The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1897-09-11

some hours sat by their llttle WHITE
beds listening to their regular breath
ing. Then l kissed them all gently
and very quickly, lest my hot tears,
falling on their tupturned faces,
should awake them; and, near mid
night, retired to what with me would
wrongly be called rest. | locked the
door of my room, undressed myself,
aud sat in my dressing gown over the
fire, for the night being damp and
cold, my good maid had kindled
fire for me.
And there | sat, not seeking rest.
l knew that sleep and | must be
strangers for hours; that not until my
strength was quite worn out would
sad thoughts cease and change to
sadder dreams; not till at last, from
sheer fatigue they fell, would weary
eyelids curtain fearful eyes. And SO
1 sat, till slowly died the fire, and
morning air stole chilly through the
room-thinking of all the joy and
sweetness of life SO lately promised
all it gave me now 1t seemed so hard
to lose the one | loved-lost as it
were, in darkest night, with none to
say where he had wandered.
"Ohl" I cried, eff could see you
once and say farewell, although your
words came but from dying lipsl l
should not grieve SO much, and for
the sake of children dear to both,
might live and even not go mad"
The wind had risen with the night,
and gusts now and again bore heavy
rain that beat against my window;
whilst the tall trees round moaned as
the gale went tearing through their
boughs. The world seemed full of
dismal sounds and grief, ard l the
saddest in the world. At last sleep
conquered sorrow, so | threw myself
down on the bed and slept. How
long it was l slept canEot tell, for
all the while l seemed awake and
seeing fearful sights. Cruel voices
whispered words that stabbed my
heart, so that in dreams longed for
wakefulness. Then | awoke and
heard the wind and rain, louder
and fiercer, whilst the room looked
strange as morning dawned in cheer
less gray, and crept in through the
half turned blind.
| felt dazed. For a moment |
could scarcely realize where | was,
or quite recall what had happened. |
even turned, from force of habit. to
see if Walter, who should be by my
side, was also awake Then, as | saw
the vacant pillow by mine, all came
back to me-came back with such
refux of sorrow, that, in my despair,
I threw out my arms, and, sobbing
bitterly, called on the one who could
not hear me.
My right hand lay as it had fallen,
outside the coverlid, and, in a min
ute, | almost shrieked with horror
and alarm; for | felt another hand
seek it; and [ experienced the SEN
sation of fingers closing round my
own. Hastily l tore my hand away
from that clasp-if what held with
out restraining, made itself distinctly
felt without offering resistance, can
be called clasp-and sprung from
the bed. Courageous as | am by
nature, trembled like a leaf, and
had it been dark when that unknown
hand sought mine, my horror must
have vented itself in screams. But
the room was nearly light; SO in a
few moments conquered that over
towering fright and looked around
for the intruder. l peered into every
nook in which one might possibly
hide, but detected no one.
The door was firmly locked as
left it. l was alone, for no one
could have entered either by door or
window. Then l sat down and rea-
soned with myself on my folly. 1t
was fancy from mind upset and
overweight with grief. 1t was the
lingering impression left by one of
those dreams those dreadful dreams
which sleep had brought mel 1t was
a pure delusion, creation of my
own, and wondered if, as | feared
at times, l was going out of my
senses. Although l was able to per.
suade myself that this reasoning was
correct, | dared not return to my
bed, but, sitting once more in my
chair, longed for broad daylight.
CONCLUDED NEXT wEEK.l
------------