Wichita eagle., 1888-03-03


"a mere outpost affair; the other is the
victim of a camp accident. The most
serious case is that of private called
,Eastleigh. He has been badly dealt with
by.a dying Arab spearman, has lost much
blood, and himself believes that his last
hour is near. have done for him what
is possible, have attended TO the needs Of
his companions in misfortune, and have
fingered by Eastleigh's side TO test yet
again the security and sufficiency OF his
bandages. What it is in the poor fellow s
face that strikes me with sense Of
familiarity, or at least of previous ac
uuaintance, cannot guess. But even in
these dubious half lights 1 am persuaded
that some Renaissance should answer to
the impression thus created. Only-it
fails to do so.
"Doctorr' Eastlake family means.
s'Well. my lad,'' respond.
ssTell me plainly Have chance.''
81 decidedly hope so," l reply evas-
lively.
And hope isn't expectation" he says,
with curious smile.
am silent. l dare not equivocate in
such a case as this; and l recognize, too,
that though but private soldier, Est
leigh is a man of education and quick to
seize the meaning of accents as well as Of
words.
Il take it, you and 1 form the same
opinion, DOCTOR" he says, between two
terrible paroxysms of pain; 'and the
world won't lose much if do go; but
butt wish you would do me favor. l
can depend on you:"
Anything that is in my power, East
leigh"
1--WE a father living in England, and
he and l quarreled. l was TO blame. l
was a sad scapegrace. 2 But he thinks to
this day robbed him. didn't; it was
my cousin Dick. Find him and tell him
that. The address,
But the eXertion is too much; the pa
tent elapses into inconsistencies, and is
restored with difficulty. forbid further
talk
Il quite understand what it is that you
wish of me, and will do as you request"
say. The address l shall find, if l re-
quire it, with your kit. I hope it will be
unnecessary for me to search, and that
you'll live to explain to your father face
to face. Now, silence! Dickson will
watch, and send for me if wanted. And
/ go out into the darkness of the plain,
and muse over solitary cigar until joined
by couple of regimental comrades. l
cannot forget the face of the wounded sol
dier.
In describing the third of these mental
pictures, l must explain that [ am now
no longer half a civilian and half a sol
der. Military stations and barrack hos
pitfalls know me no more. A slender in
heritance has come to me from dear old
maiden aunt, the cheer of whose gentle
encouragements would to this day rather
have had than her money, and with it
have bought a partnership with an old
college friend of my fathers. DR.. Hid
reth has treated me generously, for the
sake of auld lang Syne; he and his wife
they have no children-are delightful
people; and Great Gamble is quaint,
well behaved East Anglican town, with
many another numerous inconsruity
about it beside that of its name. Exist
ence here is humdrum-granted. But l
am cOntent-mOre than content, since l
have been honored with the friendship of
Mrs. Bristowe. Margaret-she is Mrs.
Hildreth's kinswoman, many degrees re-
moved, and thus | have learned the name
is a widow, and had heard her sad and
romantic story before l met her. Her
husband bore that title scarce an hour;
he fell in a fit at the brides feet as he
was leaving the church door, and was a
dead man before succor could arrive.
The medical evidence showed that he was
the victim of heart disease, to which the
excitement of the day and the hour had
administered a fatal impetus. So grievous
shock would abundantly account for the
gravity which seems a marked feature OF
Mrs. Bristowe's character. Not that she
is gloomy; her age fOrbids that, for she is
young still-not five and twenty, Mrs.
Hildreth says-and youth has recuper-
atiye power which will struggle back to
the sunshine, however crushed by sorrow.
Yet there is a seriousness in her mirth.
At least / think so, and it suits well with
her stately beauty.
The current of an emotion which /
recognize as love hurries me on. VIII
Mrs. Brstowe consent TO be my wife? |
propose to put the question TO the test
this very evening 1t may be that | shall
end the present narrative with Margaret's
reply.
Now for my third reverie picture. The
scene is metropolitan railway station.
The place is thronged with very various
sorts and conditions Of men, for detach-
meptS Of the brave fellows who marched
to relieve Gordon-and, alas! marched in
vain-are arriving, and the London crowd
is there To welcome them. ! am ten min
utes early for the train l wish to
catch, and the departure platform
seems almost deserted, by Compari-
son with the stir and hustle else
where. / stand idly by, and watch body
Of the bronzed heroes file past on the op-
posite side of the narrow cutting. Those
round me set up cheer, in which 1 hest
tate to join; for do not belong to those
who are the subjects of the ovation2
Their dangers and privations 1 have
shared. | am not quite alone in my
silence. There is at my left hand an old
man, who stands rigid as a statue, but
with eyes blazing with strange, fiery
eagerneSS, as the men gather into military
order and tramp away through the station
gates in the track of their earlier com
rades; and hanging upon his arm is a
woman in black, thickly yelled.
perhaps IL was a mistake. and 1t was
some one like John at little distance,
but not John himself says the father, as
instantly elect to believe him. The tones
have in them such depth of sadness and
vain regret that l unconsciously fall TO
studying the speakers face. 1t is q
striking and noble one, though there are
signs that both pride and passion have
done work thereupon with their ruthless
craving tools. AS | watch there comes
TO me the conviction that these Inca
ments arc not wholly strange: yet | am
baffled to discover any basis Tor the curl
Gus fancy Of familiarity.
His companion murnuTs something