The Atlanta constitution., 1900-10-29

"Ah, that is true said the old lady.
with a little sigh. Poor Henry"
There was a pause. Molly had hardly
thought her randcm shot would strike
hcmc so accurately. still less that 1T
would awake the recollection Of any ro-
mantle episode in the octogenarian's past.
Truly there is no age for the heart.
/ do you know. 1 have often thought OF
him of late" went on her kinswomaI af-
ter time. Poor Henry. / SO nearly
married him-but 1 could never get over
the fact of his low birth. And he was
| so devoted TO me. Sometimes. recently,
l have wondered If 1 did wisely in send
ing him away. All these years L have
never doubted that was right, but now
now that / am so helpless and feeble-I
, begin to think it would be a comfort to
have someone really belonging to me.
who would look after things for love OF
ne. and not out of self-interest-a strong
arm to lean on all ones own"
A strong arm, and this man had been In
his grave for more than fifty years!
You forget" said Molly. gently kneel-
ing down beside her. and pressing the
uithered hand-so strangely withered OF
late-to her warm cheek. You forget he
has been dead so long. Perhaps you have
been spared much"
"Yes. you are right. If / had married
l.
a widow with an odious name. L cannot
bring myself TO pronounce his name.
child"-this with a touch of her old man
ner-''to me he is always Henry. Per
haps 1t was for the best. after all.
She was silent for some moments. gaz-
ing pensively into the fire; but presently
reused herself.
yet. perhaps, / should have had chill
dren. / might have had a son, Molly,
<.fs r-xvt h IN
would have been more of an O'Neill-a
true O'Neill-than any scion of the race
living now, can possibly be. He would
have had my blood. the real blue blood
of the old O'Neills, running in his veins,
and have transmitted 1t to his posterity;
and row it must molder in the dust. Oh.
/ is it not pity. child? Such dreadful
waste,'
Miss O'Neill relapsed into silence, and.
after n time. Molly hoped she had forgot
ten the subject of their conversation. But
in the afternoon. when the tea things
had been removed. and the two sat by the
fire in the darkening room, the invalid
recurred to it again.
while you were out today" she said,
"I amused myself by imagining all sorts
of strange things. Molly. 1 began TO
think suppose | had married Henry, and
had had son, there would have been
grandchildren around me now, most prob
ably; mine of mine as your modern
poet Tennyson, puts ii. Sitting alone by
the fire. l began to fancy such was the
case, and to imagine l heard the patter
of little feet I'm the passages, and the
childish voices coming nearer and nearer
to the door, And then the door opened"
she cried excitedly. stretching out her
hands, land they all came rushing in,
laIf
and climbed upon my knee-all fancies.
of course, a sick old woman's fancies."
She dropped her voice, and sank exhaust
edly back on her cushions; continuing,
after a pause: But they were vivid.
Molly, that for the moment L could al
most believe they were real. could see
the little haXen heads cleaning iii the
freight, and the room semed to echo with
their laughter. All fancies, Molly; but it
is my own fault that they are not true
1 wonder. child. after all. has my life
been a mistake?"
"Oh, no, no. surely" cried Molly, quick
ly; but Miss O'Neill stopped her with
sign.
ITO think that I have never held child
upon my breast" she cried passionately.
Never listened 10 the first cry. which
they say is sweeter than all the munc of
earth or heaven In a mothers ears-and
L nave never ntaTu H. he pOOTeSl
tron i'm the village yOnder knows more of
lifes sweetness than land it is all my
own faulti'
She began TO weep. checking Molly, as
the latter tried 10 console her. by crying.
with little angry sob: ''I know 1 have
lived for others. that was my folly: ]
should have lived more for myself. See
how well the world gets on without me.
and 1 might have got so much more out
of 1t. 1t seems such pity
Molly, too, felt inclined To cry out. THE
pity of it," often enough in the days
which succeeded. for this idea seemed TO
have taken possession of her kinswOman's
mind, and to refuse TO be uprooted. Sure
". never before were there such strange
dying regrets; yet they were in keeping
with the unusualncss of the life. The sor-
rowful plaint was constantly on her lips.
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