The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1885-04-04

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my hands. Jack whined uneasily.
"'But [ need not distress you further,
Mr.. Dayenant said. If
No, nor interrupted. feline eV-
erything g-everything
Z" Everything, he said, after another
embarrassed pause, lis very little He
murmured your name with-with great
tenderness and wistfulness, until Jack, who
could not be forced from his bedside, sud-
denly put his paws on the bed and began
to lick his face. That reused him little,
and he said distinctly, "Ask her to be kind
to jack Tell her l leave Jack to her
care"
II involuntarily stretched out my arms
to the dog, who, as usual, ignored my ad-
vances.
Then, continued Mr.. Davenant, 'he
asked for pencil and paper, but after tracing
with diff Guilty few words, he let the pencil
fall and said, "Tell her-tell her ="
He could not finish the sentence. His
mind seemed to wander, and he spoke no
more till, just before the end, he smiled;
and almost with his last breath murmured
your name
'There was long silence. | could not
trust myself to speak. At last Mr. Dave
nant said:
"I don't think need detain you longer
l must thank you for the patience with
which you have listened to me- Goodbye
"He took my hand and pressed it with a
feeling that his words had not betrayed, put
into it folded sheet of paper, and turned
to say goodbye to my stepmother, who,
however, followed him out of the room
Jack was left as matter of course.
II opened my precious bit of paper, and
read with an intense sense of consolation
the three words written by his dying hand
for me:
Goodbye, little Hester.
"That was all, written in a feeble, shaky
hand, the last word trailing off into illegi-
bility, but it was enough. pressed them
to my lips and held them to my heart, and
then, kneeling down beside Jack, | threw my
arms around his neck and burst into tears.
"Jack did not respond then or afterwards
1t was vain dream that he was to comfort
me and him. He refused all comfort. I
tied him up till he should become accus-
toned to the place; [ wooed his affections
with the most tempting bones, and the
sweetest biscuits, but in vain. He would
not eat. He whined piteously, and tugged
sulkily at his chain all day long.
One evening took bitter resolution.
[ unfastened his chain and set him free.
Goodbye, Jack, said; 4 will not
keep you against your will. Cor
"He dashed past me and disappeared in
the gathering twilight, without the least
attempt at farewell. 1 passed restless,
sorrowful night, and in the morning [ took
another resolution. L rose early, before
anybody was about, and went out. [ took
my way to the cemetery 1t was bitterly
cold, for it had been freezing hard all night,
and now it was beginning to snow. But
needless of the weather l hurried on The
gates were open, and I went in lrs STONED.
A gravedigger was at work near the en-
trance, but | avoided his enquiring look.
could not bring myself to ask him for
what [ sought. 1 thought / could find it
without assistance nor was | mistaken. 1
had not wondered long among the marble
crosses and tombstones before l saw, at
little distance, dark object lying on
mound that was not yet marked by cross
or stone. With beating heart I ap-
preached it. My instinct had not deceived
me.
at was Jack stretched dead across his
masters grave"
Miss Fortescue ceased, and closed her
eyes as if tired Lila waited moment,
and then, unwilling to disturb her from the
train of thought necessarily induced by
such stirring-up of old memories, softly
left the room, and shortly afterwards
quilted the house.
For she was no relation to the old lady
whom she called aunt, and was only bound
to her by ties of affection. Her own home
was situated in another quarter of the
town. As she bent her steps thither, she
was overtaken by the regiment she had
already seen that afternoon, 1t was not
now marching at funeral pace, with re-
versed arms, to a. melancholy dirge, but
with shouldered rifles was stepping briskly
along to the music of an inspiring quick
march.
Lila took refuge in doorway to escape
the crowd, and while the gay procession
went by, passed, with the unhesitatingly
severe Judgment of youth, a contemptuous
condemnation on the shortness of soldiers
mourning. But when the fair-haired boy
came under her eye, her thoughts grew
merciful.
Relieved from the necessity of assuming
an air of Indifference to everything around
him, he was enjoying to the full the sense
of being by no means contemplate item
of a very fine show, and as he caught sight
of Lila and recognized her, his satisfaction
was perfected.
She forgot her contempt, and as she
looked after him with an unconscious in
terest, she wondered if he would ever be
as charming man as the hero of her aunt's
story. She had no presentiment, then, OF
happier story, in which he and she were
to play the principal parts with an entirely
satisfactory result.
Lillas dreams that night were con-
fused tumble of funeral marches and dance
music, of love and music, of smiling youth
and withered age.
She went early next morning to pay her
daily visit to her old friend, for she was
oppressed by vague sense of uneasiness,
which gave way to definite fear when, in
answer to her inquiry the servant who
opened the door said that Miss Fortescue
was not so we'll as usual.
She hurried to the old lady's room, and
found her sitting in her large arm chair,
with closed eyes and folded hands. There
was look on her face which made the girl
turn with a mute inquiry to the maid who
was in attendance.
The woman shook her head, and signed
that she would not run the risk of disturb
ing her mistress by speaking.
So Lila sat down and waited.
Presently Aunt Hester stirred uneasily.
A shadow came over her face, She opened
her eyes. Betraying no surprise at her
young friends presence, she said
''Open the window, Lilla-open it wide.
Don't you hear it?"
She raised her hand to enforce silence,