San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1886-08-11
CHAPTER xxx.

1.-THE end crowns all"
Troius and Cressida.
Rose Darrell lies awake all that night and
| do not think Eleanor sleeps much, but the
next morning Rose absentS herself for an
hour or so, and presently returns with the
result of her labor, which she takes care
Eleanor does not see. A fiat, square envel-
Ope directed in clear bold writing to
Mr.. Dallas Carew,
Palace Hotel,
San Francisco, Cal.
She has weighed each word over in this
precious document, for much hangs upon
''the prudent penning of letter." And
after she has seen this important epistle fair
ly on its way she grows quite light of heart
and helps Nelly with her packing, for she is
going tomorrow.
And to-day there comes long, crossed let
ter from Helen-llelen, who has but Just
learned of her sisters illness. A long letter
it Is, full of condolences and strange jingle
of WOrth's dresses, and the delights of the
Old World. The Professor is almost certain
of getting his position. How does Nell like
being a rich widow? Helen writes almost
gaily, but then perhaps she knew better than
her sister thought how matters stood between
Joe Allen and his wife. She answers lelen'S
letter and tells her plans, and when she
reads it over, written down in black and
white, there comes strange sinking of
heart. She feels as if she were already
there, but she sends the letter.
but he is far away. No doubt he has for
gotten her? No doubt lie is married by now,
and she, why can not she forget, too? Why
must she, with this dOg-lke fidelity, still
cling to him? Yet so it is!
Rose Darrell, happy Rose, Il trust she is as
happy now as she was them, is excited to-
day. One could tell that by the unusual
flush of her dimpled cheeks. She has been
making vague calculations as TO when the
mail reaches San Francisco, and has studied
timetables diligently. She has not said
word or uttered regret as regards Eleanors
future life, and the girl wonders half sadly
if she has ceased to care.
She, (Eleanor), in putting away her few
treasures, consisting chiefly of few long,
illegible letters from DOME and her mothers
picture, has come upon faded tiger-lily,
and with it come rushing back all the mem
cries OF that pretty, dead past; and for more
than an hour she sits there looking at it, tax
ing, as it were, feast of Old-tme Joys.
Well, it is for the last time, tomorrow she
will have done with them all; she will have
her full now. She will be as greedy as she
chooses; she will not leave out one bit SO
she goes over it all, emitting nothing, and
once or twice Rose comes in, but she does
not even'notice her. This faded flower is as
good as a book; it has pages closely written
on, and she will read them all. And when
she has exhausted her treasury she rises and
holds the poor, little blossom in the gas and
X.
And then she finishes her packing.
And now she has said farewell in good
earnest She has babe adieu to pretty Rose,
who, instead of weeping and wailing, has
hidden smiling goodbye. Perhaps she is
little hurt by this, but she does not show it
and so they part And Rose Darrell goes
back and takes another look at her time Ia
bic.
My friends will conveniently race you
over six days. for what is the use of de-
scribing the dust and roar of journey by
rail? 1t is indeed that thing of all others
which most hate, therefore, / will not in
fict 1t upon you.
Eleanor has been home day and night.
She is boarding in the village, for the old
parsonage is closed and empty. She has
been all through the village, and stared at
the old, familiar signs, she has been to the
well-known stores and the great variety
shop" and few of her old friends have rec
ognized her; but then she was never one to
have many friends. And now II is evening,
early evening. In these fair Southern climes
winter does not clamor for his turn so nois-
lily as In the colder north. Summer has by
no means surrendered up her sway and this
evening is mild and soft, and Eleanor is go
ing to Denies grave.
She has been to the parsonage and tried
the doors, but they are fast locked. The
poor, little house has forlorn, desolate look
the old dog kennel in the yard has half tum-
bled down, and over the window as well as
on the door, "for rent is pasted. She has
been through the garden, which has now
turned to a very wilderness OF tall, rank
weeds, she has been down to the river and
that is Just as beautiful as ever, and now she
has gone down behind the little, brown
church, out through the creaking gate among
the crosses and arches and through the tall,
rustling grass, where sleep the silent deac
Past them all she goes, past the rose-bushes,
whose fair blossoms have almost disappear
ed, past them all down the narrow path to
the very end, where the graves grow fewer
and fewer and the willows dropping
branches droop lower still. And here at
length she pauses having found that which
she wished.
The last rays Of the glorious sunset hang
In golden haze about her gliding with bril-
liant Illumination the stained glass windows
of the little church, dimly seen through the
thick, green trees Above the soft evening
sky, streaked with red purple and gold,
melt softly one into another, all fresh from
the hand of God. And the glorious light
streams calmly down on the turfted mounds,
over which the clustering white roses hang,
and their white petals, stirred by the soft
breeze, fall one by one like the first fakes OF
an early snow.
1t is very still. The song bird has ceased
his melody; only the wind rustles with a
mourning sound through the trees. No hui
man being n iar-Only girl sitting alone in
the silent it, of the dead
An pha