Waterbury evening Democrat., 1891-08-28

an angels message into the room, and
called me back from the darkness
remember lying listening, with heart
and SOUL to the sound, till 1t broke off
suddenly-the melody died away like a
bird in its flight, stricken and fallen to
earth-even then straining my ears, lest
one last echo Of the glad sound should be
lost lest the glad train, thus so abruptly
broken into should be resumed.
But listened and waited in vain. None
came, and, after a moment, unable to con-
troll my impatience, for which / could
scarcely account, turned to where I
| rather knew than saw some one was
watching me intently, and asked.
''What is 1t Pr
This question did not wait to have an
swered, but followed it up by others, as to
| where was-how I had come, and how
long 1 had been there
I was, found, under the hospitable
| roof of-Blackwater Towers-such was
the name of the house to which was d.
rected by my beacon-light-be before the
| steps of which, had tainted, and in my
| sore extremity, had found friends in utter
| strangers
Beyond this, and the name of my IN
| known hostess-for it was lady to whom
was indebted for such great kindness, one
| Isobel Langton-I was unable to gain any
| information.
AMY lady will see you, herself" was
| the answer / received to all inquiries.
''She said last night that If you were
| well enough this morning, she would do
| So"
Last night Was it truly into twelve
| short hours that those long moments of
agony had been condensed9 1t had SEEM
| ed like years-never-ending years.
And strangely enough, severe as had
been the suffering while it lasted, the
| morning light me SO far recovered
| that quite early as 1t was, when my
dreams of pain were broken in upon by
that clear voice singing, my first after
| thought was concerning the continuation
of my journey.
| This, however, my nurse-a kindly old
woman, who, SO far as could make out
was an old servant who had been In the
| family for some years, would not hear Of
'There is not any need for hurry" she
said, smoothing with her wrinkled hand,
my hot pillow, and her kindly face, with
| its lines of old age bright brown eyes,
| from which tins had not yet stolen the
brilliancy of youth and soft gray hair.
| half hidden under the folds of lace cap,
| beaming down upon me. between the
| chintz curtains. There is no need to
hurry. Take my advice, rest bit first,
| and then see my lady"
| But l said YEARLY, 81 have no business
| here-I am intrUding."
| "Who says sop she asked ''Do as 1
bid you. You won't have any reason to
| repent it." Nothing loath-in fact, too
weary to seek an explanation of what
| did not understand, 1 turned my face to
the wall, and presently, unconsciously
soothed by the calm and peace around me,
| fell into deep sleep, such as 1t was rare
| ly my delight to ENJOY, When l aWoke
once more, in my dusk. 1 sprang up, and
| had hastily dressed-myself, when my
nurse entered.
'Ah," she said cheerily, you're deter
mined not to trespass, 1 see."
"Thank you," l interrupted: 81 am
quite enough recovered to continue my
journey VIII you convey my best
thanks to her ladyship for her kindness?"
"But she wishes to see you herself"
was the answer. A kasty reply rose to
my lips, and a sudden flush mounted to
my face; but l did not utter my words
only turned away, and a sudden rush OF
bitter thoughts filled my mind.
| "Why, what's the matter y' asked the
old woman Surely You amt got no
objection to seeing my lady after what
she's done for you? 1t isn't everyone as'd
give shelter as she did Toto" She
paused, but l took up the words
"Give shelter to tramp and beggar,
who. for ought she knew, was a thief,
Yes you are right, she was merciful. l
am thankful But now why cannot she
|
Perhaps there was more bitterness in
my face than even my words conveyed.
| The old woman looked distressed.
"You speak bitterly, young sir" she
said, looking earnestly into my face as
though somewhat puzzled. "No one ever
called you either beggar or tramp"
| "Who has any other name for me
| deserve none l am here on charity-am
not 2'
The puzzled look on the old woman's
face increased. l continued:
"Ah, you think l am wandering in my
head would to Heaven l were Oh, to
think that have fallen so low as to accept
charity from those who should be my
equals p
"Your equals, young man why sure
"Ah," l interrupted, you look al
these wretched clothes-this harp, all
have in the world-you know the charity
by which even this nights lodging wa:
vouchsafed me-you see me as 1 am, mo-
as | was"
The old woman half turned away, NUT
tering to herself, d" The lads better fol
sure than took him to be-but he de-
talk wild" 1 rose from the chair il
which 1 was sitting.
Come" | said, let me see your mis-
tress and thank her for her charity, ant
| BECOME"
, "Wait bit, and I'll see II you cal
come" And evidently not a little dis
| turbed by my words, wrung from me In E
| sudden bitterness of spirit, the old woman
hurried out of the room, only to return IL
Il few minutes and bid me follow her
this I did very unwillingly it must b.
confessed. Truth to tell, the morning
| light had dispelled the fancies of the might
, before, and in the daylight the stern reah
ty Of my position once more took thu
H., a. I
self again the outcast upon the earth
, and strangely out OF place as the feelings
might seem, my pride rebelled agains
the act of charity for which 1 should hav'
: been so thankful.
AS l followed my conductress down
. long winding passage, l half unconscious
, ly drew by bent figure to its full height
! and muttered as l drew my shabby Goa
! round me, "Who are you, Leonard Gas
ton, to think of pride at such a moment