Freeland tribune. (Freeland, Pa.) 1888-1921, 1896-08-17


poor, would hnva exhaled her life away
in prolonged and unrelievod torture.
At last they essayed to lift tho light
| form and bear it to tho operating
room. Gentle hands were about her,
but she murmured, and ono leaned
down to listen:
''My rose bud My beautiful flower
May I not carry it with mo?"
And she smiled contentedly as her
small, fevered hand clasped tho long,
fexile stem.
Beside the long table in the brill
iantly lighted room stood several
men, one, made prominent by the
lofty grace of his bearing and the
grave beauty of his thoughtful fece.
This was the surgeon who had con-
sented to coms from distance that
mysterious ailment might be pene-
trated and its causes laid bare.
How tenderly he leaned over the
small, pale fnce ere yet the an@sthetic
had been administered how deep and
thrilling the tones of his voice rs he
spoke words of encouragement to the
sufferer. STOPPING in the presence of
the assembled students and bearded
men of the resident medical faculty,
he laid his lips in light kiss on the
fair forehead OF the child. As no
leaned above her his eye caught the
CLEAN of the pearl y-petaled bud that
lay upon the childish breast. And did
he start, or was it flicker of one OF
z hn 1;CI4eO Norry rrpr,tl1r hn
lifted the bud, his hand encountering
a strip OF paper tied about the long
stem as he did so; and, turning, he
laid it down with the gloves, which
he had doffed upon entering the hail.
All was over, and we'll over. The
child had rallied, and was sleeping
quietly. Beside her watched skilled
nurses, and within reach of her wax
ing hand stood great bowl of choicest
bloom, but the creamy bud was gono.
These had come in its stead.
Alone in tho room assigned him in
the hotel sits the surgeon. In vase
before him droops the pale bud, and
the delicate fragrance from Its heart
seems to mount to his brain, for he
rises from his chair, TO pace with rest
less feet the narrow room. He holds
in his hand slip of paper, and q
thousand times has he read and rercad
it's simple legend, 'In memory of
Leonard"
Was the tale, tattlod to him by en-
vious tongues, OF desolate home, II
ruined and blighted life, misplaced
and too ardent affections, a lie? And
have his feet trodden the weary round
OF endless search after forgetfulness,
only TO return and find himself the one
in error, and his little love still faith
full 10 childish dream?
Leonard d'Oryille, the man, was
almost as much a creature of impulse
us ever was Leonard dOryille, the
boy.
Rising swiftly to his feet, with look
of resolution on his dark face, he goes
out into the night. In box of long,
pale buds, buried deep in their
emerald foliage, he places u letter, and
it reads:
FIoribel-I have trodden the whole of earth
to find forgetiulncss, only to learn that l
have fed from tho cup OF happiness that
waited near my lips Your message and your
rose bud have found me. Here arc our
bridal roses. If you had been the wife of
another your little messenger would never
have left your loyal hand. l will wait here.
If you do not desire mo to come to you, a
word will Danish me. If hear nothing, and
II weary time it will seem, within tho next
four days, L shall know that you are willing
| should come. Should your heart call out
across the years, as does my own, send but IL
word, II bud from our bride rose tree, and
| the mission OF II flower could come to no
sa lder heart or lonelier life l love you,
dear. / have always loved you. I have
tried to become the man on whom you could
bestow tho priceless treasure Of yourself
| God bless you-whether L am to be. or not,
/ your own LEONARD.
| And Floribol Rose became Floribel