The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1895-05-02

play hide and seek in the little room
where the band cot anxious watchers
hold their ceaseless vigil. For days the
life of Margaret St. Clair has hung
upon a slender thread. Loving hands
have ministered with tender care but,
Death fought for Victory. Will he win?
The midnight hour is sounded from the
old-fashioned clock in the adjoining
room. The doctor narrowly watches
the lovely face. Suddenly long
drawn sigh escapes the parted lips and
the beautiful eyes, filled with recogni-
ton, open and gaze around in utter be-
wilderment upon the unfamiliar scene.
Turning to those who stand with bated
breath, the doctor softly whispered,
Your daughter will liver Mr.. St.
Clair turned just in time to catch the
almost fainting form of the devoted
mother. Let perfect quiet be observ-
ed" the doctor said, "she will sleep
naturally now" The following morn
ing Margaret greeted her parents with
a loving smile of welcome and the
query, "Oh, mother, what has happen
ed, and, and, mother" softly, ''is Phil
lip here?' Gently soothing the cling
ing treSses from her brow, the mother,
before whose mental vision rises that
face cold in death, replied, There was
an accident to your train, darling.
Phillip was here, but has gone now"
Two weeks later. Margaret looking
brighter and stronger, reclined against
the pillows in the pretty white bed in
her own dainty room at the dear old
home. Nearly every hour since her ar
rival, when, pale and dropping. she
had been carried tenderly and placed
in the spot she loved, anxious inquir-
ers had tip-toed softly to the door, and
after d whispered cOlloquy. in which
could be distinguished Professors
drawing notes and BobbyS impetuous,
How is she now?" Then they would
quietly steal away to talk over a mat
ter of such great Importance to their
faithful hearts.
Outside the sweet scented apple bios
SONS swayed in the gentle breeze, fill
ing the room in which Margaret lay.
with their delicate odor. A pensive
sadness comes in her beautiful eyes. as
her thoughts fly to the past.
Mrs. st. Clair enters the room. A
close observer might preceive a grave
look upon her face but she smiles
bravely, as she approaches her daugh-
ter, and exclaimed See, my dear, what
lovely blossoms l have brought you"
How beautiful, mother" said Mar
garet, as she pressed them TO her
cheeks, little dreaming of the hand
that had plucked them, and the true
heart that had prompted the gift, the
heart of Douglass Hepburn in which,
through all these trying hours had been
singing the sad refrain.
My own sweet love, if thou in the grave
The darkSome grave, wilt be,
Then will | 90 down by thy side, and crave
Love, room for thee and mel"
No. Margaret little dreamed of the
donor, her heart was longing, hunger
ing for news of him whose face. radiant
with the light of love, at that unex-
pected meeting, was ever before her.
Mother" she called. "come here,
please" Yes, dear" Mrs. st. Clair re-
piled. her keen intuition detecting a
certain faltering tone in her daughters
voice, What is it?'' Mother" she
asked. while a crimson flood spread
over her pale face, has Phillip been
here to inquire for me? We had just
met you know,
Mrs. st. Glars eyes could scarcely
meet the searching look of those eager
ones. mo, dear. you must remember
that -
Mother" quickly. "Was Phillip in
jured?"
Something in the face to which she
had always looked for reinsurance,
seemd to fail her, and starting up. |
with outstretched hands, she moaned, |
Mother, mother. is Phillip dead?"