Savannah morning news. [volume] (Savannah) 1868-1887, 1885-02-15
THE SAVANNAH MORNING NEVIS: SUNDAY FEBRUARY IS 1885,

more vigorously; she smote the door until
her knuckles ached. Silence answered
her.
At length she turned the knob hesitat-
ingly. The door opened without resist
ance and she peered in. The rOOrn. was
empty; the bed had not been occupied.
Then she understood. Apparently she
had more than one friend.
Easter Sunday broke warm and sultry.
forewarning one of those torrid days which
sometimes spring out of the cold heart OF
the Northern April. The great festival
was heralded at dawn by the joyful note
Of tTumpets from the church tower: and
the whole congregation rose, and, pre-
ceded by the children, paid theiT annual
visit to the cemetery with Staging and
the sound of wind instruments, making
melody in their hearts TO the risen Sa-
viOUr. The air was heated AID lifeless;
but later, when the faithful community
filed to church, it hung inert about them
like the breath Of a furnace. The maple
leaves dropped, paTched aad mOtiOnless.
At rare intervals, when She leaves were
family stirred, il appeared YEARLY far
from the behOlder.
Mr.. Keator went scFupulOusly through
the elaborate liturgy for the day and
preached a sermon 0f the usual length;
but the victory was won at the cost of an
exhaustion which Frustrated him until 1t
was time for evening service. His hear
ers listened laboriOusly and strove not to
seem fatigued and warm-an effort in
which their failure does not discTedit
them.
Constance d0zed restlessly during the
morning after her night watch; and when
she saw her father again she was startled
by the change which the heat had
wrought. When the sun set and the cool
breeze began to breed in the mountains
and steal up the valley she opened the
shutters which had been Intellectually
closed against the day and sitting bes de
him waved a palm-leaf gently about his
head. She was thinking how grieved he
would be to miss the Easter services; ana
her thoughts went back to happier Easter,
when she herself had gone to church joy
fully with her mother and her faith was
not such a wearisOme, doubtful matter.
stray sentences of the MOraYian creed,
which MIR. KeatOr might be reciting at
the moment before his congregation,
fitted through her mind.
"WhO hath made us meet to be partak-
ers of the Inheritance of the saints In
eternity" she murmured, absently, "haY-
ing predestinated US into the adoption OF
children by Jesus Christ to Himself, ac-
cOrding to the good pleasure Of His will,
10 the praise OF the glory OF His grace
wherein He has made us accepted In the
Beloved"
The sOnorous phrases left her lips
thoughttully; as she finished her voice
grew louder. and at the end the cOngrega-
tionaI response came teebly:
This verify believe"
Constance bent over the figure on the
bed.
"Why, father!" exclaimed she, softly.
He opened his eyes with a wandering
look of intelligence.
what: Constance, Constance, did
you speakT" he said, with an effect OF
cropping for the words.
''NO, father, it was you. was reciting
the creed to myself aud you made the re-
spOnse. You didn't knOw|'
Didn't knOwY' he answered, vacant
". The creed!'' SAID he, suddenly, with
awakened interest, 1.-THE creed" He
looked at her Heenly. constance, nv
girl he asked. perfectly reasonably, do
YOU believe it?"
yes, father" replied she, unhesitating-
ly.
Yes, yes; why not?" He paused a
moment with a heavy sigh. "But there
are other things"
90 Constance was much agitated.
'Ies, father" she answered, chokingly,
''there are other things"
"AhV cried be, gaining false strength
for the moment, Il was wrong to force
YOU"
"Force me? Oh, poor, dear fatherp'
yes, yes, wanted to bring you into
the fold. 1t was natural; but it was
mistake. You were good enough as you
were-sO good, dearest" said he, reaching
for her head with the old motion.
She put it down TO him and he ran his
wasted hand over her fair hair muslngly.
Then she kissed him, sitting a sob, and
sand:
Il can't let you say that. It's not true,
father. You don't know" He made a
weak gesture of dissent. "Na, no, | don't
imagine. If it were true, If anyone could
fancy it true for a moment, don't you
think | would rather let You rest than
tell YOU? Dear father" she whispered,
kneeIing by his bed, ''IVe wished 50 that
YOU should know, and once I feared that
YOU would never wake to let me tell you.
First / was afraid-wickedly AFRAID; but
that Is gone. ! want to say il nOW-I
9rust. Father, listen-ah, you won't be-
lieVe It."
"Darlingw with a supreme effort he
drew her 10 him and kissed her lips twice
Darling" he whispered, as he
released her, II know"
she repeated the words breathlessly.
He nodded quickly thrice.
Mr.. March-the church-Elder Weiss.
Yes. yes"
.'Who has told youY7 she cried, bowild-
cred.
Cynthia" said he, difficulty.
Constance devoted swift, grateful
thought to her aunt, and remorsefuIy told
her father that she had kept him talking
too long. She made him remain silent
while she beat 4n,. smUOthed his pillow
with woman's skill; AMI when she had
settled him anew forbade him to speak,
and Immediately bending over him said
softly:
''You did not speak OF it, father. You
called me good. Haveyou forgiven me?
Can yOuY'
''NO, dear"
she shrank. DR.. Van Cleef smiled hap
PLY on her from his pillow.
s'There can be no such word between
US. l cannot forgive you. have always
forgiven you. Do you understands
She stopped and kissed him.
He dOzed for a time; Constance famed
him patiently.
Constance" he called, after little.
yes, father"
q shall not be with you long,
"FatheT, father, dcn'tV
"NO, | am physician. l have watched
others in like straits. My disease is pc
culiar; science has much TO learn of it.
Pm afraid we do not even name 1t cor
rectly vet. But the end comes suddenly.
l have always expected that" be spoke
calmly while she laid her face in the pill
low in an agony of grief. "What l wish
to tell you is not that-nOt that exactly"
he went on with his old repetition habit.
constance, dear.D She raised her tear
stained face. "You will be quite alone.
Your aunt, suppose, will return to her
sister,"
''Oh, father, let it go. Why need you
trOubleY'
4 must-I must. my dear. Listen.
You will be alone and you will go to your
aunt Caroline; but eventually you will
marry" Constance tiercely shook the
head on the pillow. Eyes, yes, it is the
only life Tor a woman" He stroked her
head gently. "Yes, you will grieve for
your old father time. That Is right.
But in the end you must marry. 1t is
that l wish to speak of. Constance, did
you ever think that Mr.. KeatOr-yes. yes,
/ see you have. He IS a noble man, my
dear. l viii not question you. ] will
not even leave it as wish. But L sug-
gest-I merely suggest, my dear"
The gentleness which she remembered
from infancy in hIs treatment OF her
overcame her. and she flung her arms
about his neck.
s'Let me promise it, fatherY'
.NO. no, if it makes you feel bound l
shall be sorry l spoke. l don't want TO
tie YOU, Remember"-he gasped, faint
". in pain-"remember that | thought Of
IL That is what 1 should like to leave