Savannah morning news. [volume] (Savannah) 1868-1887, 1884-08-31


before. True, my prospects ",
proving, but fortune-0r most fortunes
are won by years of patient toll, and
nothing less than a f0rtuue would satisfy
Mrs. St. Julian. The crisis was APP
preaching. I went to see ms darling one
day, and found her pale, sad and hope
less. She SAID that mad better md some
other girl to make me a home; that this
waiting was not right for me, and she
should not expect me 90 wear out my
yOuth-Our patience would never be
rewarded. Are you tired of waiting for
ne? Would you be happier free, Mar
gueriteP No, no. she cried, as l knew
she would, and burst into tears; 1 had
rather always wait for you.' l saw that
she was worn and fragile as a broken
flower, and 1 believed it vas the life Of
suspense mat was exhausting her. Hope
| deferred maketh the heart Of man sick
just there, perhaps, ] did wrong; but
now could / stand TO leave her there, so
slight and clnginC a creature as she was.
4 persuaded her to do what had never
been touched upon between us-to marry
me without her mothers permission, no !!
against her orders. My influence with her
was great, and It may be that | was wrong
20 use It IN that way. But be that as II may,
we went to her mother and informed her
that at certain hour that day we would
&c united. If she permitted it, the cere-
m0ny would take place in her home; if
not, we woald ind another place, though
perhaps none so appropriate. 1 have
never seen sucn an expression Of batfied
rage as found footing on the face Of Mrs.
81. Julian at that moment. 1t assumed
the livid Whiteness Of death, and,
with her handsome eyes blazing and
her hand uplItted, she cried paSsiOnately:
Il viii never give my consent for you to
be united IN my house or in anOther's,
and, II you leave 1t for that purpose, my
curse-a mothers curse!sgo with you
and follow you through life, even down to
an unhallOWed grave My poor, tortured
grill she gave low cry and would have
fallen, falnting, at my feet, but l caught
her III my arms, and, eXclaiming angTily,
i viii abide by the consequences Of this
act, madame l strobe from the room and
from the house. I have abided by the
consequences Of that act these many,
many days. / have learned that parental
authority must be respected in whatever
form it is clothed"
He pressed his hand to his brow in
silence before he went on.
Il bore her tenderly to the house of
near neignbOT, while / procured a con-
veyance. By this time She had revived,
and, with her consent, we drove rapidly
to the house Of an old clergyman, who
had been her friend from childhood. TO
our disappointment, he was not at home,
having gone to attend some service at
small church several miles distant. AS
Marguerite preferred him to any other,
and was eager to crafty her every
desire, we decided to drive to the place at
once. That drive! Those last moments,
when she sat at my side looking up so
trUstfully into my face! She was little
pale and her eyes very grave and wistful,
for she still felt keenly the pain of leaving
her mother as she had done, but she as
sured me that She did not regret the step
we had taken. We planned that every
possible endeaYOr should be made to con-
clllate Mrs. st. Julian, and that in future
every possible concession should be made
to her wishes. can never understand
just how it came about, but something
startled the horse, and he dashed off like
some mad creature. Before / could con-
troll him the carriage struck against a
tree, and we were both thrown out. !
must have lain senseless for some zine
before ] was aroused by sharp pain in
my arm, which was broken. My hand
Was graSping something closely, and,
raising ny head, / saw that it was the
hand Of Afare .erIte, which l remembered |
to have caught as w, fell. In an agony |
of terror I gently loosened the tender, |
fingers, and bent over ner 10 I
ascertain the extent of her INJURIES I
Though she was unconscious, thpugnC
at the first glance that she was not sefl-
ously hurt. She lay there as calm and |
fair as sleeping child, white and pure
as a half-blOwn lily, with the folds OF her
blue dress lying about her aud golden I
head pillowed on the green earth. 1 raised,
her softly, calling her name, when l dis
covered that her head had struck on
sharp flint rock that was half hidden by
grass and flowers, but was none the less
a cruel and dangerous resting place for
that gentle head. The blood had darkened
her bright hair, and a crimson stream
stole down her soft cheek. took her in
my arms in dumb agony, for 1 knew then
that she was dead. / tried to get up with
my light burden, but fell back, and knew
no more for many hours. When l was
restored | found myself atthe house Ofthe
good clergyman, who had found us on his
way home. My darling was carried to
her mother, who gave one glance at the
still, white face, and, with shrek of
remOrse and anguish, fled from the house.
When she was brought back she was as
piteOus ap object as you saw her short
time ago, though five years have elapsed
since then. AS soon as / heard OF this
state of things l left my bed and went to
stay near Marguerite until she was laid
in her last earthly abiding. place. Even
while my heart was breaking, doctor,
calmness seemed to enWrap
my soul as / looked upon that Waxen
face. The departing spirit had left its
impress Of purity and innocence on her
brow. Another source Of consolation !
came to me in those last moments, as l
sat by her cold, snowy form. Her little
sister Bessie was ever near me, mingling
her light, childish grief with mine. l
remembered how Marguerite had loved
this little one; how we had always
planned to have her with us in that cher
ished home Of our hopes and dreams. 4
knew that nothing could have given Mar
guerite more satisfaction than the knoWl-
edge that / had charge of her infant sister.
There were nOnear relatives to oppose me
except the poor mother. stricken by the
hand of God, and to her felt remOrsetully |
that owed it to give the rest of my life to
her remaining child. Then and there l
dedicated my life to little Bessie. l saw
the beautiful form of my last earthly JOY
hidden from my sight; laid pure white
wreath on the little mound, and then l
went away, taking withme the child, who
was now my only tie to earth. l settled
in another town, and endeayored to
accept gratefully the life that just then
looked dark and not to be desired. The
sorrows l had undergone began to tell on
nv frame, and | was for a long time pros
trated with fever. When l recovered, 1t
was to learn that an old uncle had died
and left me large fortune, when nau
never expected to inherit. l was glad for
sake. But, Oh it added to my
grief a thousand fold. lift had only come
sooner, or-if l had only waited, she
might have lived to enjoy it,"
Again the strong man bowed hisface in
his hands.
o 'sNo use to try to talk of that; cannot,
doctor. After a while | made arrange
ments to have a large sum paid over
yearly to this DR.. Gordon for the benefit
of Mrs. st. Julian, who had been placed
in his charge. l have never been able to
bring myself to visit her there, and for that
reason i was much shocked this morning |
at the sudden meeting. ! am glad That
Bessie has been kept in ignorance OF her
mothers sad fate. Otherwise, she would /
have been made needlessly wretched this |
morning. Is it not strange that Mrs. st:
Julian did not remember the existence Of |
the young daughter that she once loyedP' |
DR.. Baum was still tanning slowly, his |
genial face flushed and actually tear
stained.
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