: How long, OBJ
how fongr Then the face changed.
1t became living face, as full of ter
derness as before, but wearinga cheer.
full, hopeful look and-you will think
it dream, Miriam, but l was not
sleeping-I saw her as plainly as l
see you now. She seemed to step down
from the canvas and nolslessly to ap-
proach me. l tried to rise. | stretched
forth my arms to clasp her; but the
waving of her hand repealed me, and
L - i = a