The morning call., 1891-12-03

gantlv petted and scOlded by her Mamma
Ellie" She had quite understood, as she
grew older her aunts view, that Effie had
been eXorbitanlly paid for her care, and
that really this sentimentalty and writing
| and visiting we're something OF bore.
Consequently, Efie's continual pressing
of her claims and attentions, her pets and
angers and reproaches soon became very
serious annoyance at Dalzel House. Adri-
enne continually excused herself through
Fanchette, and Fanchette took small pains
TO render the message conclliatJry. The
servants made unDleasautremarBs madame,
the aunt. scarcely returned her courtesy {;
even Mr.. DalZel avoided her. 1t WAS all
very bitter, far bitterer than any one but
her own heart knew, and John was sulkily
silent
Days and weeks of this mental irritation
began at once to tell frghtfully upon the
once hale, positive woman. She had con-
slant fever; she could not sleep; she gave
up gradually all her regular duties; she
was sick-she was very sick; doctors were
called, and John LETT everything to watch
beside the moaning, wasting form be loved
so dearly
One day, after terrible night, Efie in
sisted upon seeing Adrienne. John did not
like to 90 for her; lie doubted, indeed,
whether she would come. The good doctor
offered to make the request; he believed
her visit TO be the only means of preserving
reasOn-perhapS life; he did not doubt but
that Miss Delzel would cheerfully comply
with Ehie's ardent desire. Not 'cAesr-
fully" but she did come, accompanied by
her father, and Fanchette bearing her shawl
and parasol The dying woman took in the
trio with fierce glance as they entered.
Send her Out!' she said, pointing to
Fanchette; land come here, my child. l
want TO whisper to you"
AirjauDa ipmDrrei marianne
naturally SO. The fiery eyes, the haggard,
hollow face, the black, parched lips, were
80 YOU wont come to your dying
motherl Ungrateful girl, for whom have
lived lie Tor seventeen yearS-for whom
have sinned my soul to DEATH"
Mr.. Delzel now came close enough to
Efie.
"Efie MacRae," he said. you must say
more than this. What do you mean? Speak,
woman
Il mean nothing" she answered, sui
lenly. "Will you Gomez" to Adrienne.
The girl moved reluctantly toward her.
She pulled the fair young face down to her
own and said in a fierce vibrant whisper:
You are my child! Ha! ha! What will the
old DelZels say?"
Adrenne turned sick and faint. She
stretched out her hands, bu. for once Mr..
Deizel did not see her. He was bordering
on what he had heard, and looking keenly
at fair young girl, sitting with her face in
her hands, gazing mournfully from the
open window. Then he turned to the
trembling husband.
John he said, sternly, what does your
wife mean?"
John was sorely tried. For many year
he had longed Tor an opportunity to ease
his conscience. He could do it now, but
at what price! BCtraying his dying wife
He looked at the face dear to him from
childhood, and STOPPING, said gently:
"tfle, NY darling, the master wants to
know what you mean; will you tell me?"
She gave him one passionate, entreating
glance and shut her lips tightly. So much
and no more; never again could she be
persuaded TO speak, aud next morning
speech was impossible; Effie had joined
the immense majority whom we call the
dead. After this event, John was abso-
lutely non-c0mmittal; not the most subtle
OF Mr.. DelzePs questions moved him, and
that gentleman was finally Obliged to
assure himself that Ellie had been either
raying or actuated by a spirit of revenge
for Adrlenne's cold and cOntem Dtuous
treatment of her advances. So he buried
his doubts in his own heart, and gave
Adrienne, with great pOmp and parade, to
her wealthy lover. Ii there had been any
certainty that he was sanctioning fraud
against the dead and the living, Alexander
DelZel was the last man to have done such
thing; but what had he but dying woman's
angry, fevered rawlings, and a certain ex-
preston and attitude in young girl, which
truly reSembled his dead wife'S, but which
might also resemble many other women's?
John MacRae gave Jessie an inkling of
the truth when Andrew Latta reappeared,
but she preferred love and house in Texas
to the hcirship OF the DelZel name and
wealth.
John and Jessie disappeared very quietly.
and the years rolled steadily away. Many
boys and girls played up and down the halls
and gardens of DelZel, and the old place
was alive with youthful merriment and old
fashioned hospitality. This was especially
SO on Christmas day, a. D., 1850; then
every room was a blaze Of light and fine
ladies and brilliant flowers sud happy
children; then there music and dancing and
feastlng that frightened all the country
side for miles.
Yet far away on the outskirts of lonely
Texas prairie, in Lighthouse far removed
from any habitatlon, scene was transpir-
ing when might or might not seriously eff
feet the fortunes of every one in that brilli-
ant DelZei mansion.
In the large main room of this Lighthouse,
a room comfortably nay, even hand
somely furnished. were three people-an
old man, calmly and peacefully waiting
for the grand change, and young man
and woman, who tenderly and solemnly
watched with him.
There is paper under my pillow. An
Here, Je ssle. When l am gone, while yet
you think lovelingly of Inc, you and An
drew read this together, and tn Ell do as
you think best with it. Don't cease to
love mer'
Dear father, never
In few hours John MacRae was beyond
all human judgment, and Jessie and An
drew stood together over the blazing logs on
the hearth, reading his late confession.
Both remained silent for some time after
ward. Then Andrew said:
Jessie, darling, what would you like TO
do with this paper? VIII you go to your
father with it2
ANDREW, l knew these things when l
married you. preferred you then to rank
and gold. How much more infinitely do
prefer you now! Have we not enough and
to spare? Will not our Phil be the richest
stock-raiser in the State? Are we fiji for
fashionable lifel Could we bear to leave
this Lighthouse which we have made so beau
tilulP And what good would it do to make
poor Adrlenne and her children miserable
Andrew, my husband, We are wronging no
one, not even ourselves. Let US burn the
paperp'
And Andrew. putting his arm around his
vile and kissing her, threw the tardy con-
iesslon OF wrong into the blazing cedar
logs. without tear, without wish they
silently watched 1t disappear, and then
with another kiss, that sealed and ratified
their perfect satisfaction with their humber
lot, they turned back with a smile to the
duties and loves OF busy and purposeful
everyday life.-N. Y. Ledger.
1t is estimated that 1917 stone (273 pounds)
ls the ordinary total weight carried by an
. h,r~