The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1889-07-14
r ES Err z Ed

IL.
never to think of him, in fact, for his re-
memtrance was only pain, and to see him
again she felt would make the old wounds
| bleed anew
She returned therefore to Frances bed
! side feeling restless and disturbed in no or
binary degree. Col Kenyon had arranged
to take Ter the next day to see Auiley, but
of course she said nothing of this to Frances,
who seemed a little better than usual when
| she returned.
| And on the following afternoon she did
| go to see the stricken man. Ever
since his accident Maj. Audley had drunk
| an lnordinate quantity OF brandy, and this
| lntemperaGce the doctors believed had
! brought on the paray from which hs
was suffering. be was melancholy spec
| tacle, the whole of the left side of the body
! being affected, and this, coupled with the
| fact of the loss of his right leg, made him
almost entirely pc Herless
| he was sitting propped up in an easy chair
when Col. Kenyon led Ruth into his room;
! and when she saw the shattered wreck be-
| fore her, she was much shocked and over
| come. She went up to him, and took one
! of his cold stiff hands 10 hers.
| You have been illI' she said pityingly.
81 am ill, YOU mean" he answered with
! something of his old manner: Il am use
| less log, Ruth; not fit any longer to cum
| Der the eartl."
cont do not say that"
Its about the truth, at all events he
| continued. And so you are in Paris to
nurSa--"
But Ruth gave warning gesture, and
| looked rou d at Col. Kenyon, who wall ed
| to the window, not caring to watch this
| strange meeting between the husband and
wife.
Ruth, my dear" said Col. Kenyon, the
next moment, I'm go now, and call for
you in half-an-hour; Maj. Audley may
wish to talk to you a little while
Ruth would fain lave bid him stay, but
IN Audleys terrible condition it seemed i'm
possible to say anything that might seem as
| slight to him. So Col. Kenyon went
away, and Ruth was alone with Audley.
He was silent for a moment; he looked at
her earnestly-at this girl wife with her
fair face, who had never loved him, and
| tnen he gave a restless sigh.
II am glad to see You again" he said. 81
have thought more than once since this con
founded paralysis has overtaken me of
asking you to come-but l suppose you
would not have liked thatN
IF | could have done you any good, y
heSiJated Ruth, with downcast eyes.
''Wel. for tie matter Of that, no one ca I
do me any good; but you could have taken
C re of me, you know, until you are q
! widow"
very we'll | WON'T then. | was so as
toni he'd TO see old Kenyon yesterday; 81
| astoaished that tor q moment forgot ali
about poor Beaton's DEATH" and his brow
| darkened, Though, for the matter OF that,
| he only did what | myself wo I'D have done
| ulder tue circumstances. But at all events
| | forgot the poor lad and only remembered
! l might hear something of you"
You know Frances is very ill?'
Isl he told me-. and is =, VaFV safe for
| you to nurse a woman Ill of typhus feverp'
81 am very, very glad | came; | hope
she is going t. get better now"
You are a good little woman, Ruth"
mo, no. Indeed"
And if Madame whatever her name is
she will always be Jezebel to me you know,
gets well do you think you will come and
| nurse me for a little bits"
! "lf you wish it, yes"
THANK you: | do wish it, And now tell
me how your father is, and all the news"
| Sc sat with him for half an hour, and
| then Col Kenyon returned for her and
! they went away; but not until she had
| promised to return. But on the following
| day Frances was worse. and it was impos-
sible for Ruth 10 leave her
OF the next few days IN that darkened
| sick-room 1t is painful to write. Fatal
| symptoms SGT in, and tue doctors told Ruth
| plainly ere was no kOpe. And it was ter
| rible to Ruth to know that Frances was per-
! fectly u CONSCIOUS of her danger. She talked
| of sc ting We when She talked at all and
at last, trembling, white-lipped, Ruth spoke
| to her of the great change sac knew was
| near.
"Wh hat do you mean? said Frances
! quickly, startled look coming on her bag
! 1ari face. Please, Ruth, do not begin 70
| preach"
'BIO my dear, my DEAR said Ruth
| bursting into sudden passion of tears,
| and sinking or her knees 10y the bedside
The doctors do not think you are improv-
| ng-thcy-5hiuk--"
Not at am going to dien cried Fran
ces in terror. 81 will not dle-I dare not
de-do IT for heavens sake speak of it
! again, Ruthn'
"At least let us pray together" wept
| Ruth. "On, my dear, think how good Col
is. Let US ask him to forgive us all our
! sins!n
| But Frances would not listen.
/ II do not see how we have been very
nucn worse than other people," she said
"plelse let me alone Ruth, want to try to
sleep"
Alas in the fitful sleep that followed each
! moment brought her nearer to the long
| sleep that has no wakeuihg And as The
/ gathering shades OF evening stole over the
| gay and busy world !tside, So did the gath
ering shades of death creep nearer and
nearer to the vain restless heart who mad
! done not good but evil all her days!
And as the hours wore on, even Frances
| began to fear, began to realize that the
new and strange sensations which over
whelmed her might mean the unseen
shadow from which there is no escape. Her
| terror then became piJiable to be old. Il
was terrible to see this reluctant soul-con-
scious, terrified-drifting into darkness,
clinging to life, vainly fighting with the
grim foe!
She died at daybreak, but, for some hours
before her death, she lay i'll state of semi
sensibillty, while Ruth knelJ by her side,
praying audibly aud holding fast the poor
nands N which the pulses were sinking
lower d lower At last the end came
there was a shudder, a brief struggle, and
beautiful Frances Forth was dead.
CHAPTER XLV1II.
NOT VERY POOR.
Ruth's grief was deep aud bitter when
they told her that Frances had really passed
away. And as she wept and walled