The Monitor. [volume] (Woodstown, N.J.) 1884-1892, 1888-09-14

But ne sald no WORD or any woman
whose love was his gIerdon, and she WIS
glad that was spared her.
Once. in a midnight hour, when the
ward was silent and the lights low about
them. he suddenlyp put forth his uninjured
hand and took one of hers; his eyes, bril-
liant with fever, were fastened IN her
face.
'sMy father loved you as a daughter, I"
he said softly, land he told me you loved
me; but l did not believe, and wanted
him to leave me free. Child, why did
Won fy from me? Did you fear ] would
learn to love you?"
She bent her face, and tears flowed
silently down her cheeks.
1t was delirium, she knew; but she,
who had been unable to forget, remem
bered that long hour in the early night
too wildly not to again feel some of its
pain as she heard him.
1t was weeks later when, after a long
sleep, he awakened to full consciousness
one morning at day-dawn.
The lights were low, the scene spectral,
ms his languid eyes turned from object to
object.
At last they rested on the quiet figure
of his nurse, asleepin her chair, and there
they fingered.
How sweet and girlish the weary face
was, under the stiff capl and sad, too, as
though this life was not such rs her heart
yearned for. And the hands lying idlyin
her lap were so fair and white and slender,
dainty enough to be decked with gems,
fair enough to be kissed, but too frail and
white for tearing of linen and lifting of
diving heads, he told himself.
Then a sort of memory came to him of
those soft fingers on his brow, when it
had seemed burning; of that sweet face
bent over him in his delirium, when he
had taken it for the face of an angel.
He had seen it before, but where? Per-
haps in one of his day-dreams. Now he
would never forget it, he told himself, as,
his own eyes closing, he dropped off to
sleep.
1t was midday when he walked again
and found her bending over him, and this
time he recognized her.
"Lena!'' he cried, trying to put out his
hand.
But he was too weak. 1t fell on the
counterpane.
stYou know me:'' she said softly, turn
ing paler. :.
II know you, and want to tell you,"
he whispered family, but with a warm
glow in his cyes-Hyou are an heiress;
there is no need for you to do this work.
Ny father
Il it ALL" she broke in; and that
was why | left Lynn as | did. Did you
think i would beggar youf And your
father had been kind to me. Iforgave
him because he loved me. will not go
back; | will not take a farthing Of that
money; it is yours"
sThen share it with me- hesaid softly.
81 would not ask you once, because l did
not love you. ] do now, because love has
grown in my heart for you in an hour.
Lena, you hayenursed me back to lifefrom
what must nave been very nearly death.
Will you learn to care enough for me to
share my future2"
"You love me?" she said incredulously.
"XYhen did you learn the lesson?"
cat day-dawn, while / watched you
asleep in your chair, ere ] knew who you
were. Lena, do not doubt me!'
81 do not She lnelt at the cot and
put back his hair, as he had dreamed she
did while he was unconscious. "And /
will own to you, Clarence, that / have
loved you al~ways-since | first saw you.
That was why l fed from Lynn"
"And now you will come backf'
"For the same reason, !" She smiled, al
though her lips were tremulous. Love
sent me forth then; love recalls me now;
and I will share the possessions with you
which were neither honestly yours nor
mine, but can belong fairly u us to-
gether. Yes, Clarence, l will 20 backl"