Savannah morning news. [volume] (Savannah) 1868-1887, 1884-12-14

wooden bench. There at least we could
| lay her until some help could be sum-
moned. pointed out the spot, and quick
! " she was borne to the place by strong,
loving arms.
He allowed me to help him rub her cold
hands. 1t made me feel that I was use
| full. What would | not have done to re-
store her? Was she to pass away think
| ing had scorned her precious remem-
brance? The thought sent hot tears to
my eyes and almost choked me with grief.
lie appeared aware of my presence for
the first time, and some of the anguish
upon his face was softened.
Let me hold her and you find a physi-
cian," said, seeing no change come over
her pallid face.
"What! leave you here alOne?'
"Please lose no time" and raised her
head upon my bosom.
He had some restorative upon the hand
kerchlef with which he gave me to battle
her face, and this used faithfully during
his absence. He was gone only a few
minutes.
Il have sent messenger" he said uCOn
coming up; "nOw let me relieve you"
She was no burden and it was a COM
fort to me to help. l told him so. He
gave way at last and cried out in his own
language some words Of anguish that
went to my very soul. He loved her with
love unsurpassed by that of any other
son ever knew, and how deep was his
grief!
What could do to show my sympa-
thy? / could only weep with him. We
knew not If she was dead. so faint was
the pulse; if it still beat, we could
not feel it. Intense grief absorbed every
other emotion.
Our friend, DIR. Douglas, father of Jes-
sic, came up at last, and quickly went to
work with his skillful art. He exclaimed
after awhile:
''There is life here yet, my dear sir; a
feeble flow, but we hope for better things
sOOn."
His cheerful words aroused n glow in
our failing hearts, and it was not long be-
fore she began to revive from her deep
swooD, slowly recovering her respiration
and some falnb color came back to her
lips, but her eyes remained heavily closed.
AS soon as the doctor was relieved from
his constant efforts, it was evident that
the necessity for removing her to some
comfortable place was impressed upon
him. He turned to me.
''DO, Minnie, insist on this gentleman's
removing his mother to your house at
once where she can be made cOmfOrta-
ble."
Before a word could be said Prof. WI
liams expressed himself with lofty cold
ness that could not be mistaken:
Il prefer taking her at once to our own
home. If you could procure me a vehi-
Gle, doctor, at any price would be glad.''
DR.. Douglas did not oppose him, for his
quick perceptions told him it would be
useless. He remained, however, with
Mrs. Williams while her son went to en-
gage a carriage. 1t was a relief to me
that the doctor was too busy with his pa
tient to ply me with Questions. 1t seemed
to me but a few moments before the car
riage drove up, and very quickly was the
slight form conveyed to it and laid upon
cushions, but the tender arms of her son
upheld her.
"Are you going without one word for
me?" l could not help asking, while the
| doctor had turned away for a minute.
Mr.. Williams looked up, and his face
/ was cold and hard.
"She came in to-day remembering it
was your birthday. and came only be-
| cause OF that"
All at once my honorable devotion to
| fathers wishes gave way. and it was i'm
/ possible not to try to clear myself.
''1t was not my work that the sweet
| flowers were thrown down. OH do be-
lieve that priced them, and tell her so,
will youY
Scan she hear me p he asked.
Whether it was irony or anguish that
! took the sweetness from his tones who
could tell? 1t was not for me to know,
for the doctor came up. and in a little
while they were all gone and L stood
alone. For 4 few moments l was too
/ OVerpOWered with cOntendlng emotions to
move or even think calmly. The incident
seemed almost like some feVered dream,
and at last l turned towards home in be
wildeTed uncertainty. II took me but a
! little while to step there and unlatch the
I ~e,1T =
the steps. Why did l not wonder to see
| the door closed? 1t was a hOspitable en-
| trance and was rarely closed in daylight.
| put my hand upon the latch and found
the door was fastened. 1t was locked
against me. Perhaps father had gone out.
| would try some other door. 1t was
easy to run around to the rear of the
house, and on the way l caught glimpse
of father sitting in his armchair in his
accustomed place. The back door was
locked againsnt me, TOO. oh, / knew it
then that father was going to keep his
word; but surely he would relent; he
could not cast off his mOtherless daugh-
ter. knocked again and cried aloud:
"Oh! father, let me in!'
Silence was all about me, and even
| Dinah's door was closed tight. Father
ruled the place, and only l had dared to
break his law.
The very walls seemed to mock my
cries, and those pleadings seemed to
| pierce into no human ears. There pros
trate before the threshold of my childhood
! home l lay struggling against the dread
full truth!
Homeless! Where could turn? What
| peace it brings me to remember that
| through all that agony no word of bitter
| ness against father escaped my lips; not
| even bitter thoughts arose. Even in that
| time of supremest anguish, when forced
| to arise and move, in going out alone into
| the cold, harsh, judging world ! thought
| more of the lonely figure left behind at
our hearthstOne than Of my own grief.
| With faltering step and aching heart
| passed out from home, not caring which
| way my steps bore me.
| Onward YEARLY on my way ] dragged,
| and my mind naturally turned to Him
| whose precious promises did not seem to
| be for me during my happy hours; now
| how sweet it was to recall them.
| when my father and my mother lOrsake
me then the Lord will take me up" cried
| David, the Prince Of Israel.
Surely it was not he alone whom the
| Lord would take as His own. Instantly
| as my spirit turned in its utter desOla-
| ton to the divine Father who would never
/ forsake His children, glow Of joy filled
| all my being. My step became light and
| firm, as led by some underlined power, my
| way was marked out IOf me. Inc pastor
/ of the flock! To whom could Imore sure
| " turn? He lived near, and it took only
| few minutes tor me to reach the we'll
| known place. Never did the sweet rest
| ful-loOking parsonage appear to me so
| lovely as on that day when l passed
| through its CHEEKY front yard and stood
upon the threshold. Before my hand was
upon the knOcker kind Mr.. Sears, who
| saw me approaching, came out 10 meet
me with a look of concern upon his face.
| His first word so touched my heart that
! the tears flowed at last.
"Dau ghter," was all he said, as led
tenderly in by him | was soon sheltered
| in the arms Of his wife.
My story was told, from first to last, in
my bitter anguish, and it was poured out
| to loving hearts. l asked for guidance
| OnIy-not shelter; but these true servants
| of God took me in as their own child. At
my request Mr.. Sears went at once to
| father to plead for me, for / longed even
| as the prOdigal son TO return to my faith
| er's house. The world seemed but a
| desert to me in those first hours of exile.
l would have yielded up all for the sake
/ of my lonely father, and bid Mr.. Sears
! bear this message to him.
! Alas he had made law as changeless as
/ that Of the Modes, and l had willfully
| brOken it. He remained as firm as the
rock, and in my secret soul | grew to be-
| lieve that be could not be wrOng-my dear,
honest old father, How loved him how
| ! do love himl