Democratic Northwest. [volume] (Napoleon, Ohio) 1869-1894, 1885-11-19

Il am giving you treasure my son.
Why do you hesite? Surely, you have
no other lover
The sick man lifted himself on his
pillow, and looked eagerly, fearfully, In
the face above him. II was a naughty
vet frank countenance-a face that
mingled strength Of will with pride,
and tenderness with truth, yet had
enough poetic fire in 1t to make the re-
quest his father made Of Clarance Liv-
| ingston a very hard one for him 70
grant. For Elmar Livingston. dying,
remembered the wrongs done by him
in the days of nature, and, recalling
lucky venture, which, by enriching
him, had beggared another, asked his
son to take that others daughter for his
wife.
my boy, you will not refuse to make
my last hour easier?'
Father, would purchase your peace
with my life, were 1t possible. But
there Is surely some other way than this,
and will find it. What is the wrong of
which you speak%
'There is no other way moaned the
sick man; and since you bid me unseal
my lips, 1 will tell you how / gained
my wealth, and planted my life with
aloes of remorse, my son. And while
the summer night closed in, gray and
spectral, Clarence Livinsgton listening
to his fathers story of a credulous friend
betrayey and wealth snatched from a too
trusting hand. bent his young head in q
humiliation wholly new and wholly in
tolerable to him.
Without, in the clustering shade of
the veranda, stood Lena Munroe, drink
ing in the tale, with pulses beating as
strongly as those in the breast of her
Clarence, in her own girlish bosom pain
as keen, regret as bitter; for she had
loved Elmer Livingstone as a second
father, and felt the sin of the dying as
the wrong done the dead. Besides, an
other pang was hers-for Clarance had
begged his father not to ask him to be
more than q stranger to her!
Forgive me, my son! Ibid the wrong
for you,' came hoarsely to her from the
drawn lips of the dying. Make her
your wife, and all will be well. She is
as pure a flower unplucked. She has
grown dear to me az daughter-and
my boy, she loves you
iShe may be all you say came in the
clear tones of the young man; but she
is no more to me than a flower that
have no wish to gather. Ifshe loves me
II ia with a childish love that will no
lIinrer. Rest content father: she shal
not suffer through your-regard for me
/ will give back every ill-gotten dollar
But will keep my freedom; canno
sell it, father
The girl, shaken by hushed sobs
turned from the silvery night, an
glided into the house like shadow.
- Ere morning dawned the soul 9
Elmar Livingstone had gone where hu
man eve could not follow its flight, fire
of the clogging clay, to its judgement
And. as untraceable, 1t would seem, a
the spirit of the man who had wronge
her. vet guarded her youth, Lena Mur
roe had also gone with the night. leay
ing no token behind her, bidding n
farewell.
e y
Six wears later the accident cccurre
on the middight train which filled tt
hosnital of G-with moaning lif
orcrushed and shapeless bodies in whic
was left scarcely strength to sigh. I'll
nurses went from pallet to pallet, hol'
ing bandages, aiding to bind up gre
gaming wounds, shrinking from Il
Sight of severed arms but puttir
personal feeling away before Il
great needs that met them. One nurs
with sweet blue eyes, tender pitiful,g ga
q low cry at last, as the surgeon, who
assistant she was, paused beside ct
on, which young man lay unconsciou
you know him?' the surgeon ask,
her. regarding her blanched face cul
Ously.
30 She bent her head in silence, 81
ont bursting from her lips.
an- Half an hour later he lay there, und
her ewes, cold and still, with strips
linen across his bosom, broke
bandaged arm, court-plaster holdil
ca hJn together the red edges of cash that r
,nts perilously near the temple; and 8
knelt beside the cot with an ashen pa
in her young face, as she stroked ba
the hair from his forehead.
M I a. after six years!' she whispered, so
non Iy. sOh, my love! after six years, dl
ing which / have striven to forget yf
{ our a face. to see it SO cold and whiten
For the crushed and wounded m
was Clarence Livingstone, the kneeli
nurse, the girl to whom he had refns
lDlS Oyl0R ldtucI " HhhO oiCA "
hand Lena Munr0e.
Long days and nights followed ca
other, and Clarence walked from stu
. to mad delirium, in which he told
patient nurse all of which she alrea
: knew, and much besides told hel
I the wealth he had vowed never
!; touch, lying in his solicitors hands
z the girl he could not trace; of the strl
s gle and trial which he had &C
3 through, which made her blue e
e dim.
Z Once he suddenly put forth his un
9 ialpd hand and took one Of hers;
! .,.csi, brilliant with fever, were fast
2 on her face.
K MY father loved you as daught
: he said, softly, and he told me J
4 loved me; but ] did not believe, an
S wanted him to leave me free. Chi
SS why did you fly from me? Did y
2 fear would learn to love you"
n She bent her face, and tears flow
Y silently down her cheeks. 1t was
" lirium, she knew; but she, who |
" been unable to forget, remembered tt
!. long hour in the early night too viz
ly not to again feel some of its pain
!. she heard him.
e. Tt was weeks later when, after a lC
* * sleep, he wakened to full consciousn
ID one morning at day-dawn. The lig
were low, the scene spectral, as