The Neihart herald. [volume] (Neihart, Mont.) 1890-1901, 1897-09-04

but in all that pertained to her sister
she vas tender and emotional to an ex-
traordinary degree. 1 made inquiries
about them without eliciting much in
formation. They had lived in Star court
for nearly three years, but Rebecca
alone was known to their fellow dodgers.
Her sister had been always a recluse if
not an invalid. She had never left her
room. 1t was understood that she took
in needlework when she could obtain
employment, which was not often, but
Rebecca was the breadwinner. She
toiled early and late, but no one had
heard a word of complaint from her.
AS a general rule, it is not the hard
workers who complain. 1t is not that
they are resigned to their harsh fate,
whatever cant may have to say about it
it is no in human nature to be that
but there is often a certain grim reti-
oence about them, a not unjustifiable
resentment. This was not the case with
Rebecca, however. She had her reasons,
as l afterward discovered, Of liking
work for its own sake. Work preserves
us from thinking. She was quiet in her
ways and kept herself to herself, but
she had a temper of her own.
A neighbor once condoled with her
on having a sick sister to keep. "She
didn't seem to help much. Couldn't she
put her own shoulders to the wheel a
little more? There didn't seem SO very
much the matter with her." and so on.
Then Rebecca broke out and exhibited
quite an unexpected command Of Ian
guage. She impressed upon that neigh
Dor the desirability of minding her own
business in such convincing terms that
nobody ever ventured to sympathize
with her upon the labor question again.
But she had not been popular before.
and this ebullition set society against
her. She was for the future very Sc.
verely let alone.
Gaunt and grim though she was now,
for my part, strange to say, Rebecca in
terested me at least as much as my pa
tient, Notwithstanding her many advan-
tages. Her beauty was of the kind that
is heightened rather than otherwise by
delicacy of constitution; even disease
only rendered it more exquisite. 1t re-
minded me of the lily Of the vale,
"whom youth makes SO fair and pas
sion so frail that the light of its trem-
ulOus bells is seen through their pavil-
ions of tender green,'' so transparent
was its splendor. That she was dying |
had now no doubt, nor could the end
be far distant. The spectacle was very
touching, ever to a professional eye, but
what, l confess, lessened my sympathy
for her was her conduct toward Rebec-
ca. She seemed to take everything she
did for her as a matter of course. 1t
was quite true that she gave one the
impression of belonging to quite anoth-
er and a higher sphere of being, but to
see her SO self conscious of it was de-
plorable. If she had been a princess,
she could hardly have been served not
only with more devotion, but with
more respectful reverence. I noticed in
particular that, though Rebecca lavished
every term of endearment upon her sis
ter, she never addressed her by her
Christian name, and I only discovered
it to be Lucy by direct inquiry.
With the selish egotism of the ha-
bitual invalid every doctor is familiar,
but with Lucy Bent it was carried be-
yond all bounds. l had supplied her
with various little luxuries and made
arrangements by which during her ILL
ness her sister should not be under the
necessity of leaving her, and for this
she expressed herself, though I have
reason to believe only at Rebecca's
prompting, i'll a few sufficiently suit
able words. If Ale had not uttered
them, | should have thought little of it.
There was not much g%raciousness in
Star court, though i'll this case, where
the casket was so fair, one naturally
looked for the jewel, but the ignoring
of her sisters claim to gratitude and
the coldness-as it seemed to me the
studied coldness-of her manne toward
her were painful to witness. She never
exchanged a word with her that was
not absolutely necessary. Her state was
ouch that it was impossible to remon-
ttrate with her upon that or any other
subject. Indeed-and so far this was
an excuse for her-she was SO rapt in
her W w~retchedness, so given wei tC
l knew not what of regretful and de.
spairing memories, that she seemed tc
pay nc attention even to her own con.
dition, to the ''body that did her such
grievous wrong Or to the soul that
was about to quit it.
Rebecca, on her side, was equally 81.
lent, dumb as the dog who, treated
with indifference by some morose mas.
ter, still waits OH and watches him
with patient devotion, but it was easy
to see how she longed for a kind WORD
or even a loving glance and longed in
vain. At last, when the end was very
near, l could forbear no longer. 1t was
q clergyman's business perhaps more
than mine, but my patient had declined.
and with no little vehemence for one
so weak, to see a clergyman, and
took my courage, for, strange as il
may seem, it needed courage, in bott
hands and spoke to her.
Have you not one word, even Of
farewell, Lucy, for the sister who has
nursed you so tenderly?"
There was a struggle within the pant
ing bosom, added to the fight for breath,
but the lips moved, and what they
formed was the m~onosyllable mo" Ii
the faint sound / recognized a distinc
touch of bitterness.
"Iknow not what you have suffered, ,
1 went on. "and it may be (this strucl
me for the first time) even at her hands
but l know what she has suffered ant
is suffering now for your sake. Forgive