The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1889-08-24

| relative; even now I am talking to one who
| can make no resp use, as by these few lines
an saying farewell to my blessed dead-all
| have left to talk to. Mother, nave been at
| Hcathe-leigh for the last time, think; gloom
| ily-desolatcd HeatEerlc- gh! l imagine up in
the shining courts of your beautiful home you
may still remember it, but certainly not for
any good.
ST have forfeited all right to its doors,
| mother, as you dreaded I would before you
| passed away, and the respect Of its master, ny
| father, has gone with it. In all this L have not
| sinned as God is my judge!
| ''The condo mnation 7 have to bear have
not rnerited by word Or deed, nevertheless ]
| have it to bear. Oh! that could have q ed
| with thee; then the heart. aches and tears
! would have been unknown that now fill my
| bitter cup to the bri,n.
'Ican return to the Hail mother, + beg for
| forgiveness and ask pardon for the course
! saw fit to take, but L too, am a Percival, and
| will never humble myself enough to ask for
| giveness OF one OF ny own kin simply to in
| dulge that hated austerity that curses my
| house.
ga few hours ago bade them all goodbye.
and looked my last On the paternal face full OF
| furious pride and naughty severity. Now q m
here, mother, beside the tomb OF my ances-
| tors; here where you are resting. But I shall
! not have the privilege OF lying with you when
| the shadows fall across my sun, for even the
! lot has fallen with the DIS Inherited, and brand
| ed as Cain seek the strangers home IN a
| strange land.
'sResr We darling mother. The boom Of the
! seas will roll between us and you will not
| know the fate OF your heart-broken child,
! unless you can see from the region above the
| stars andlov and pity me from the gates to
| which trust to shortly come. Yet, mother, it
| is we'll MInIAM PERCIvAL FAIRFAX
| The sexton had finished reading the
strange, weird epistle, and in such a place
| it seemed entirely in lee ping with the sad,
| soul-communion with the dead.
| Sir Rupert, who had kept his eyes
! riveted on the lips Of the reader from the
| beginning, with q Wild unearthly stare
and shrek staggered back into the arms OF
| the wnite-faced coachman and lay quite
! still for some moments, giving but little
sign OF consciousness.
The frightened John held his master
! terderly in his arms, as if he had been
sleeping child, while the sexton chafed the
withered hands and face TO hasten return
| ing animation.
81 expected this" he said to the fearful
servant. Il looked for HIM to find that let
| ter. Yes" he went on, as John shot an in
! quiring glance at him, II knew it was
here. You see Mrs. Fairfax visited Oak
lawn last spring, and she desired me to &C
company her in the grounds as she left the
| boy outside with the carriage.
II accompanied her, of course, wondering
why she wanted me, but after l saw her
! write that letter there on the railing and
deposit it in the bolt-casing, why, under
| stood. You see she wanted me to know
it was there and to look after it, which
have done. 1 never read it until to-day,
though, but had an idea it was some
thing awful like. because she looked like
| death itself and said, low and solemn
like, shaft for shaft and I kinder
him." motioning to Sir Rupert, WHO now
| began to revive.
Presently Sir Rupert opened his eyes
| with piteous, appealing look in them, and
asked in whispered accents: where is that
Letters Give it to me! It is all have left Of
her-of Miriam"
They gave him the fatal note, and he ca
ressed it with kiss, and put it in his inner
| coat.
| Now take me home, to that desolate
aeatherleigh," he said, YEARLY. "And when
| I come again I shall not know aught Of
! earth and its hard, hard waysW
| The men exchanged significant glances
and helped him to the carriage. 1t was
with difficulty that they managed to get him
safely among it's cushions, and when they
had accomplished it he was SO exhausted
in soul and body he seemed more dead
than alive.
You can't count on much speed" said
the sexton, warningly, IS John mounted the
box, shut you must be as quick as you can
under the circumstances, or-or yell have
him to bring back here by tomorrow
! They turned away from Oaklawn then,
and the sexton shut the great double gates
after them witlaan ominous clang.
When they left the beautiful repose of
Oaklawn behind them and turned into the
highway, Sir Rupert revived enough to sit
20 and look about him. Suddenly, as if
recollecting something quite forgotten, he
drew from his pocket tho fatal missive
Folding and unfolding the scrap of paper,
as one might in dream, he murmured in a
vague, desperate way: "All have left, all
I have left of happiness is death!
s'Miriam is gone-gone-gon7 had
thought Toto make amends, but it is too
late; too latev' And bowling his head upon
in his great grief.
| The autumn breezes came softly over the
sleepy world and gently famed the silky,
fire famed low on the hills, and, stealing
! brightly across, kissed the bowed form, but
he needed it not, What was natures sooth-
ing pity or loving favor to him! He, with
his cross heavier than he could bear, was
at last bing to the inevitable.
Moving his lips as if in prayerful suppl
cation, he raised his head and sank back
among the crimson cushions Of his easy car
riage.
Who would have dreamed Of any thing
but comfort and luxury to have seen the
Heathereigh turnout rolling along the
picturesque lanes, with its emblazoned
arms on the panel and the sleek dapple-
grays prancing along, FESTIVE enough under
the tight rein Of a handsome. rich-liverled
| coachmap' But th! had they seen the sor-
rowful face within!
Miriam then had gone from the Hall on
that fateful day directly to Oalzlawn and
paid, as it seemed, her farewell visit to the
dear, dead mother. And she had, under
cover of all that stoical, outward compos-
ure, carried away from Heatherleigh a
breaking heart and felt her Punishment
keenly.
| Doubtless, too, she had left the written
good bye addressed to her dead relative at
the tomb purposeiy that it might some time
| 70 int hands IF hor TIT; n t1,r11 father.