The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1885-05-03
DIVERS BRIDE.
A STORY BY MRS. oLIPHANT.
PART III.-CHAPTER ".

cold of the shut-up rooms went to his heart But
he was astir very early, before it was daylight.
He had not slept but only dozed, miserably re-
peating in dreams which that film Of half sleep
made into mere distortions. his waking thoughts.
The circumstances of the past evening, the Jour-
ney the leave taking with Grace, the horror at
the end--it was arelief to be fully awake, and
have only reality to contend with, miserable as
that was. Dawn came slowly slowly, stealing,
hltering in marred and broken light through the
clouds and the rain, which had continued all
through the night His whole being was con-
centrated in expectation of sound at his
door Every moment which passed without a
summons encouraged him. He said to himself:
SIT must be all over, all overn A dozen
times the tension of his great excitement
seemed to produce tinkling in the silence
which simulated the sound of the bell. But it
was nothing, and the cold dawn gradually de-
yeloped into full but colsrless day. He was say
ing to himself for the hundredth time, sit must
be all over" and feelingsfor the first little ease
In his mind as if it might really be so, when
suddenly the bell rang. All that was no vibra-
ton of excitement in the air; it was the bell,
the stiffness 1t rang and echoed into Went
worth's very heart, the brazen tinkle wounding
him like knife SO sudden. SO sharp and real.
There was no one to open the door but himself,
no one in the place to do anything for him. He
did not move for moment, finding that he
needed time to recover from the sting of that
blow, when it was repeated more sharply STILL
not without Impotence. 1t occurred to him,
then, that it might be something else than
the messenger of fate-the postman, perhaps
some one who had nothing to do with his trag-
edy. These hopes, if hopes they could be called,
were dissipated, however, when he opened the
door, Outside stood young man in shabby
clothes, with a face which reminded him of poor
Alice at her best Mother sent me to tell you
that Ally's living, and a little better. If you'll
come at eleven she'll have the parson there as
visits in our street.
"If come at eieven!" Oliver said with gasp
''She said you would understand. l don't
know as I do. / think they'd deal better let
you alone. What good can you do her"
Here seemed help, an advocate, and Oliver
looked at him with an eagerness that was almost
duplication 'That is what think" he said.
''what good can 1 do herr It can only agitate
her, and hasten the end.n
well" said the young man, ITS none of my
business. Mother and the rest will have it their
own way. But as for Fastening the end that's
the best thing that could happen, for she do
nothing but feel bad lingering there At IL
o'clock, and to look sharp for the parson will be
waiting, mother said Good morning." the
youth added turning quickly and going off down
the stairs. He began to whistle after few steps,
then stopped, briefly with an oh! Of recollection,
as if remembering that to whistle was indecor-
Gus in the present position of affairs.
Oliver went back to his cold and empty rooms
with sense that life was over and his heart
dead within him. It seemed to fall down to
some impossible depths, down to grave of 81
lenee and darkness He shut the door mechan-
Ically, and went back and sat down where he had
been sitting before and stared with blank eyes in
front Of him into the vacant air. God had not
Enterposed to deliver him. But why, he asked
himself should God have interposed-God had
not been consulted or referred to in all this con-
nection,-in anything that had passed-and why,
unasked, undesired, should he step in now, like
heather god or tutelary deity to set all rightf
Oliver did not feel that he could make any ap-
peal, even now, to Him who was righteousness
and purity, to help him out of the consequences
of his own folly and sin. Oh, yes, it was true,
many men had done as much whom no judg-
ment overlook, who lived fair before the world
and had no shame put upon them, and forgot
that they had ever stepped aside from the paths
of virtue. He had himself almost forgotten
almost-till contact with purer life and the
-.G e r. Z. A..
happiness to which he had so little right, had
brought conjunction to his soul He remem-
bered now how he had told Grace that he had
not been good man-and she had stopped him
as the father in the parable stopped the Prodi-
gai-in his confession-she had stopped him, put
ting her pure hand upon his lips, throwing her
whiteness over him like a mantle. But there
had been judgment waiting behind. Justice had
been standing watching his futile attempts at
escape, with a face immovable. holding her
scales. He had been weighed and found-ah,
no one but himself knew how entirely wanting.
And now here was the price to pay. He had
promised and he could not escape.
After moment he tried to say to himself that
these solemn thoughts were inappropriate, that
after all it not much of matter--to please
dying woman, whom he had been supposed to
love once-to give her a little pleasure, poor
soul, little poor spectre of pleasure on the day
of her death--where was there a man so hard
hearted that would not do that? And then he
had not any time to think; if he were to fulfill
this miserable appointment he must do what
was necessary at once. he rose and got his
bank book out of its drawer and looked over it
carefully calculating how much he had. He
had (he had gone ever the calculation so often).
enough for the wedding trip which Grace
and he had arranged to make, and in
which at least he felt that her
money must not be touched. He had
enough for that. ard to pay few little debts,
those little foolish things that accumulate with
out thinklng-enough to wind up everything
hoporably and start fair. He seemed to be tear