The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1895-09-19


go home; it is no use stopping here.
know his solicitors, and will write to
them that they may communicate with
his relations, if he has any. They can
see me about any arrangements they
want to make"
She nodded without speaking, and
he left with a CHEEKY ''Goodby" tell.
ing her to be certain that the door was
locked ere she left. AS he went down.
stairs he said to himself she was work.
ing too hard and needed a change,
and made a mental note to send her
with his next patient ordered to the
seaside. She remained at the foot of
the bed till the heavy approach of the
laundress reused her, and she went
shuddering TO the chair, where she sat
shading her face, while the women
laid out the body after the decent
fashion of our people. When they had
gone she locked the door. Then she
pressed her hands over her eyes and
trembled slightly, remaining still and
Borrowing for some minutes. Present.
ly she went gently to the bed and, I'M
covering the face, began to smooth the
hair from the forehead, speaking in
low murmur.
Harry dear" she whispered, 'the
world could not divide us at the last,
though it is so big. We are together,
you and l, as we used to be in the be-
ginning. Do you mind, now that you
know that l am with you? You are
not angry, dear, because after all these
years God has let me see you again,
and call you by your name, and-oh,
yes"
She bent to kiss him, but shook her
head sadly instead, and knelt by his
side.
Let me talk to you just as if it were
the same again, as if nothing had
happened, and we were boy and girl
once more. l won't say anything
about her to make you angry. | won't
remember it and you must forget too.
Can you forget, l wonder? Do you
forget now? You forgot me while you
were alive; are you forgetting her
now you are dead?"
The tears gathered in her eyes and
she sobbed softly. She looked into the
white face and said quickly:
But l won't ask you to forget,
Harry. l won't ask it; it isn't mine to
ask. 1t was all a mistake, dear, and
we have both suffered; perhaps she
has suffered too. 1t was hard you
were not happy; you were so good and
loved SO much. We have both loved
much, have we not? Where have you
been all these years? l wonder if you
ever thought of me as | have thought
of you, and remembered the old days.
If you had met me | wonder if YOU
would have taken me in your arms and
kissed me as you did in the meadows
at Langley. l would have let you,
Harry, as l did then; you know would.
We're you too proud to come back to
me? Oh, my dear, would have lain
at your feet, had you wished it. and
begged you to look down and smile at
me. But it's too late now; there's no
hope for either of us. l felt that there
could not be after the day you wrote
me, but l would have faced everything
and dared everything if you had come
back. Never mind, dear, it is good to
look back upon and think of and love.
and nobody can take it away from us.
Don't think of it il it makes you angry,
but | can't help remembering; and now
| am telling you with no one else to
hear"
The bright sun beat through the
window blinds and filled the room with
a radiance thick and hot. She bowed
her head on the bed and remained
kneeling with her arms stretched
across his body. Presently she rose
and began to move softly about the
room, touching his books and little
treasures. The white figure on the
cross hung in its infinite pathos above
the bed. She took it from it's place
and was about to lay it on his breast.
With a quick gesture she stopped and
replaced it on the wall Then she
turned to his writing table and took
up the faded photograph in the Oxford
frame.
You We're his then" she said, in
gentle, even voice, land you are his
still. You have the right; 1 have
none. Perhaps you, living in your
great world to-day, have quite forgot
ten, but l know he has remembered,
and"-her voice shook a little-'he
would wish it.
She laid the photograph on the body
where she had turned back the sheet
and smoothed the creases away from
it. Her hands clasped before her, she
stood looking at the strange pair-the
dead man with his pale face, and the
picture with its saucy eyes and anti
quated fneries. The wicked orbs
seemed mockingly to tell her of bar
rier she must not pass; right of pos
session she dare not dispute. She
sighed, as if submissively, and
turned TO the window, lifting
a corner of the blind to scan
the well-nigh deserted Temple
thoroughfare. A coster passed with
basketful of cowslips, and she remen-
bered morning in Langley meadows,
where Harry made wreath and
crowned her his queen of the cowslips
Going to the door she called Hannah,
and, giving her some pennies, sent her
to buy bunch of the flowers. She
took them back to the room and began
to strew them over the coverlid. The
hooking eyes appeared to follow her
with unconcealed derision, and hastily