Walker Lake bulletin. (Hawthorne, Nev.) 1883-1926, 1902-01-03
CHAPTER XXI.

The windows of Rose Lincoln's cham
Der were open and the balmy air of May
came in, kissing the white brow of the
sick girl and whispering to her of SWELL
ing buds and fair young blossoms, which
his breath had wakened into life, and
which she would never see.
HAS Henry Gomez she asked of her
father, and in the tones of her voice there
was an unusual gentleness, for just as
she was dying Rose was learning to live.
For a time she had seemed so indfIer
ent and obstinate that Mrs. Rowland had
almost despaired. But night after night,
when her daughter thought she slept, she
prayed for the young girl, that she might
not die until she had first learned the
way of eternal life. And, as if in an
swer to her prayers, Rose gradually be-
gan to listen, and as she listened, she
wept, wondering, though, why her grand
mother thought her SO much more wicked
than anyone else.
On her return from the city Jenny had
told her as gently as possible of Henry's
conduct toward Ella, and of her fears
that he was becoming more dissipated
than ever. For a time Rose lay perfect
ly STILL and Jenny, thinking she was
asleep, was about to leave the room,
when her sister called her back, and bid
| ding her sit down by her side, said, "Tell
me, Jenny, do you think Henry has any
love for me?"
"He would be an unnatural brother if
he had not" answered Jenny, her own
heart yearning more tenderly toward her
sister, whose gentle manner she could
not understand.
"Then," resumed Rose, "if he loves
me, he will be sorry when l am dead,
and perhaps it may save him from ruin"
The tears dropped slowly from her long
eyelashes, while Jenny, laying her round,
rosy check against the thin, pale face
near her. sobbed out, you must not die
dear Rose. You must not die, and
leave u.s."
From that time the failure was visible
and rapid, and though letters went fire.
quently to Henry, telling him of his sis
ter's danger, he still fingered by the side
of the brilliant beauty, while east morn
ing Rose asked, "Will he come to-dayY
and each night she wept that he was not
there.
Calmly and without murmur she had
heard the story of their ruin from their
father, who could not let her die with
out undeceiving her. Before that time
she had asked to be taken back to Mount
Auburn, designating the spot where she
would be buried but now she insisted up
on being laid by the running brood at the
foot of her grandmother's garden, and
near a green, messy bank where the
spring blossoms were earliest found, and
where the flowers of autumn fingered
longest. The music of the falling water,
she said, would soothe her as she slept,
and its cool moisture keep the grass green
and fresh upon her early grave.
One day, when Mrs. Lincoln was sit
ting by her daughter and, as she fire.
quently did, .uttering inyectives against
Mount Holyoke, ETC., Rose said, Don't
talk so, mother Mount Holyoke Semi
nary had nothing to do with Fastening
my death. | have done it myself by my
own carelessness;" and then she confess
ed how many times she had deceived her
mother, and thoughtlessly exposed her
health, even when her lungs and side
were throbbing with pain. 81 know you
will forgive me-" said she, "for most Sc
verely have l been punished"
Then, as she heard Jenny's voice in the
room below, she added, "There is one
other thing which, would say to you.
Ere I die, you must promise that Jenny
shall marry William Bender. He is poor,
| know, and so are We but he has no.
BILE heart, and now, for my sake, mother,
take back the bitter words you once
spoke to Jenny, and say that she may
wed him. She will soon be your only
daughter, and why should you destroy
her happiness. Promise me, mother,
promise that she shall marry him."
Mrs. Lincoln, though poor, was proud
and naughty still, and the struggle in her
bosom was long and severe, but love for
her dying child conquered at last.
"And, mother" continued Rose, "may
he not be sent for now? cannot be here
long, and once more would see him and
tell him that ! gladly claim him as a
brother"