The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1886-11-17

ing-room that November afternoon. and
looked for the last time upon his dead
sisters face, the impression made upon
his mind at that time would ever linger
with him until he entered the sfGates
Aiar"
There she lay in her fairy like
beauty, with the curls of brown and gold
resting on the eoffn-pillow, with the
great brown eyes hid meath the curling
lash, with the baby hands clasping a
pure white Jessamine and an expression
that brought from the lips of an OBJ
server, the one word, peace" At that
moment a ray of the dying afternoon
sunshine fell on her hair, and made il
one simmer of gold then it was gone.
The sight OF that dead baby's face kept
Philip from yielding to many snare of
theSIempter, and it seemed as if his life
had been purified from the sight of that
beautiful face
When they laid her away in the eem-
etery it was late in the afternoon.
Philip fingered long after the crowd had
dispersed. He kneeled upon the turf
by his dead sisters grave and wept long
and bitterly. He had been so reckless
and wild, so utterly regardless of all
that was noble and good. He resolved,
out there in the cemetery, to lead new
life, beautiful life, a life that his God
would commend. Ain! pure, guileless,
little sister, your life mission is accom-
plished, which was to inspire your
brother to a noble life.
As he entered the valley below the
cemetery, he turned and looked The
moon was rising over the eastern hills.
He never forgot that scene. He could
see the gleam of the grave-stones and
the waving of the bare willow-boughs,
whose weary, dreary sound in the wind,
he could distictly hear, and on the hill
top, he could see the new-made mound
that held his dead darling.
The next day, from some cause or
other, Philip never knew what, his
fathers bank failed, leaving him almost
penniless. A year or two before, an old
maiden auntof Philips had died, leaving
him her entire fortune. Thus he was
| independent. The blow crazed his
father. And that night in the midst of
his frenzy he murdered his wife. ooh,
Godl was there ever anything more ter
rible! 70 think, that in the quiet of the
night-watches his mother, that noblest
among women in his opinion, should be
thus murdered by the man who had
almost worshipped her for thirty years"
Philip cried, in his bitterness. And to
crown itall, his father killed himself after
he had committed the wild deed. In less
than three days after their baby-girfs
death, there were two more new graves
on the hilltop in the cemetery.
For two years Philip had loved Gene
We've Gray, with all the depth of his
| being. In the winter they had expected
| to marry. But after that terrible dis
| grace had fallen on the household, he
| felt that he could never face her again.
So in the silence of the night, he fed, no
one knew whittier.
Thus we found him in the opening of
our story, in the quiet of his home by
| the sea, III sunny Scotland, for to that
country it was he fed.
| As it happens no one knew of his en-
! gagement with Genevieve Gray. And
she did not show by look or sign that
| her lie had been darkehed-that she
was a changed woman.
No one saw those lonely night vigils
| she held alone with her sorrow. To the
world she was the same old smiling
Genevieve Gray.
There was no one in the family save
| Genevieye and her father. They were
immensely wealthy and old Mr.. Gray
was as proud and naughty as Lucifer
He had always loved Philip as he would
MS own son. And he was the only one
| that knew their secret. Geneyieve was
afraid that he would forbid her marry
ing Philip after the terrible tragedy.
| Hence she was very much surprised on
hearing him say that he wondered why
Philip did not come TO him at once with
| the tale of his great misfortune. "Poor
fellow" he said, 81 wonder if he thinks
| that | would condemn him for what his
| father had done" He said that the day
after the funeral. That day when he
came to dinner Genevieve noted a
strange look on his face.
'eWhat is the matter father?' she
cried. He seemed as if he hated to tell
her. "Ohl tell me at once" she cried
again.
| Philips gone, no one knows wherer'
That was all he said He looked at his
daughter. She sat so still and her face
was so white, he thought she had tainted.
But she had not. She seemed incapable
of moving. Her father took her in his
strong arms and carried her to her
chamber, rang for her maid who came
and put her to bed. All the afternoon
she lay there without uttering a word
She motioned to them to leave her, and
her father thought it best to grant her
request. How she battled with her
terrible agony She raised her hand
and took up one of her black curls to
see if it had not grown grav.
But the next morning she arose. As
she entered the breakfast room the great
change visible in her appearance startled
her father. The great black eyes had
lost their joyous sparkle, and instead
there was sad look that pained one to
see.
Her father was as cheerful as he knew
how to be, never alluding to the cause
of her grief.
"My daughter, you must prepare for
q journey to Scotland. We will start
on tomorrow afternoons steamer"
The day they left New York was sun
less and dreary. How the angry clouds
scudded across the skies making a scene
of the most awful grandeur! So like
her storm-tossed, breaking heart, Gene
We've thought She felt so restless and
weary during the voyage. Would it never
end? 1t seemed an eternity. And a:
they roughed the angry sea, the thought
came to her, that she was thus roughing
the sea of life. 1t was an unknown sea.
She felt that she was drifting, drifting
on and on, toward an unknown shore
and as if she would sooner or later
be hurled against dark death-sending
breakers.
AT last the weary, dreary sea voyage
was over. The shores of Scotland loomec
up in the misty distance. Genevieve
was so grateful that she could be OIL
land again, that she would no more b,
) on the ship with the Grabbed passengers
| no more with the eternal vail of the
) winter wind sounding in her ears; n,
more with the dreary gray of the winter
: skies to tire her eyes.
ii There was an old stone mansion no
far from the shore that Mr.. Gray LEASED
! for year. 1t was vast and roomy anC
) there were clinging vines about the olG
house.
As they came up the old drive, wher,
/ long ago lords and ladies rode in thei
, splendid carriages, and, as she saw tn
: mass Of tangled vines tgining about thi
: grand old trees, the winding paths, tn
D long avenues, she exclaimed: "Hov
grand How beautiful, Why, papa
' you could not have found NOR
E delightful place.
! Soon they felt quite at home in th
/ old place. They had brought all th
family servants along with them.
/. Papa" says Genevieve one day
/. Did you ever notice that old castl
e away over on the hilltop yonder?
e noticed it the first night of our arrival.
/ aYes, daughter" he replied, 81 have.
: well, papa, this morning | saw
: gentleman walk down to the sea Dan