Los Angeles herald., 1892-03-27

Of Lake Superiorl There's luck in odd
numbers says Rory O'More. There's
luck here said l. and at it we went Just
beside the rose tree. What's the result?
Look at that prospectus-a company
with capital Of $500, 1000, the whole
island in our hands in week and An
tome squatting ON it now like Bonaparte
ON Elbe."
"And what does Antoine get out of
this?" said Belgard.
Forty dollars a month and his keep"
"Why not write him off couple of
shares to propitiate the gods--gifts unto
the needy, eh! thousandfold-what?"
Eyes: it might be done, Belgard,
if"-
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 filed with gold, the maker of con-
qaest. 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:
Gal lon la, gai le roster
Du joli mois de mai.
The next day there were heavy heads
in London; but the next day also man
lay i'll in the hut on Saint Jean.
Antoine had sung his last song. He
had walked in the night with start of
pain, and by the time the sun was halt
ing at noon above the Rose Tree mine
he had begun Il journey the record of
which no man has ever truly told,
neither its 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
tome. 1t is only when the second mid
night comes that, with conscious but
pensive and far off eyes, he says to her,
"Angelique, my wife"
For reply her lips press his cheek and
her fingers hunger for his neck. Then,
els there pain now, Antoine?'
There is no pain, Angelique."
He closed his eyes slowly; her lips
framed an Ave.
1.-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 as iron; one cannot
dig, and the water under the ice is cruel
is it not so, Angelique?"
mo ak 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 it's way to wonder
full things. But near the morning his
eyes opened wide and he said, ."Some
one calls out of the dark, Angelique."
And she with her hand on her heart
replied, "It is the cry Of dog, An
tome"
"But there are footsteps at the door,
my wife"
"Nay, Antoine; it is the snow beating
upon the window"
There is the sound of wings close by;
dost thou not hear them, Angeliquer
"Wings-wings," she falteringly said;
lit is the hot blast through the chimney;
the night is cold, Antoine"
"The night is very cold," he said, and
he trembled. 81 hear, o 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 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 swapping Of the leafess
branches, the cracking of the earth and
the heaving of 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. All, mon Capt.
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 murmurs for it's dead. The
earth could not receive limits bosom
was adarnant-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 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 MANNED 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