Savannah morning news. [volume] (Savannah) 1868-1887, 1886-05-02

OF it himself. Upon his first return to con-
seriousness ne had said:
"Fhis is DEATH
Elise, overwhelmed as she was. could
1 not weep. Her one thought seemed to be:
''SuppOsing 1 had listened to Camille
I entFeatIes. and had been flying from Paris
/ in this terrible hour"
/ Jean Picard on the contrary, shed more
than one tear. Pei haps the restraint be
| had put upon himself In the tragic scene
! which had preceded this catastrophe
was having its revenge upon him now. or
/ perhaps the look of peace with which the
! old man surveyed him and his daughter,
standing as they were, side by side, struck
/ him by its contrast 10 the sad reality. 1t
was midnight. as l have said, and the
clock was striking. AS it ceased the dying
man spoke:
MAY not see your two hands joined?"
he asked, gazing tenderly at Jean and
/ Elise.
AS though thunderbolt had fallen at
her feet, Elise started and fell back.
/ Jean hastily cleared the room and then
leading her gently up to the bedside, he
said sOlemnly:
"MademOiselle, you must pardon your
father. Three hours ago | bad the honor
to ask Of HIM your hand in marriage, and
| he mad the goodness to accord 1t 10 me.
tie does not know that we have had no
conversation on this matter since, and
that therefore such words must fall upon
you with shock"
ibid yOu-were you" she stammered,
"thinSIng Of TINS when you"
M ademOiselle," interrupted Jean,
"whatever | have ever done or sad has
been more for your sake than my own /;
believe that" And he threw glance at
NJ. Lepage which she could not TAIL TO un-
derstand.
TO- -.
knelt by the bedside. She could feel her
fathers hand fall on her head, caressingly,
lmYeringly. In minute more she heard
| him say:
"He is good man, you will marry
him, Elisel' Then as she did not an
s@er, ne added softly, Il should die 50
appy."
Win spring she stood upright. jean
| Picard" she said, ''do you wish me for
| your wife?'
A great light which she could not help
noticing in that solemn hour settled
slowly over all his face.
There is nothing | wish so much" be
answered; lit has been my dream for
months"
AFTER what you know of nv hear, !"
she murmured, but so low tue dying man
| could not hear her.
ELISE" was the equally low answer,
Il do not expect you 10 love me Just yet,
hut you need protector; let me be that
| protector. You need sDms one to cOmfOrs
| You and provide you with a home; let ms
be tina friend. and | will trust my love to
make you satisfied in the end"
'You are a good man." she murmured
in unconscious repetition OF her fathers
words and scarcely knowing what she
did, she laid her hand in his seeing more
| clearly the smile that parted her poor
! a no
| solemn lOO4 above with which Jean
| Picard accepted the trust thus impaired
to him.
And so it was that Elise Lepage became
the wife of Jean Picard, and a tragedy of
| tue heart was begun which ended as we
have seen, in her death. For Elise was a
| conscientious woman, and once married
set all her hopes on the pros pect of some
| day becoming as much a vile in heart as
she was NOW in name. But that heart
was at first too sore with the violent
wrench IL had sustained to experience
much beyond gratitude, and months
rolled by without Jean Picard discover
ing in his young wIfe's studIOuslY kind
manner any token of that passion which
infiamed his own lite. Yet the germ il
not the flower OF it was in her breast Un-
consciously to herself her husband was
becoming all in all TO her, but the feeling
she experienced for him was so different
from that she had given to his unworthy
brother that she did not recognize it
for what it was and called it simply
friendship.
The stirring events of the war and the
opening DAYS of the Commune did
not alter matters. A numbness seemed
% settle upon Elise as she saw her hus
band gradually Identifying himself with
a cause she both misirusted and feared
That her GOODNESS drove him into tue
savage warfare OF the barbados she die
not think. She knew him we'll enough t
| perceive that however it was with others
with him It was matter of conscience u
uphold what he called the rights Of th'
people. And parceiving this she did moi
lose her respect for him, though her ter
rors accu mulated and an element o
dread came into her regard for him
which caused her less and less to suspee
the true nature of the emotions he in
spired.
Nor did the elimination Of his caree
and his subsequent downfall fully awakeI
her. Like dream the dreadful day.
passed in which he was tried, condemned
and sentenced 10 exile; like dream came
the time OF parting. And not till she fell
herself torn from his clasDing arms diC
she realize that lite was ending for her
that the moment of death had come anC
she had never told bin she loved hun.
Making a vigorous effort, for her sense
seemed to be leaving her, sh,
turned, all tremulOus with pas
slOnate feeling, and holding gu
her arms to him, was about to utter wha
would have ilumined bis exile, when
doubt, that black shadow Of the soul
gided again across her spirit and saying
, 90 herself. Ais but a bOundless regret a
toe loss OF his goodness" she permitted
herself only tocry:
"GOld-bye, Jean. / will be true to you
in your absence. and work if need be with
my own hands TO sustain myself till yOI
come back"
His sad smile told her when too late
what she had done, or rather had omitted
10 do.
t Tue memory of that smile never LEFT
her. IL haunted her day and night. ThI
= struggle into which she was forced for
her daily bread only served TO perpetuat'
, ner remorse. From somewhat practica
woman she became a dreamer OF dreams
, All her soul centred in the one wish, the
one hope, Of seeing him again, it only "a
whisper in his ears the truth that wal
: every day becoming more and more ap
, parent 10 her own heart. She dared moi
10 -, q 90. 4 .