Weekly Chillicothe crisis., 1884-10-09
HIS LAST RIDE.

iilh IhDI NlbDs
She stood at the threshold to greet
him, fair picture with the soft folds
of the white satin dress clinging so
gracefully to the 1.-THE girlish figure.
1t was the dress she would wear on
the morrow, her wedding day, and she
wanted him she loved to see how fair
and dainty bride should meet him.
Very lovely looked Bcryl We're, the
tall, slight figure and small head with
its loose coil Of golden-brown hair
shimmcring in the moonlight, as she
stood Shyly waiting for his coming,
the rosy color deepening as she raised
her limpid gray eyes to his. He held
her at arm s-length for Il minute,
watching the changing face with low
ing, eager eyes.
"Reryl, will you always love meP
Child, how lovely you look tonight"
and, drawing her closer 10 him, he
kissed her passionately, almost
roughly. Say it again, darling; say,
Philip, | love you ~
She repeated his words, and again
the gray eyes were raised to his. How
could he doubt their truth?
"My darling, you are not super
stitous, or YOU would not have put on
your wedding dress; don't you know
that the old women say it is unlucky?
I'm glad my little bride docs not heed
such nonsense, otherwise should not
have been able to obtain this peep at
my pet.
Sir Philip L'Estrangc, Baronet, was
a noble-loOking man, just entering his
cight-and-twentictA year, tall, dark
and road-shouldcrcd, and with his
long pedigree, fine old family place
that had descended from father to son
for hundreds of years and splendid
rent-roll, held one of the first positions
in the county; while his kind, gentle
manners made him favOrite with all
who knew him.
When it was known that in the
autumn he would bring to his home a
fair young English bride, his sporting
friends and companions shook their
heads and were unanimous in declar-
ing that he would be spoiled and that
his wife would bully him.
At all of this Philip laughed, saying
that time would prove whether such
predictions would come true.
They little knew the sweet temper
of the girl who had taken Philips
heart captive; the lonely orphan who
hardly remembered her fair young
mother and not at all the gallant young
solder-father who fell to rise no more
while leading storming party in the
dread Crimcan war. His gentle little
wife had survived the shock of her
husbands death only two years, and
then poor little Beryl was indeed left
alone in the world.
At this crisis friend of her father,
an old bachelor, came forward and
took the orphan child to his home,
where she had grown to woman's es-
tate, the pride and darling of Mr.. Sa-
vill's heart.
And now, as he sat brooding over
the coming parting, there was gentle
tap at the door, and Beryl's voice was
heard, asking if she might come in.
"Philip told me to show you my
dress, Uncle Harry" she said, coming
to his side.
The old mans eyes filled as they
rested on her; and he thought how
proud his old friend, her father, would
have been to see his child at that mo-
ment.
"My dear Beryl, how like you are to
your poor mother!" he said tremu-
lously; ''just as lovely as she looked on
her wedding-morning. But l must
not forget that you must wear these;"
and Uncle Harry placed in her hands
a jewel-casket, where, glittering on
their velvet beds, lay splendid suit of
pearls-necklacc, bracelets and ear
drops.
"Your mother wore them on her
wedding-morning, just nineteen years
ago, Beryli they were my present to
her, and now give them to you, my
child, and may heaven bless you!"
And kissing the fair young head
tenderly, Uncle Harry led her to the
door and gently shut her out.
When the September sun broke
through the crimson-curtained panes
it found him still watching there,
mayhap dreaming Of his boyhood's s
happy days, and the one woman he
had loved, his friends wife and Beryrs
mother.
The wedding over, Philip took his
bride to Switzerland, and among its