The Abilene reflector. [volume] (Abilene, Kan.) 1883-1888, 1885-02-05

Deeply moved by the devotion of a
stranger to her child Nine. de Chatillon
thanked Cecile with the eloquence of a
mother menaced in the very flesh of her
| flesh.
In spite of this burst of gratitude
Cecile saw that her position near this
young man was becoming difficult, and
said to Nine. de Chatillon that as her
son was now assured of a mothers IN
equaled care there was now no him
drance in the way of her journey, and
she would leave on the morrow.
The old lady protested; she implored
the young girl not to leave her. She
spoke with a vehemence that seemed to
rouse her son from his lethargy. He
moved his hand several times with an
nearest the bed, took the hand in hers,
trying to calm the sufferer. At this
contact the wasted fingers pressed her
wrist significantly.
You see, mademoiselle,' resumed
the afflicted mother, ''that he would not
have his guardian angel leave her work
unfinished. For PHYS sake do not for
sake him! You have Just told me that
you were returning to Paris in search of
employment. You have found employ
ment. Consider yourself my travelling
companion, and swear to you that [
will always regard and treat you as my
second child. "
Cecile yielded to these moving en-
treaties. She saw that her presence
was as necessary to the mother as to
the son.
The hurried journey. the cruel emo
tionS she had suffered, had prostrated
the already ailing Nine. de Chatillon,
and Ceciie, besides her other duties,
now had the care of a confirmed invalid.
The scene just related seemed to have
produced a salutary effect upon the sick
man; the fever disappeared, reason re-
turned, he regained some strength, but
his sight grew no better. When Cecile
at length took her two patients to
Vienna she summoned a council of
physicians. They decided that the iris
had lost its power of contraction, that
amaurOSis was complete, that NJ. de
Chatillon must resign himself to life
long blindness, a decision confirmed
few months later by the most renowned
oculists Of Paris.
They then retired to the Chatillon
estate near Monies. Here. after months
of languishing, the mother died, COM
mending her idolized son TO the young
girl she persisted in calling his guardian
angel.
The blind man who had shitherto
borne his affiictiOn with q strength of
mind akin to stoicism was strangely af-
fected by this new trial He became
anxious, preoccupied, almost melan-
chOly. When Cecile came to read to
him. to guide him in his daily walk, he
received her with the wonted smile; he
thanked her with the usual touching
emotion. only to fall back into intermin-
able reveries. Her shortest absence
made him impatient, and one day when
some errand to the town had detained
her longer than was expected, she found
him on her return. the prey to an agita
ton he could not conceal.
His solicitude grew daily. Cecile. at
tributing his sadness to the loss of his
mother, and to his blindness, coniured
him to make an effort to recover his
former resignation.
Il still weep for my mother" he re-
piled, ''but convinced that every pass
ing hour brings nearer the moment of
our reunion, my sorrow loses day by
day its bitterness. Cruel as is my deS-
tiny | have become resigned to it, and
must say to you, Cecile. that you have
rendered my lot so sweet that l have
many times blessed my misfortune. The
cause of my sadness lies neither in the
past nor present; it is anxiety for the
future"
What then do you fear?" asked Ce-
Gle. TREMENDOUSLY.
That | may lose some day her to
whom | owe so much. | fear this not
only because without her care my mis-
fortune will assume new horrors, but
because I love you"
Cecile'S face blanched. ''Itis wrong"
she sobbed, for you to doubt my friend
ship"
Your friendship" echoed the young
man bitterly; ''Cecile. this word alone
iustifies my terrors. What will it weigh,
this friendship. if one day sentiment
that admits neither partition nor rivalry
comes to take possession of Your heart?
No, no. If YOU would really have me
recover that early serenity; if You would
have me as the first, bear patiently, even
gayly, the lot that cuts me off from the
of those who behold Gods crea-
tures and His beautiful world, there
must exist between you and me a tie other
and stronger than friendship-you must
consent to become my wife"
For moment speecileSs, Cecile fixed
her amazed eyes upon the blind man.
She seemed not to have understood his
words.
80, heavenr' she cried at length. |
How deeply | regret not having reached |
two days earlier
why. Cecile?'
Because You then could have seen !
me, monsieur; because if you had seen
me my plain face would have remained |
so deeply craven in your remembrance |
as to spare you this new trouble after so |
many SORROWS. This confession costs |
my self-love nothing. l am ugly, Mon
sieur Robert; so ugly that my friend
ship, the friendship that You value so
lightly, would never consent to give You
a companion so unworthy of you"
mo, you can not be ugly, Cecile.
The eyes which mirror this celestial |
sweetness and all the noble sentiments
Of the most generous and loving of hearts !
can not be without their charm; there /
must be seductionS IN the smile that ac- |
voice so gentle and pene-
trating. And what matters to me more |
Or less regularity in the features? |.
alas, shall never see! What l love in j
you is your soul. and this world holds !
not soul more beautiful and pure.
Cell, ls.Ar,...l ]. i