The weekly Union times. [volume] (Union C.H., South Carolina) 1871-1894, 1889-04-12


at the window, butturning every momen
at the slightest cough or movement of tn,
modonless figure on the sofa, John Stem
house drew back involuntarily. He ha,
not realized till now all that he had lost
all that he was losing. Though he hat
been told it over and over again, he neve
really recognized that the woman he ono
girl, with her rosy cheeks, her iauehin,
eyes, and her heart full Of the fondest,
most innocent love, was dying,
lie was married now-another woman
owned his duty, and possessed greet dea
or the tenderness that no honorable mar
can fail to give to q creature SO utterly de.
pendent on him as his wife is--but Emil,
kendal had been his first love. All th1
memories Of it, and OF her, rushed upon
MIN with an agony irrepressible. He
| grasped Mrs. Knowle by tho arm as she
was going into the sick-room.
Wait q minute-stay!-say I'll come
presently"
And he rushed away, right down the
Staircase, and through the first open door
for 1t was high summer, and the air was
full OF sunshine and rosos-into the garden.
1t was half an hour before he returned,
which gave time f9S.thsm To meet, q, alone
xst Beg esS saim. - sssss =
friends over whom hung the sacred shadow
of the eternal parting-at least the parting
which We call eternal in this world-though
it often makes closer and nearer, for the
rest of life, those who otherwise would
have been forever divided.
Perhaps Emily felt this; for as she raised
herself little from her sofa, and held out
her hand to MIR. Stenhousc, there was not
B trace OF agitation or confusion in her
manner.
oIo 10 a
kind of you to come. Did you leave your
wife quite well2 and oil the children?"
Commonplace, simple words they were
tho simplest, most natural, that could
possibly be chosen-and yet they were the
best and safest. They took off the edge
of that sharp agony which was thrilling
through every fiber of the strong mans
seart. They brought him back TO the COM
monplaco daily world, to his daily duties,
and his ordinary ways. The wholesome,
Iaving present came between him aud the
aelirious past. And though it was Emily's
old smile, her very tone of voice, and o
trick of manner she had-how we'll no re-
called it, Of half extending her hand, draw
ing it back, and then putting it forward
again, with tho uncertainty that was the
weak point in her characteristic lie had
no desire to snatch her 10 his arms, and
hold her there, in her old, familiar place,
like any mortal woman. Ho felt inclined
rather to stand apart and gaze at her, as
she lay, consented from earthly emotion,
In her almost superhuman peace, or else to
fall on his knees md worship her, as Dante
worshiped his Beatrice when he met her in
the fields of Paradise. And he found him
solf powerloss to say any other words than
one or two, as brief and inexpensive as
her own.
"My wife and the children are we'll. 1t
was very good of you to send for me, after
had been SO rude, 80 ungrateful almost,
to your husband"
= Emily bent her head. acquiescing; and
then, as If with great effort:
II bad something to say TO you some
thing thought you would listen TO, from
me, now. L entreat you to accept this
fissarttiieTshiP. it Will be n good thing for
you, and an equally good thing for Sir
John and MIR. knowle. You would like Sir
John very much if you knew him very well.
He knew nothing about you and me till
lately. And he has been such good, good
husband to me-.
"Thank God for that! Tiff he had
been anything else than good to you"
And then, shocked by tho sound of his
own harsh voice Jarring on the stiffness of
the room, and still moro 80 by perceiving
tho sudden tromor that came over Lady
Bowerbank, he stopped, recognizing the
sanctity of sickness of near advancing
death.
YES" he added, almost in whisper, 81
feel very grateful to Sir John Bowerbank:
am not ashamed of his knowing-in-
deed, I have boen asking Mrs. Knowle to
tell him-how worry poor we nre, and are
likely to remain; and that if ho really still
wishes mo TO accept his offer, l will do my
utmost to prove deserving of it,"
"Will you? oh, will you?" clasping her
hands in her old, pretty childish way at
anything she was very glad of.
John Stenhouse turned away.
ut is not easy, but will do 1t because
you wish it-for your sake"
"No, do it for your own," said Emily,
solomnly, with ali the old childish manner
gone. "Do 1t, that you may take wise
mans advantage of this chance of getting
on in the world, and living fully tho life
that is before you. Think, a life Of twenty,
thirty years, with work to do, and money
to use, and influence to make the most Of,
for tho good of yourself and all that bolong
to you. That is what l want. / want you
to lead your own noble, active, useful life
just as 1 once planned it--though it was
not to be beside me, and though l shall not
even see it; for am going away, john
you know that?"
Ho could not deny it; no did not even
attempt to do so; he just moved his lips,
but they would not form sound.
"Yes, going away-in a few days, or n
few weeks more. to where I know / shall
be quite happy-bappier than ever could
be here. l only wished before 1 went to
let you know the truth. She," glancing to
Mrs. Knowle, "she has told you ALP"
"Yes," he muttered, but attempted not,
nor did Emily offer, any further explana-
ton. One husband the other wife,
with the shadow Of the dead father between
thcm-it was impossible. The past was
over and done. But the present was peace
all peace.
"And now good-by, and God bless you!"
said Emily, family. "Givo my love to your
wife. Does she know anything about me2"
mo; never told her."
"Ah! well, let that be as you choose.
Ana one thlng-l know have forgotten
one thing that had to say to you--Mrs.
Knowle, what is it2 Oh, my head. Please,
Mrs. Knowlo, will you help me2" with the
querulous tone and wandering eye which
told Mt once how fast her sand of life was
running. "Yes, 1 remember now; it was TO
give you this!" taking q valuable diamond
brooch from under her pillow. "and to ask
you il you ever have little daughter of
your own, to give it to her from mo. And
perhaps, if your wife did not object, you