St. Landry clarion. (Opelousas, La.) 1890-1921, 1891-10-31
JUST BY CHANCE.

JUST BY CHANCE.
i A day and the life of Isaac Rawson
were drawing to close together. The
rays of the setting sun stole into the
room where the dying man lay, and he
watched them intently until they fEded
away. He knew he would never see
them again.
Death had confronted the old lawyer
suddenly. His energies, overtaxed
through long life devoted to ceaseless
money getting, had collapsed in an in
slant almost, and left that which we call
| life without the support necessary for
| its further continuance.
| "He cannot live through the night;
J probably the end is not more than a few
( hours distant" the old family physician
| had said but few minutes before when
! the son who now sat by his fathers bed
side asked what the chances WERE
The son sat with bowed head. His
features were composed in an expression
of decorous grief; his hands were folded
upon his lap, and at almost regular inter
walls he sighed. Had he raised his head,
it would have appeared that there was
not the suspicion of tear in his eyes, and
that there fingered in their depths look
of quiet satisfaction which the lines of
sorrow that were set upon his face could
not entirely hide.
Perhaps the fact that he knew himself
to be the sole heir to his fathers wealth
had something to do with shaping the
younger mans inner feelings. Some
hearts are ruled by the desire for personal
gain rather than by affection.
ssRobert. I"
Scarcely above q whisper the single
word came from the colorless lips Of the
old man. The man at the bedside started
slightly, as one who is suddenly aroused
from thought that has carried him far
away from present surroundings. Then
he turned and answered.: "Yes, father,
what do you wish?"
II have been thinking Of your brother,
Robert. fear that after all should
not have treated him as did"
The old man paused, exhausted by the
effort which the words had cost him.
An expression that was unpleasant to see
fitted across the younger mans features,
but in an instant it was gone again.
"I know that have but short time
to live," resumed the old man, "and
things appear to me in a different light.
It was heartless in me to disinherit and
disown Jack because he married accord
ing to his own wishes instead of my die
tates. shall change my will; there is
enough for you both. Each shall have
half, and shall die happier"
eyes, father" The words came gently
from the sons lips, but the look on his
face would have surprised the father
could he have seen it. But the gloom
was thickening and his half closed eyes
did not see.
"Draw up the will as wish it, quickly,
while have yet the strength left me to
sign," directed the dying man.
Robert went to table near by, Lit a
gas jet and began to write, not at all
hastily.
'.Why are you so long about it? A few
words will certainly be enough" impa-
tiently exclaimed the old man after the
son had been busy what seemed to be a
very long time.
~ shall be done directly. There, !
am through" replied the son, as he rose
and handed what he had written to his
father.
"That is right" was all the latter said
after he had read the will. Then he took
the pen from his sons hand and with a
great effort signed his name.
''Now sign as witness, and call Han
nah; she will do as the other witness"
Robert affixed his signature; then he
called the housekeeper and she also
signed her name.
''Now go to my desk and take the old
will and burn it. You viii find it in the
little drawer to the right"
Robert went to the desk, took folded
paper from the drawer indicated, held it
in the gas flame until it was well ablaze
and threw it upon the open fireplace
where it lay moment later charred
mass.
s.There; it is not SO hard to die now"
whispenaR the dying man. II feel that
cannot i've until Jack could be sent for;
but want you. Robert, to go to him this
very night and tell him that my heart
was not steeled against him to the end.
Tell him Of the win which"
Isaac Rawson ceased speaking and lay
motionless He was dead.
It is not yet midnight when Robert
steps aboard a train that will take him
to the city where his brother, Jack, lives;
for has not his father with his dying
breath told him to 90 to his brother this
very night? Who waIld fail to respect
the last wishes of one now dead? Surely
not son.
The city where Jssk lives is not fa:'
distant; but there ID river to cross on
the way. As the trss;n rumbles slowly
across the bridge, Rcbert rauses in the