Semi-weekly interior journal. [volume] (Stanford, Ky.) 1881-1905, 1886-05-07

~For Gods sake, Ambross, don't speak Of
that againi' I cried In anguish Forgive
me, forgive mel the loss OF all these years
has been mine"
mo, no. he said; ut 10 no matter. All is
over now, and IL is all one. Life, too, will
be over in a few hours, and that is we'll
Strange" he went on after pause that
men should dread death as they do I have
thought so always; now that am dying,
think so more than ever To dread the un.
known-when 10 know the unknowable Is the
great and unattainable desire Of life"
Most men think otherwise" l said; "the
love Of life IL strong"
"YeS yes, know it." he said, "and II Is
better SO; it should be so But something
has gone wrong between me and life;
have felt stranger In IL always Death Is
best
He lay quiet again for a long while His
breathing was dificu and oppressed. Now
and then the wind stirred the trees on the
hill outside; the shadows slowly moved with
the advancing night; otherwise all was still
But presently he began to turn restlessly in
the bed; the hands hot with fever, strayed
over the counterpane Whom he spoke again
his mind was wandering little
Il suppose you go back 10 Oxford at once
old fellow, he said Il should like to get
back there II 1t were only for a day. Ny
mother is dead, you know; poor mother
The meadows down by the river; IL would
be cooler there than here; we might have
| another walk together Lucy"
The worSs diei away In a murmur; but
all at once, half raising himself in bed; "No
one has believed in me no one has cared for
me, he said In strange, loud, solemn
voice, such as have never heard him use
before and knowledge Is ignorance, and
one drinks and drinks and tho eternal thirst
is never quenc hed, never" ..
He looked round wildly till, his eyes fall
ing on me in the imperfect light, gradually
full consciousness returned He lay back
quietly.
'Give me some vat,r, will you Frankf'
he said, In an exhausted voice.
did as be desired
Il must have been asleep, l think" he
said, as his head sank again on the pillow.
II should have liked 10 tell you all about
my wanderings, Frank Ihave wandered a
good zeal since we last met; but suppose
there won't be TINA What O'Clock Is iti'
he felt under the pillow for his watch.
l went to the door and, looking at my own
watch by the candle outside, told him the
hour.
sit Is later than thought" he said, ant
again lay silent, his face turned 10 the win.
dow. l sat down beside him and toJk his
hand in mina lie let IL lie there
"Strangs," he said again ''one lives alone,
aISi one dies alone; and yet human fellow.
ship is sweet like to feel your hand In
mine, Franz
He was trowing weaker. l could soc IL
by the way his head lsy on the pillow, and
by the increasing ditculty with which no
swallowed the cordial gave him from time
had any wishes could fulfill
No. be said at first; then, bury me
here, OF course, hs said one SPOT OF earth
is like another, and there is no one at homo
q mourn for me"
Don't say that said. Il broke
down, and, laying my head on the counter
pane, cried like a girl IL distressed him
Don't, he said twice, and in a minute
had conquered the weakness Il have
loIged for death, he said, land now it has
come. Yes, / am glad TO die. something
was wrong between me aud life; could
have made nothing Of it Death is best,
and what comes after.
You do believe, Ambrose cried The
words were Involuntary; for, though the
thought had been in my mind since l en-
tered the room, had net meant to utter At
He looked at me with eyes whose kindness
anu dEcNNibu 4 NAn utNeI AoTktL
Good old Frank" he said. If you ever
see Lucy" he went on, after a pause, tell
her from me to 20 back to her parenta
have written TO them; she will have no DIFF
fculty. Tell her so from me"
The room was growing darker: the moon
had set / could not make out the changes
in his face any more But he still kept IL
turned toward the window. slow bright
the stars are tonight" be said once
-Surely we shall know" And once again
"soon I shall know" Then a long silence
About midnight the doctor had come In,
had laid his hand on his patients pulse, and
gone without word l brought the light
back into the room in the darkest hour b.
fore dawn; but Ambrose took no notice
About dawn he died
An hour later I went through the front
door of the hotel, and out into the court
yard to breathe the morning air The night
had been a terrible one 10 me; did not,
until afterward, know bow terrible and
poignant No, only in after years | came
70 understand what scales OF salt suiiiciency
had fallen from my eyes and that, from
that day forward, I was a changed man.
went out into the court yard, looking up at
the morning sky. which had ts,s pathos OF the
has died. AS crossed the court yard on my
way to the gates THAI shut It in from the
road one Of them was pushed back and
woman came toward NE. She wore a veil
that concealed her face, but, seeing me, she
started, and by a sudden impulse, sup
pose, threw it back Then saw who she
was
LUCY l said
The blood rushed to her face, then for.
sock it II was a lovely face still, though
strangely altered since had last seen It.
She stared at me uncertainty for q mo-
ment
II didn't ekpe to meet you, SIR, she
said at last Il came 10 ask after Mr.. Malet
Can you tell me how he Is
He Is dead" answered
She gave cry and dropped down on a
bench by which we were Standing For a
long time she did not say a word, nor after
that cry utter sound She sat with her
hands clasped round her knees gazing fix
eddy before her. A look Of indescribable
dreariness, rather than OF arie<. gradually
overspread her face As for me. who shall
say what emotions felt had once loved
the girl--yes, I had loved her. and up In