The record-union., 1892-09-10
" MY ERMINTRUDE."
Written for the RECoRD-UNIoN by Gale
Braith-Alice Robertson

Written for the REcoRD-UNIoN by Gale
Braith-Alice Robertson.
Slowly, slowly the fiery sun is setting,
flooding in golden glory Featherstone
Hail. and glinting warmly upon each
window with rich, rudy glow.
This hour of sunset is the only time
the dreary, grand old place assumes a
cheerful appearance-albeit, the solid,
gray stone structure is now moss-covered
and weather stained. See the long road
stretching afar and circling around the
distant hills whereon there are no signs
of travel excepting one solitary, dark OBJ
ject
Through the far distance faint Jingle
OF bells may be heard, or, perhaps, a soft
low from the grazing cattle upon the
sloping hillside. Higher up, with their
snowy lambs ganlboling among them,
are gathered a small band of sheep.
The craggy hills raise high and steep,
seeming to cuta long, Jagged rent through
the dappled sky.
Those everlasting hills, which stand
like faithful sentinels, tall and grim,
separating the estate from the outer
world, whilst I, Margaret Calthorpe,
nearing the sunset OF life, do watch, with
eyes grown dim with tears, the sun de-
scend behind the rugged peaks.
Oh, ye hills! despite your massive
strength and splendor my Erminrude
khas strayed far, far away How many
| times have my tired eyes vainly sought
to pierce your smooth, green sides to seek
my lost one amid the crowded walks of
| your black and loathsome city? My Err
mlntrude, with your fair, dainty beauty,
! jostled and crowded among that rough,
Isrude throng, while | sit here, lonely
heart and empty arms, longing, yearn-
/ ing, hoping for her return The soft, wee
infant who has laid at my breast; whose
whose dimpled arms have ciasped my
neck; whose little fingers have strayed
and tangled themselves amid my hair,
| and whose sweet breath | feel upon my
! lips this instant.
.. art Thou just, my Father, to create
| so fair thing for the destroyer'S Ieprous
! touch? Q! Thou, who kuoweth all; Thou
who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb,
on my knees ] beseech Thee to guard and
guide her safely back. But why do [
! pray to Thee so oft in vain? Thou art a
man and cannot understand a WOman'S
grief. O! forgive me, | blaspheme. l
have wearied Thee long with my constant
! frettul praying. There are others more
worthy, whose turn comes, perhaps, be-
fore mine. When my time comes listen
! to my supplication, Q! dear Lord
Strange memories cling and flock
around me tonight. Before me the
musty curtain of the past hangs heavy
with dust and cObwebs. Ruthlessly l
! thrust it aside. With one wrench | tear
it from its moth-eaten fastening. The
! dust arises. almost sitting me. | open
| the easement. The pure, fresh air sweeps
in enabling me to distinguish my objects
clearly.
! L am gazing upon Featherstone Hall,
not as it now is. Crisp and green are the
| sloping lawns, grim and neat the flower
| edged walks. To the right white mar
| BILE fountain splashes and dashes a mill
ion narrow jets, in a curved radiant
| spray, rejecting in the MONDAY sun the
| brilliant hue OF rainbow, to fall down,
down into the wide, deep basin wherein
floats dozen sweet water lilies.
1t is an excessively warm day. Care
! fully placing my basket of eggs upon the
| broad brim of the basin | dip my burn
| ing fingers into the cool, delicious water.
! | start at the harsh, discordant cry of a
noble peacock as he struts past me, his
| gorgeous tail glittering mass of beauty.
Involuntarily l glance upward to my
lady's chamber window. How happy
she must be. Over the portico, in front
of the windows, thousands of creamy
roses climb and hang over the sides like a
great white rug.
white roses" / murmur, ''keep the
| babe just born pure and white as your
| spotless petals" Again the peacock
utters a loud, shrill noise as if in
mockery.
A bad omen. 1 shudder, and carefully
dry my hands upon the soft lace hand
kerchief-my lady's latest gift--and slow
| ly raise my basket. y maid runs toward
me, her face swollen and red from weep
ing.
THANK God you are here. She is ask
ing for you. Come quickly"
No questions arise to my trembling
| lips. Meekly, with an overpowering
| sense of awful misery upon me, I follow
| her flying footsteps, ascend the wide
| stone steps and silently enter the outer
| door.
A solemn, mournful hush prevails
| Hurrledly we pass group after group of
weeping servants standing or sitting with
| bowed heads, until we pause GREATNESS
! before heavy oaken door which the
maid pushes quickly open.
| There are, perhaps, dozen people in
the room. But my troubled eyes seek
only one, and rest upon my lady lying so
white and still.
Kneeling by the bedside, with head
bent down, is her young husband. At
the other side gray-haired doctor stands
with fingers lightly pressed against my
| lady's wrist. [ walk hurriedly toward
| her. [ kiss tenderly, lovingly the beau
tiful forehead. Her dear eyes brighten.
She feebly tries to lift her hand TO mine.
| The sweet lips murmur:
L wanted you, Margaret. 1 prayed
for you. God is good. He has heard my
prayer. l am dying. Don't cry, dear.
1t grieves me. Listen. VIII you take
my baby? viii you raise her and be a
mother to her? l can trust you, Marga-
ret. Will you do what esk?''
| Yes, yes" [ sob, willingly"
Then heaven bless you, Margaret.