The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1891-10-21

something amiss; but none guessed the
true story.
Ii was late when she reached her room,
but long time elapsed ere sleep came.
The day, with all its events, stood out
before her and her pillow was wet with
tears She had been at the party it had
proved vain ahair-and what it had
cost her! Yet her thoughts we're not all
these of contrition- She believed her
lover had acted in an inexcusable man
ner; but still her better self whispered /:
"He may have had good reasons for his
action. am sorry said 50 much" was
her conclusion, and then she thought,
81 viii send for him tomorrow and tell
him acted wrongly. He is too noble to
bear me malice; he loves me, and l
know our friendship will not end"
Tomorrow came, but Sue Cornell's
errand boy returned from DR.. Barnes's
office with the intelligence that it was
closed; but there was a letter for Miss
Sue, and the envelope was hastily torn
off.
Her name was in his handwriting and
thousand wild imeginings thronged
her brain as she came to the contents
There were only a few words, and
they were written on atelegraphic mes
sage blank. She read:
"MENPHIs, Tenn, July 10.
"DR. CHARLES BARSEs:-Your father is
dead. Your mother is stricken with
fever to-day. Dare you come?n
DR. JAMES LOOMS
This was all. There was no word
written by Charles Barnes. All, then it
was that Sue Cornell proved her wom-
snhood. How she repented the impetu-
Gus language Of yesterday, and how she
censured herself for having so harshly
treated one whose heart must have been
well nigh broken before he was called
upon to hear her blame. When he had
need for her sympathy and her love, she
had given him insult and frowns, and
hard words What could he .hink Of
her? He had gone, would it be forever?
We leave her to her thoughts-her
grief, her repentance. Never, perhaps,
has human being more keenly felt the
cruel contrast between the black reality
and the bright what might have been.
The city papers next day chronicled
the departure of DIR. Barnes and publish
ed the Memphis telegram, a copy Of
which some enterprising reporter had
obtained at the Office.
The few days went BY, but the only
news from the South was Of the direful
sway of the fever, and the story was told
and told again Of the hundreds dead and
dying. The newspapers made Memphis
very pest-pen, and there was no doubt
ing the truthfulness of the record.
Three letters had Sue Cornell written
to that city, each bearing that name
which was dearer to her than any other
in all the earth but there came no re-
ply. Had the letters reached him? Was
he treating her with contempt, or-ter-
rible thought-was he dead She was
chansed-thoroughly changed: and how
graciously did her sister bellies discuss
the grief that was gnawing her very life
away. Her father looked on in fear and
trembling. He, too, knew her sorrow,
and his big heart sympathized with her
to the full.
Father and daughter had few secrets
one from the other, and Judge Cornell
had been by no means averse TO the at
tschment which had sprung up between
Sue and the handsome, courtly young
Southerner who had come North to earn
fortune and reputation.
But he was startled beyond degree
when one morning in August his daugh-
ter announced her intention Of going inn
mediately to Memphis. He was not pre-
pared for this, and he reasoned long
while with his child, endeavoring to show
her the project was wrong, if not posi-
lively suicidal. But she was determined,
and the gray-haired old man left her rule
him this time, even as she had for half
score of years; he only stipulated that he
should 90, too.
'If you will risk your life, darling" he
said, 81 shall risk mine also"
Trunks were packed and other ar
fragments completed for the journey. 1t
was Monday night, and they were to go
out with the early train on the morrow.
Tuesday morning came, and there was
hustle and hum st an early hour in and
about Judge Cornell's mansion. Ii was
within an hour Of train time and as yet
Sue had not come from her room. Fear
ing that she had oversight herself, her
maid ventured to enter the bed-chamber
The fair young girl lay in bed, but in the
night there had come greater change
than all that had been marked in the
weeks past. Exhausted nature had sue
cumbed a burning fever had taken hold
of her, and in a delirium she raved of
dark fate that pursued her, and, tossing
about in her agony, she recognized none
of the friends about her, not even the
weeping old man who bent over with a
kiss and fondest words, and whose prayer
went up so silently but so fervently unto
heaven for deliverance from peril.
There was gloom in that house many
days, but at last the crisis was reached
and past; ray Of hope shot in, and re-
covery was assured.
August and September had gone by,
and it was nigh mid October when the
invalid first ventured down the gravel
walk that led from the house to the orch
ard, and to the rustic seat where Charles
Barnes had first spoken his love and
where he and she had plited their troth.
Standing there in the warm autumn sun
shine, she recalled scenes of the old life,
and she again decided to 90 forth in
quest Of him she had dismissed.
She grew rapidly stronger, and it was
not long ere the trunks were packed
again and father and daughter were en-
route for the South.
For fortnight they remained in Men,
phis, but there was no clue to the one
49, .ouxhk