The Penn's Grove record., 1886-03-13

Ju6 early morning stealing III lllOuBu
the closed curtains and touching us
both. She turned her haggard eyes
towards the light, and said family
maggie, the end is very near; and l
am glad. Heaven will pardon even
such sins as mine; l shall have peace
now. Draw back the curtains: | should
like to see the sun once more"
| obeyed and a food Of glowing Grim
son light filed the room and illumina-
ted the dying face on the pillow. A
radiant smile lit up her features.
81 am not afraid now, Maggie"
she said, in clear full tones; and, al
most as the words left her lips, her
head fell back, and, without a struggle
Blanche billiard was dead.
After her daughters death, Mrs.
billiard left the Chase, and the house
was shut up. No tidings have been
received of its absent master, and peo'
pie began to wonder what had become
Of him, and if he ever intended to re-
turn.
1t was now for the first time that |
began TO realise that l was utterly
separated from Hugh as when l be-
lieyed he loved the dead girl who had
come between us, and that he must
still think what he had heard of me
was true. There was no way Of unde-
ceiving him, no way by which | could
d scover him. l must only wait-and
how hard it was to do that!
l do not know now, when look back
upon them, how | got thrOughthe days
days that We're like years to me.
With what sickening dread | read the
daily history of blood and death in the
newspapers. not knowing whether l
should see the nam that was 20 dear
to me in the fatal list And at last news
came-but not in the way | expected.
A letter reached me, dated from Sedan
written by u French officer to tell me
that Hugh Seymour was dying. He
had been fearfully wounded in the
fierce struggle that decided the fate Of
France. Hehad told his friend, who
wrote Tor him, that he must see me be-
fore the end; and the writer implored
me to lose no time in going out TO him.
81 gave the letter to my mother.
Wont you come with me?" | asked
a~nxiously.
my poor darling. do you think |
would let you go alone?" was her
answer.
saw by the date of the letter that
it had been written some days before,
and even now all might be over, and
our journey of no avail. But | would
not let myself think of that; | felt l
should go mad if | did.
At last we were there, at the very
door OF TIE hospital r'heTe Hugh was
lying. And now my strength broke
down. | dlpaded letting my mother
make the NECESSARY inquiries, for fe2l
of hearing tae fatal words that Would
tell me all hope was over. chung to
her, helpless and trembling; darkness
came before my eyes and her voice
sounded a long way eff when l heard
her speaking, and then a woman's voice
saying in answer
she still lives. madam; but that is
ALL"
The n~urse-for 1t was she who spoke
led the way; and we followed her
silently.
remember entering a large white
washed room, and passing by a row of
beds, each occupied by a wounded suf-
ferer, and n where a sheet was drawn
over a figure that ! " quite still. | heard
one golden-haired boy moan piteously
for his mother, as he tossed in the I'M
rest Of fever; and at last we stopped
beside a bed at the end Of the room,
and once more l saw Hugh Seymour.
He did not recognize us. He lay in
n l,anuy sf1nAr alnoncf 1tn ono dnQd
except for the labored breathing that
was so painful to hear. 4 doctor was
bending over him, and a nurse stood at
his side; but | pushed them both away.
He was mine as long as he was on earth.
and | would let no one else be near
him. Iput my arm round his neck,
and drew his head close to me.
"Hugh," l said, "my darling, Ihave
come to you; only speak to me-only
one word my own love!'
forgot everything else but him. He
and l seemed alone together in the
world and he was dying. | spoke to him
imploringly; 1 prayed desperately for
the boon of even a conscious look from
HIM; and | think the very agony of my
entreaty had some mysterious infu-
ence over him, for the heavy eyes slow
ly opened and met mine, a faint smile
fitted over the wan face, making it
look almost as of old, and he softly
whispered
my Maggiel"
1t was the day after my arrival, and
l was still at Hugh's bedside. HIS
consciousness had returned, and l had
been able to tell HIM all. The wretched
misunderstanding that had caused us
S 10 much misery was cleared up now,
and nothing could separate us any
more, except death, and that was com
ing near; but, as long as there was life
| chung ohstinately to hope, and refus-
ed to think of what was before me.
He lay very still, with closed eyes,
for he was f~earfully weak, and could
speak to me only occasionally in broken
whispers. AS l sat there, holding his
head IN perfect silence, he suddenly
opened his eyes. and, turning them
towards me, said quietly
"Maggie, will you marry me?"
eyes, dear" / said, smiling, while a
bitter pang shot through me, as 1 felt
how idle the words were.
but l mean now-to-day," he said
eagerly. "Ny darling, l know that |
am dying. that the end is very ear
now; but it will be a comfort to me to
think that after l am gone you will
bear my name and live in the dear old
home where we have been so happy"
And so l married HIM. / do not re-
member my wedding distinctly; it Vas
like a dream. l stood beside his dying
| bed, and repeated the solemn words
after the clergyman, without realizing
them. l heard Hugh whisper his re-
spouse, and felt him place the ring on
my hand while the doctor held his
steady. l heard him call me his wife,
and stretch out his arm feebly towards
me; and then a terrible change came
over his face, and his head fell back on
the pillow, With a cry l sprang towards
him; and then a great darkness came
before my eyes, and l remember moth
ing more.
| had written thus far when | was
--.u4nJ 10 pnv onnofnn into