St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1902-11-01

the young girl. At $50, starting sud-
denly, he raised his arms, sat up in
bed as if searching for a support.
pillows.
marie, yes" he murmured, "thou art
near me. I see thee. feel thee.
feel thy tears falling on my hands.
Dear one, art thou alone? Listen to
me. I will speak very low, because
ten, dear one" He spoke softly, and at
his words Marie stifled cry.
mo, no, Paul, thou wilt not die, it
is the fear that makes thee speak So"
Eyes, Marie, I must die. Listen
well, and tell me if thou wilt come"
His voice sank lower and lower
In the full light of the lamp, Marie
turned paler and paler as she listened,
her lips drawn with pain, her left hand
depressing the beatings of her heart.
1t was over. Paul did not speak
again, but looked at her with eyes OF
love and anguish as if expecting an
answer. She nerved herself by an eff
fort of her will, uniting her gaze with
that of her beloved, without trembling,
although it was a terrible promise.
She answered.: eyes, Paul, I will come"
Their lips met in kiss, silent and deep
as death. Paul died in an hour after.
Marie's grief was so intense, and
brought on such alarming symptoms,
that, fearing for her mind, 10th to
lose her, her aunt sent her (the day
after the funeraD to friends house.
Marie remained Frustrated for sew
eral days by unutterable sufferings.
Then the calm came: this calm seemed
to those around her more alarming
than her grief. Her eyes, that seemed
attentive to obscure and far away
things, had taken singular light,
and so with the smile on her cold lips,
in her pale, inscrutable face. Urged
to speak, she said at last: "You want
to know? My betrothed promised to
be always near me,-one hour before
dying, in possession of his full senses,
he told me: DO not weep, death will
not part us; we will yet be united. l
will come for thee in a month. Ex-
pect me at the very hour of my death.
l will GOMEZ"
They attempted to reason with her,
hut her pale smile was her only an
swer. Not to augment Mrs. Duham-
els sorrow, nothing was mentioned to
her of Marie's answer. Aweek passed,
and the young girl seemed calmer.
Her excitement gave way to quiet mel
ancholy. She expressed the desire to
return to her aunt's home, and there
she resumed her usual occupations,
trying even to assuage the grief of the
poor mother.
The 23d of December arrived. In the
afternoon Marie complained of vio-
lent headache. 81 cannot come to
dinner said the young girl; "pray,
dear mother, leave me alone to my
thoughts
Eyes, my child, hope it is nothing
more serious than headache"
"Do not trouble yourself about me.
mother. I only want to be alone-I
must-sleep."
Marie did not come down during the
evening. Her aunt heard her coming
and going for awhile; then nothing
more. Perfect silence. Mrs. Duham-
ell wanted to assure herself that Marie
needed nothing. The door stood wide
open, and the light shone in the hall.
Marie had not gone to bed. Mrs. Du-
hamel advanced few steps, but stood
stupefied on the threshold. The lamp
was burning brightly on the mantel-
piece, and Marie, who had not heard
her aunt coming, who did not even feel
she was near, was seated motionless
in an armchair, pale as death, her eyes
only living, shining with supernatural
light, fixed on the clock. She had dis
carded her mourning garments and
put on the dress of her betrothal. Paul's
ring was on her finger. The terrible
silence within seemed intensified by
the bowling December winds and the
falling rain pattering on the window
panes outside.
Suddenly a violent gust opened the
window; the lamp went out, and dark
ness reigned supreme. Mrs. Duhamel,
terrified, seized with anguish, called
"Marie!" At that very moment, in
the silence following the lull of the
wind, a breath passed-an almost i'm
material yoice-a sigh-"Yes, Paul,
come"
When, hearing the cries of Mrs. Du-
hamel, the servants brought light,
they saw Marie reclining in the arm
chair, pale but as beautiful as on the
evening of her betrothal. She had
died, a divine smile on her lips, the
smile that welcomed her lover, who
had not forgotten her, but come Tor
her on the night that should have been
their wedding day.-N. O. Times-Demo-
crat.