Connecticut western news., 1892-05-12

 on Elbe."
 And what does Antoine get out of thisI" said Belgard. "Forty dollars month and his keep" "Why not write him off couple of shares to propitiate the gods-gifts unto the needy, eh! a thousandfold-what?"
 "Yes: it might be done. Belgard. fir
 But some one just then proposed the toast of ''The Rose Tree mine. and the souls of these men waxed proud and merry, for they had seen the investors palm filled with gold, the maker of con- quest. While Antoine was singing with his wife they were holding revel within the sound of Bow Bells. And far into the night. through silent Cheapside, a rolling voice swelled through much laughter thus:
 Gai lon la, gal le rosier
 Du joli mois de mai
 The next day there were heavy heads in London: but the next day also man lay i'll ill the hut on Saint Jean.
 Antoine had sung his last song. He had walked in the night with a start of pain, and by the time the sun was halt
  he had begun journey the record of which no man has ever truly told neither it's beginning nor it's end: be- cause that which is of the spirit refuseth to be interpreted by the flesh. Some signs there be. but they are brief and shadowy: the awe of it is hidden in the mind of him that goeth out lonely unto God.
 When the call goes forth. not wife nor child nor any other can hold the way farer back. though he may loiter for an instant on the brink. The poor medica- ments which Angelique brings avail not: these soothing hands and healing tones. they pass through clouds of the middle place between heaven and earth to An toine. It is only when the second mid night comes that, with conscious but pensive and far off eyes. he says to her. "Angeligue, my wife.
 For reply her lips press his cheek and her fingers hunger for his neck. Then. ''ls there pain now. Antoine?"
 There is no pain. Angelique."
 He closed his eyes slowly; her lips framed an Ave.
 "The mine." he said. "the mine-un- til the spring"
 "Yes. Antoine. until the spring."
 Have you candles-many candles. Angelique?"
 ''There are many, my husband"
 ''The ground is us iron: one cannot dig. and the water under the ice is cruel is it not so. Angeliquey'
 No ax could break the ground. and the water is cruel"
 "You will see my face until the win ter is gone. my wife,"
 She bowed her head. but smoothed his hand meanwhile.
 He partly slept: his body slept, though his mind was feeling its way to wonder eyes opened wide and he said, Some one calls out of the dark. Angelique."
 And she with her hand on her heart replied. 1t is the cry of a dog, An toine."
 But there are footsteps at the door, my wife"
 May. Antoine; it is the snow beating upon the window"
 There is the sound of wings close by: dost thou not hear them. Angelique?"
 "Wings-wings," she falteringly said; it is the hot blast through the chimney: the night is cold. Antoine"
 "The night is very cold" he said. and he trembled Il hear. 0 my wife, the voice of little child: the voice is like to thine. Angelique."
 And she, not knowing what to reply. said softly. There is hope in the voice of d child" and the mother stirred with in her: and in the moment he knew also that the spirits would give her the child in safety. that she should not be alone in the long winter.
 The sounds of the harsh night had ceased-the snapping of the leafess branches. the cracking of the earth and the heaving of d rock: the spirits of the frost had finished their work. and just as the gray forehead of dawn appeared beyond the cold hills Antoine cried out gently: "Angelique An. mon Capi- taine. Jesu." and then. no more. | Night after night Angelique lighted candles in the place where Antoine smiled on in his frozen silence: and masses were said for his soul - the masses love murnurs for its dead. The | earth could not receive him-its bosom was adamant-but no decay could touch him. and she dwelt alone with this, that was her husband. until one beautiful, bitter day. when. with no eyes save Gods to see her. and no human com fort by her. she gave birth to a man child. And yet that night she lighted the candles at the dead mans head and feet. dragging herself thither in the cold.
 In the early spring. when the earth painfully breathed away the frost that choked it. with her child for mourner and herself for sexton and priest. she buried Antoine with maimed rites: but hers were the prayers of the poor and of the pure in heart. and she did not fret because in the hour that her comrade was put away into the dark the world was laughing at the thought of coming summer.
 Before another sunrise came the own. CTS of the island of Saint Jean came tc claim what was theirs. and because thai which had happened worked upon theil hearts. they called the child Saint Jean and from that time forth they made him to enjoy the goodly fruits of the Rose Tree mine. Gilbert Parker in Ma tional Observer