The Caldwell tribune. [volume] (Caldwell, Idaho Territory [Idaho]) 1883-1928, 1889-03-16

| aside, and that one OF my own KIN!
No, III had won her first she wo,,,a,
have been all mine own. Now she
has l....,,t,vned to you could never be
anything to her. In few days you
may join Alverstan Chase to Walt
ham, for l shall be a wanderer hence.
forth"
flames, | beseech you by al ]. can
think of not to talk like this It Is
noe twsnty.ftdf hours yet since we
kheit in the church, not fifty PAGES
from where we are .standing-knelt
side by side, too, and took into ou1
hearts the Prince of Peace. For His
sake-the God-Man-I entreat you to
be at peace with me-, ! shall Cell
Queenie all. and leave it to her. What
ever my future may be, this night,
unless we are reconciled now, will al
ways hang it's shadow before me- F."
"And SO you show me up to her-I
cannot say her name-show me up as
the brother who was a murderer il
his heart"
There was a hooking tone in his
voice, and the younger brother shud
dered as he answered.
"Ged forbid | should thus wrong
you-your honor is safe with me; !
should be, unworthy Of the maine OF
hrothef IF I told Queenie aught save
that you love her even as I do, and
then leave our fate in her hands. 1t is
useless for us to prolong thisinterView.
say good night, James," and Der.
nard held out his hand, but James
turned away his head and would not
take the outstretched hand nor an.
swer his brother. The latter went
out of the library, took up a bed.
room cafidlestick, and having lit the
candle, crossed the hall back towards
the, library, but passed by the door
ind went down a corridor that ran
along by one side of the library; at
the end of this corridor he drew aside
a heavy crimson curtain and passed
into tile church. Where the ever
burning lamp shed its clear, tiny
light he knelt, and there, for how long
he never knew, he poured forth his
hearts bitter cry to the Prisoner OF
Love; the air grew colder, bu5 he
needed it not; he was chilled to the
very marrow. for. he was in evening
dress, but he knelt on: In an arched
recess, not three yards from him, lay
the stone efigy of a Walter de
Faterche; above it hung the
helmet, shield, and iron
gloves that the Crusader
had worn in battle; perchance that
same Walter had kept his vigil there
on the eve of his knighthood, had
prayed and vowed on the worn altar
steps where Bernard knelt fighting
for another's soul; praying with all
the deep, generous fervor of his ma
ture for his brother, and offering, too,
with his whole soul, to forego the
happiness of his lifetime if God 80
willed it. Outside the wind howled
and shrieked and drove a binding
snowstorm over hills and woods,
piled up long, white ridges on the far
reaching moor, and swathed the
barred trees, and the ivy-clad church,
and the old hall of the Faverches in
it's soft shroud. Inside the church,
the little star of light burnt on, an d
unseen angels bent in iowly admira-
ton where their Lord had wilied to
dwell; and the white marble monu-
ments the while looked startling
ghostly.
Bernard has prayed before the
tabernacle as he has never prayed
before, and as he may probably new
er pray again. Cold and stiffhe rises,
his face is grey. seen by the candle
which he lights once more as he
leaves the church. AS he raises
his hand to draw aside the
curtain he turns his head. All!
there is the crib-the crib that be had
helped his brother to make-and
there were the flowers that Queenie
had placed about it, and the feathery
ferns that looked as though they had
grown into the woodwork. Tillnow
he had kept manly though his trou-
bic, but the sight of the crib was too
much for him. He threw himself
down beside it and sobbed as he had
never sobbed since his only baby sis
ter died SO many years ago.