The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1884-01-03

naiS brcH 81 Ilucu slchneSS billS betSOil
that / could not get nurse for him.
though l have been looking for one ever
since he came. He was classmate of
mine at college, but he went away, and
L have not seen him since he graduated
until was called to attend him several
days ago. He was q splendid fellow
then, but he is a total wreck now. The
worst of it is that the fellow doesn't
want to get well. / don't know what
has happened to him since he left here,
but whatever it is it has crushed him ut
terry. He seems to have money enough
for everything he wants; the only trou-
bic is, he can't get nurse for love or
money"
The Doctor had forgotten what
started his recital; he was thinking
only of his friend. wondering what
could have subdued jovial and natur-
ally buoyant fellow SO completely,
when he was suddenly called to order
by Miss Winthrop.
"You are positively certain that he
cannot recover?" she asked.
"In the natural course of events he
cannot. He might be restored by n
miracle"
And can only live few months at
best?"
Il should say five or six months at
most"
"This," said Miss Winthrop, with
perfect gravity, "is the one opportunity
of lifetime. 1t would be like flying
in the face of Providence not to accept
it."
1T looks rather pointed" said the
Doctor ut does not often happen that
woman while indulging a whim can
at the same time do an act that may
be counted unto her for righteousness.
IF L were to talk like that l should
expect something to happen to me, +"
and surprised by this unusually flip
pant behavior on the part of her hus-
band.
Perhaps out of regard for Mrs. Aims
lees abnormally sensitive sympathy
the discussion rested here, but the sub
ject was not forgotten. Miss Winthrop
pondered it in secret and ultimately
evolved purpose.
John Hemingway had been crushed
by no catastrophe. He had simply
been uniformly unlucky. A series of
Improbable speculations, each incor-
siderable in itself, had melted his once
ample fortune to a meager income
barely sufficient for his needs. The
strenuous effort to retrieve it in a
climate unsuited to him had sapped his
vitality and sent him back, broken in
health and spirit, TO die within sight of
his ancestral roof, but not beneath its
shelter. His parents were dead, the
other members of ms family had gone
away; the only familiar face he had
seen since his return was that of Tom
Ainslee, his college friend. He was
quartered in hired lodgings, and they
were as bleak and dismal as such places
generally are. In the room where he
lay there was faded Brussels carpet,
an armchair out at elbows, haircloth
sofa, a bed, and some other essential
articles, in keeping with those already
mentioned. The room was hot, and
the street below was noisy. He lay
there listlessly, looking at the stunted
naples, with leaves all covered with
dust, whose tops just reached the open
window by his bed, yearning for one
breath of pure, fresh air, one hour of
perfect quiet. But there would never
be anything else but this until it was all
over; he would never leave this room
until he left the world. He turned
YEARLY away from the window and COW
cred his eyes with his hand.
There was knock at the door, and
he responded feebly, "Come in." 1t was
too early for the Doctor; it might be
his landlady, who sometimes came in to
see if he needed anything, and to give
him his medicine. He heard the rustic
of drapery, and smelled faint, sweet
odor. He lifted his hand from his eyes
and beheld vision. A fam, slender
woman, clad in soft white null that
seemed to make the room several de-
grees cooler, was standing by the bed.
She wore a bunch of heliotrope in her
belt, whose fragrance seemed like a
blessed breath from that PARKWAY nook
he had been longing for only moment
before; from under the fluffy, feathery
poke bonnet fell slightly curling
fringe of bright-brown hair, and pair
of large violet eyes beemed on him
with sweet compassion.
He was an unpromising subject,
truly; his face was sharp and sallow,
and beard about a week old added
much to it's haggardness. He must be
very tall, for he seemed to stretch away
from her indefinitely, as she stood there
at the beds head, and he was thin ito
emaciation.
"This is Mr.. Hemingway" she said
at last.
81 was once" he answered YEARLY.
Il am Miss Margaret Winthrop" she
continued. IL am DIR. Ainslee's sister
in-law. believe you are his patient? ?"
ayes; Tom and are old friends, and
remember your father very we'll.
Won't you be seated?" he asked, sud
denly remembering his position as host.
She drew up the shabby armchair
and sat down by the bed. 1t was not
so easy to begin as she had imagined.
HE will take me for lunatic or an
assassin with designs upon imaginary
wealth." she thought as she sat there
revolving her cold-blooded scheme and
wishing she had deliberated upon il
more fully before taking this step.
But it was too late to go back now.
| What plausible excuse could she give