The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1886-01-20

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optic nerves having been withered as BY
fire. The blow was, indeed, a terrible one
Not only had he lost her who was th
delight of his eyes, but he had lost thos'
eyes, too. Nothing was left to him the1
but his music; for, before very long
with much practice, he got to play near
ly as we'll as in the old days.
He bore his troubles bravely, bu
twenty years did not materially lesser
them. At forty-fve he was white
haired, and walked with bowed shoul
ders. The face told of sorrow, but no
| of bitterness. He was in his forty-sixtf
year when he took the position of organ
ist in one of the cathedral towns. Sucf
a post he had long desired. He made
fast friends with some people of the name
of Taylor, and it was at their house tha
he became acquainted with Ursula Dain
court, a low-voiced, charming girl o
twenty, and just as sweet as violets are
You could not see, or hear her, or ever
feel her near, without their fragrance be-
ing suggested. If Downing did not see
he heard and felt the sense of her pres
ence. She loved his music, and they be-
came great friends. He played to her
she read to him; being. as he was, fono
of poetry; and they walked together. 1r
this position there was nothing sentimen
tai. She liked him. She was sorry fol
him, and to do gracious acts was as nat
ural to her as it is to a rose
to prosper in sunshine. They walked
together in the Close, they sat together
in the organ-loft, and no one talked fool
ishly. For one thing, Downing looked
so much older than he really was. One
early June evening he was practicing,
when he paused in his music, feeling
some one near. Then the tender voice
he knew so we'll asked:
'May I come ups'
Need you ask2 but wait till I hold
you hand. Those steps are difficult to
get up"
Eyes; I should probably get on badly
without your assistance"
In a moment more her hand was in his,
and he was soon pointing out to her, as
he delighted to do, the mysteries OF bis
beloved organ.
"You arc not we'll tonight" he said,
in distressed tones, noting that great
shivering fit was on her. She answered,
with a forced laugh, that she was only
cold. He touched her hands, and found
them burning. She was on visit to her
friends the Taylors, whittier he would
have taken her at once, had she not
pleaded hard for little more music.
If I am going to be i'll, and this
should be the last time" she said, be-
tween laughing and crying, 'you would
like to think that had my way"
Surely, he thought, his heart failing
him. he was not going to lose this swee.
friend. as he had lost his eyes and his
loved! Heplayed, but she did not respond.
She had fallen into an uneasy sleep, and
was moaning piteously, as if conscious of
some vague distress. With heavy
h:3art DAVID left the n-loft and pro-
cured assistance; had a carriage sent for.
and conveyed Ursula TO her friends
house. He called later on, to hear the
doctors report, which for some days was
uncertain. A wasting, low fever was at
length declared. Exhaustion was the
chief danger to be dreaded. Those were
days of double darkness for Downing.
He begged to be allowed to speak to her,
but permission was declined on the
ground of infection.
''But would it be bad for herr" he
had asked of Taylor.
"No. not bad for her; but we can't
have you risking things; beside, if you
fell i'll, We should have to nurse you;
and we have our hands quite full enough
as it is
But Downing was willy man. He
called one day, and was informed that
Mr.. Taylor had gone to London: and
Mrs. Taylor was lying down. He said
he would rest little while. Then he
went into the hall and listened. The
house was not large one. The day was
chill for June. From a room on the first
landing came the sound of a fire softly
stirred. This was all he wanted; he had
a clew. Light-footed as Q thief, ne
climbed the stairs. He found door to
his sight, and listened again. From be-
hind it there was low sound Of voices,
and somebody signing as in great wearl-
ness. Then the voice he knew we'll said ::
"Oh, shall be so glad if ever people
may came to see me. wonder, nurse,
if | am going to get better or to die?"
He opened the door and went in gen
tly, saying:
'Well, here is ono visitor. where
there is no fear, there is no danger so
YOU must not mind. I did want to come
and see how my dear child was getting
on. want to sit by you and hold your
hand"
''Oh. YOU should not have come; but I
am glad to see you. Mamma is with me
now, but she is resting. Do my hands
burn very much2"
Scarcely at all. I am sure you are
better"
With his hand holding hers, she seemed
to grow much more composed, and
after Il little while fell into refreshing
sleep.
Once the door opened, and some one
came in and remained some time, stand
ing by the bed, and then went out with
no word. From that day Ursula i'm
proved rapidly, and was soon pronounced
out of danger. She began to laugh, and
be almost her old bright self. She would
give David her wrists to span with his
1.-THE, strong fingers, and my arms arc
thin, but they will be pretty again when
l grow quite strong" she said.
One day, when they were alone to-
gether, the nurse being absent for a brief
while, some one came in and stood by
the bed, and so close by the chair on