Waterbury evening Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury, Conn.) 1887-1895, 1890-08-04

ing light. There were no heavy trees to
intersect the sky; the letters on most of
the stones conld still be read without
trouble. How familiar it all seemed to
hiInl Here was the great square stone,
the words on which he and Lima, as lit
tie children, bad 50 often puzzled over
in vain:
Sacred to the Memory Of Christian Poiiyy,
and his wife Grace. The former substituted a
temporal for an eternal existence on the iftieth
anniversary of his birth the latter relinquished
this transitory state, in the agreeable prospect
of a superior one, on the identical day in the
succeeding year.
Gerard moved on, musing why such
words should be chosen Just to mark the
simple passage of death.
"The simple passage of DEATH"
BE repeated the words, wondering
why they had risen SO readily to his
lips.
Here was another well-remembered
maidstone, which Lima and he used to
notice and wonder over:
Husband, farewell my life is pastl
] loved you well while life did last
Lord grant you joy where'er you areI
Yourself prepare to follow me.
Why had the words been left, when
the poor husband to whom the farewell
land the warning) had been addressed
had himself been laid there only five
days afterward, as the words below
proved? And why, unused Gerard, ali.
sently, did the stone-mason sacrifice the
old lady's rhyme to his own peculiar no.
tions of grammar?
All that was new stone Its white
ness made the large black letters stand
out clear and striking. Gerard's ewes
(searching earnestly and untiringly) fell
upon them and rested there:
"I will ransom them from the power
of the grave I viii redeem them from
death"
Over and over again the words seemed
to come before him, even after he had
passed the new, white headstone.
"I will ransom them from the power
of the grave will redeem them from
death"
A little further ON lay the grave he
sought, Just under the wall there-only
a few steps farther on. Was that ita
Slowly Gerard approached and bent
above it, Yes, this was it-this narrow.
grass covered hillock under the wall.
Gently, as If the stiffness of the time and
place had wrapped themselves about
him, he knelt, and laid his two handa
softly on the grave.
~ will ransom them from the power
OF the grave; I will redeem them from
DEATH"
Not written there, these words-only
uttered. He had found it at last: this
grave with no name upon it, this grave
which had lain unnoticed here for nearly
thirty years and Ae had the right to
bring the sunshine full upon it, and
make his mothers name an honored
one,
Was it the great mental excitement,
or the bodily fatigue, which was telling
upon him nowP Making no effort
against his new WEAKNESS. he lay down
upon the ground, and laid his face upon
the turf, whispering one word as he had
never whispered it in all his life before.
"Mother |"
Lying in the stiffness there, Gerard
felt a strange, new happiness creep into
his heart q happiness such as he had
never even dreamed of though in all his
suffering and degradation he had
dreamed Of happiness-poor Gerard!
The darkness Of the spring night came
softly down upon the hallowed ground.
and still Gerard Adhesion lay there with
his face upon his mothers grave, dimly
conscious that great blessing had been
given both to him and those he loved,
but no longer quite conscious what that
blessing was. ALI the passion which
had troubled his restless heart for years
was quieted now. All the scorn and re-
bellion which had ever risen to his lips
were softened now. His eyes, so calm
and trustfu and so full of rest and
quietness, ,ould never darken again to
anger or contempt.
The stars came peeping, one by one,
from the far-of heaven; and shone, calm
and tender, down upon the quiet dead.
One fell, swift and bright, across the
wide, dim gray; and Gerard watched it
dreamiIy, wondering if it could be that
angels fell from Heaven now as they had
fallen long ago. And the darkness deep
ened, and the night came down upon
the silence-softly and tenderly, how
ever treacherously, there among the
homes of the dead.
CHAPTER xX
In the May sunshine, pouring warmly
through the large bow-windoW of the
library at The Anchorage, Lima Chester
sat, with her eyes fixed upon the wind
ing drive which led from the lawn gate
to the front entrance of the house. Or
posite to her Marjorie CastilIain knelt
on the soft, white mat, and, leaning from
the open window, played with the dainty
roses which looked so brightly up to
greet the sun-rays.
All through the spring months, a GER
tain quietness, new to Marjorie, had
gradually grown to belong to her, and
even those who knew her best and loved
her best could scarcely comprehend it.
Gould it be, they said, because the friend
whom she had taken to her heart seemed
dropping as the summer came? Or
could it be because the time was near
now for her marriage with Sir Neil Ath-
elston, according to the old agreement?
Or could it he because her sister was
To be continues.