Savannah courier. (Savannah, Tenn.) 1885-1979, 1892-06-16


excuse at.nll.
1t required, indeed, small persuasion
to obtain tho deans full permission to
WOO his daughter. Then stormy scenes
ensued; uncle and nephew came to bit
terest strife, while Mary's defense of
Bernard only brought on her such an
ger from her father as filled her with
grief and fear.
Poor Bernard! The end his heart
had prophesied came soon enough. In
the presence of the dean there was
cruel, formal parting; under the silent
stars, amid the thick shubbery of the
garden, there was another parting.
Mary would have promised constan-
cy, but Bernard would not let her do it.
"You shall never have to rcproach
yourself with broken promises for my
sake, daring" he said. what could
You, you poor timid little dove, do be-
tween your father and that lordly earl?
But whatever they make you do, re-
member, Mary, shall never blame you,
and / will love you until my last con-
scious breath"
Then he kissed her pale face over
and over, tenderly, clingingly, as we
kiss the dead, and left her. And Mary,
almost heart-brolSen with grief, and
faint with terror lest she should be
| discovered, could only wave her hands
in mute farewell, for she knew now
| that love and she must walk apart for
ever.
Bernard went to Oxford and Mary
became Countess Grey, and went with
ersoevcr it pleased her husband to
take her. She was naturally affection
ate, and would doubtless have become
q loving and gentle wife if she had re-
ceived any encourag ement. But she
soon outlived the earl's short liking,
and then he only seemed to find pleas
urc in those petty cruelties which un-
loving husbands above all others under
stand
One of these was to affect the most
unbounded chagrin at the sex of her
first child, to sneer at all daughters, and
to send it from it's mothers breast to
the care of strange nurse. Another
was to pretend she needed exercise
and change of air, and remove her
| from London to the continent before
she was able to bear the fatigue. He
gave her no rest until she reached
Rome, and h ere she became so seriously
i'll that even her servants demonstrated
against the cruelty OF moving her
| further.
In Rome she remained six months,
nearly alone. The earl Travelled hither
and thither as his fancy led him, max
ing his wife only occasional short visits
Of cruelty ceremonious character. His
life of extravagant dissipation was q
shameful contrast to the loneliness and
absolute scclusion which her Italian
physician ordered, while her separa-
ton from all who loved or cared for
her and her longing for her native land
and home told fearfully upon her fail
ing health.
But one day far more cruel sorrow
faced her. A letter without signature
was placed in her hands, not only accus-
ing her husband of the most fragrant
disregard for her, but also intimating
that her physician was in the employ
of her enemies, and not safe person
to be intrusted with her life.
She had long felt sure that she was
dying, but the dread of dying away
from her child. her father and her home
overcame all other fears. This terror
made her prudent She arranged for
an immediate return home, and took
advantage of her husbands S first absence
to commence it.
For him she left most noble and
i pathetic letter, entreating him not to
follow her, forgiving all his positive and
negative cruelties, and asking only to
be permitted to die beside her father
and their child.
Her requests so completely agreed
with the earls desires that for once he
did not thwart her; and SO, two years
after this ill-starred marriage, Earl
Grey's travelling carriage again broke
the silence of the peaceful cathedral
court. The deans daughter had come
back to HIM wearing something higher
than countess coronet; she had re-
ceived the signet of immortality, and
been anointed for a heavenly corona
tion.
After Mary's marriage, the dean had
gone to see his nephew, and easily in
duced him to come back with him; so
it was Bernard that lifted Mary from
her carriage and carried her in his
strong arms to the room she never left
again; and it was Bernard that rode
day and night, so that he might bring a
few hours earlier the child which was
to comfort Mary's dying hours.
In order to excuse the step she had
taken, and procure her fathers promise
to keep her little daughter, she had
been compelled to divulge all the cruel
martyrdom of her married life. After
this revelation it was not hard to un-
derstand the deans wretched look, and
his passionate, pleading prayers, and
the music which was an articulate
agony. could understand, too, now
the angry, longing look on Bernard's
face, and his miserable restlessness;
but neither of the men showed, in
Mary's presence, any feeling which
could mar the peace of her descent into
the grave.
went often to see her the next few
months. 1t was like lying with her at
.the Gate Beautiful" of Heaven.
used to wonder at her lovelincss, and
rejoice in her certain hope, but never
pitied her As | said before, | kept
that feeling for the hopeless grief OF
the old man and the bitter sorrow of
the young one.
Just before Christmas l went over to
the deans, after an absence of three
days. Despair and remorse were sit
ting in the handsome chambers and a
slow but certain sorrow creeping up
the marble stairs. The next day mar
row coffin had separated father and
daughter, mother and child, husband
and wife, lover and beloved, as effectual-