The Ottawa free trader. [volume] (Ottawa, Ill.) 1843-1916, 1886-07-03
"You never believed NE about lucy he


that again" criel in anguish. "Forgiv
me, for i've me the loss o. all these years
has cen mine
No, no." ho said; 1T ia no matter All is
over now, and it is all one. Life, too, will
lie o er in f,w hours AMI that is well.
Strange, he went on after pause, that
men should dread death as they do. | have
thong 80 always: now that ! am dying, |
think 50 more than ever To dread the un-
Ia own when to know III, INK owable Is the
great and upattainable desire of life
Most men think otherwise | said; the
love Of life is strong"
"Yes yes, know it," he said, "and it is
better SO, 1t should be So But something
has gone wrong between me AID life /
have felt stranger in it always Death Is
best"
He lay quiet again for a long while His
breathing was diff ult AMI oppressed Now
AID then tn, wind stirred the trees on ths
hill outsi le; the shadows slowly moved with
the advancing night; otherwise all was still
! But presently he Logan to turn restlessly i'll
the led; the hands, hot with fever strayed
over the counterpaSe When he spoke again
his mind was wandering little.
Il suppose you go back to Oxford at once,
! Old fellow, he said. II should like to get
back there il it wee only for day. My
mother i, dead, you know; poor mother.
The meadows down by the river; It would
be cooler there than here; we might have
another walk together Lu "
! The worJs die away in 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 tn ete.na! thirst
is never qucnched, neN err"
He looked round wildly TIL, his eyes fall
ing on me in the imperfe light, gradually
full consciousness returned. He lay back
quietly.
Give me some wat'r, viii you FRANKIE
he sal /, in an exhausted voice.
did as he desired
Il must have been asleep, Think he
said, as his head sank again on the pillow.
Il should have liked ~ tell you al ABOUT
my wanderings, Frank. have wandered
good zeal since we last met but | suppose
there won't be TIM What O'Clock is it,
He felt under the pillow for his watch
| went to the door and, looking at my own
watch 10y the candle outside, told him the
hour.
at is later tn n thought" he said, and
again lay silent, his ia turned to the win.
dow sat down beside him and to k his
hani in mine He let it lie there.
"Strange,n he said again; ''one lives alone,
and one dies alone; AMI yet human fellow.
ship is sweet like to feel your hand in
mine, Frank"
lie was growing weaker. | could see it
by the way his head lay on the pillow, and
by the increasing di liculty with which he
swallowed the cordial gave him from time
to time. | asked him presently whether he
lad any wishes could fulfill
NO he said at first; then, "bury me
here, of course" he said, one spot of earth
is like another, and there is no one at home
to mourn for me-"
Don't say that" said; 4" l broke
down, and, laying my head on the counter
pane, cried like girl 1t distressed him
Don't he said twice, and in a minute |
had onluered thu weakness. II have
longed for death, he said, "and now it has
cone Yes, am glad to die Something
was wrong between ME and life; | could
have made nothing of it Death is best,
AMI what comes after.
"You do believe Ambrosei" I cried The
words were in yoluntary; for, though the
thought had been in my mind since l en-
tered the room, | had not meant to utter it.
He look ID at me with eyes whose kindness
and affection | can never forget
Good old Frank" he said. III you ever
see Lucy" he went on, after a pause, tell
her from me to go back to her parents
have written to them; she will have no diff
ticulty Tell her 50 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 it
turned toward the window. "How bright
the stars are tonight" he said once.
surely we shall know" And once again:
soon | shall know Then a long silence.
About Midnight the doctor had come in,
had aid his hand on his patients pulse, and
gone without "A word brought the light
back into tn room in the darkest hour b.
fore dawn but Ambrose took no notice.
About dawn he died
An hour latsr l went through the front
door OF t! e hotel! and out into TIE court.
ward To breathe the mo ming air. Tie night
had leen a rrib.e one to mo; | did not,
until afterward, know how terrible and
poignant No, only i'll Ter years | came
10 uud rotand what ales OF self Efficiency
had fallen from my eyes, and that, from
that day forward, | was changed man. |
went out INTO the court yard, looking up at
the morning sky. which had tie pathos of the
liyht that dawns after one whom we love
has died As | crossed the curt yard ON my
way to the gates that Shut it in from the
road one of them was pushed back and Il
woman came toward me. She wore veil
that concealed her face, but, seeing ME, she
started, and by a sudden impulse, l sup
pose, threw it back Then | saw who she
was
Lucy" said.
The tlood rushed to her face then for.
sock it. 1t wa, "a lovely face still, though
strangely altered since had last seen it
She stared at me uncertainty for mo-
ment
Il didn't expe t to meet you, sir, " she
said at last Il came to ask after Mr. Malet
Can you tell me how he is. "
He is dead, answered
She gave cry and droppd down on
nch ty which we were standing For a
long time sha did not say word, nor after
that cry utter a sound. She sat with her
hands clasped round her knees, gazing fix
cdly before her. A look of indie scribable
dreariness, rather than of grief gradually
overspread her face AS for me. who shall
/ CIV. ,yha, .,not;nns I feltt had nnca loved