The Dupuyer acantha. [volume] (Dupuyer, Mont.) 1894-1904, 1897-07-01

sweep round the curve, Of the line, I
wanted badly to run away. but
couldn't, OF course, there are seldom
many passengers for Chelmsford; this
time there was but one. l caught q
glimpse of his face at the window of
a carriage where he sat alone, and my
heart seemed to stop beating. A mo-
ment later he stood before me. 1t was
Harberton. He was exactly as / re-
membered him. There was nothing, in
his appearance or manner to account
for the dread in me. We exchanged
greetings, but no word passed between
lis. We traversed the leafy lanes as
in a dreafh; but they and myself were
visionary-he alone was real. And all
the time the memory of the telegram
! had omitted to send kept recurring
to my half-paralyzed brain.
Il knew it could not be Harberton,
yet felt convinced it was fene other.
Dull wonder whether Or not mother
would see as I did ran through my
mind; but I was in reality too stupe-
fed to be capable Of anything like con-
secutive thought.
1.-The path w trod lay through the
orchard into the rose garden, wherein
the low windows of my mothers sum-
mer parlor opened. AS we entered the
garden she saw us-saw him!-and
waved her thin hand in welcome. And
Harberton, or what l took to be Har-
berton, who till then had done nothing
but make me dread his presence,
waved in return c~ourteously, almost
gayly.
Il can tell you how that day passed.
1t seemed like a long drawn out night
mare. I kept saying to myself: I am
asleep. I shall awake soon.' Harber-
ton sat in my mothers cool, darkened
room, talking of me, as ! gathered,
while pacing restlessly within and
without, or smoking in a chair outside
the window. She seemed to speak anx-
iously about my future-I suppose, like
most only sons reared by mothers, I
had been rather wild-and he appeared
to reasure her. She was quite soothed
and happy in his company. I moved
about; | would go to the stables to
speak to the men or wander aimlessly
about, but there was ever that awful
sense of all being an illusion. I fan
cied l must be mad. and l feared the
sound of my own voice.
1T was a perfect day, still and balmy
the air being heavy with the fra
GRANGE of the roses-but to me it
seemed endless. Still 1t came to a
close at last. In the cleaning Harber-
ton babe mother farewell. She blessed
him as they parted. 1 standing
dumbly by, and he holding her hand
said, gently, with his old, soft drawl:
I shall return soon.'
"Harberton left as he came, through
the byways carpeted with moss, and
overhung with briar roses, still hold
ing no speech with me, who followed
dog like. Midway down the lane the
evening haze caught radiance from a
shaft of the sunset, and into the glory
of it he passed alone. Fol- a moment I
dared not enter. When I did he was
gone.
We'll, in a short time l was able to
laugh at the occurrence as absurd.
Mother seemed to feel happy in some
sort of delusion. l didn't care to ridi-
Guile. She never asked me to send for
Harberton again. She always said:
When it Is time he will come
she got nor fragile daily. One
night she looked so ethereal that, fear
ing to leave her, / sent the nurse to
bed, and staid in her room. All was
hushed, and 1 must have dozed off, to
be reused by mothers voice, saying
gladly: "Oh, o have come for
me. That is so good of you
The light of the harvest moon filled
the room, eclipsing the feeble glow
CT the night light.
Mother had raised herself to a sit
ting position and was looking up Gag
erly, joyfully, her thin hands extended,
Bending over her, l saw distinctly the
figure of Harberton. Starting forward,
| rushed towards her, but before
could reach her side she had sunk back
inert. Harberton had vanished, and
the moonlight revealed only her dead
face lying peacefully smiling on the
pillows.
That's a lot of years ago now, but
I've never beer able to reduce it to
common-sense. Can you, old chap?"-
II