Middletown transcript., 1903-08-15
Cousin Paul.
IcoNrrNuEp FROM PAGE !,

Ills iub6fFitW WAth A1ie1es - . =
the wild walk across the downs - all
seemed far away and unreal Was it
only few hours since it had all hap
pened? 1t seemed more like a year. He
had been foolish to fret and fume over
such small matter!
The night wore away; the dawn broke;
and from the garden below came the
twittering Of awakening birds, and the
rustling Of leaves stirred by the morning
breeze. Then the sun rose. and foot
steps sounded along the corridor. Pres
emily Phyllis came in to inquire how her
aunt had passed the night.
Has she spoken? the girl asked aiix-
iously.
Paul looked at her with absent wand
ering eyes. Yesterday, and the things
Of Yesterday, seemed so far away.
Two or three days passed without any
sign Of improvement, but on The fourth
day the doctor fancied that slight
change for the better had taken place.
The patient slept more; her face ap-
peared less rigid and deathlike; and once
or twice she attempted to speak.
During the day she regained the use Of
her right hand, and the first use which
she made of her recovered strength was
to make signs that paper and pencil
should be given to her. The words
which she wrote were almost ilieglble,
but Paul contrived to make out one OF
two Of them-his own name, bureau,
and sletters and papers," He thought
that she was referring to letter which
had arrived from her lawyer few days
before. and which he had already an
swered; he nodded and smiled encourag-
ingly.
"All right, mother! answered SIM
mons's letter-don't worry yourself" ne
told ner.
Mrs. Sullivan frowned impatienty and
shook her head. Again the feeble nngers
traced few uncertain words.
"Not Simmons-for you" she wrote.
This time Paul understood. He took
the KEYS from little basket which stood
on a small table by her side and opened
the bureau. It was clumsy old-fash-
ioned piece Of furniture, such as is often
seen in farm-houses, being partly secretd're
partly chest Of drawers. The upper lid
LET down and formed desk, and within
we're pigeon-holes and drawers. Paul
noticed that his mothers eyes were fixed
on one Of the drawers, and opening 1t, ne
saw letter addressed to himself, with
the direction, "To be read after my
DEATH" He took it out and showed TO
his mother.
sIs this it? Do you wish me to read
it, now, mother?' he inquired tenderly.
Mrs. Sullivan gave slight motion OF
assent, and Paul, drawing up chair TO
the bedside, broke the seal and took out
the contents.
The first paper he opened was the copy
Of certificate Of marriage between Julla
Russell and Mark Garthorne, in 1897.
Then came another certificate OF the
marriage OF Julia Garthorne, widow,
with John Sullivan five years later.
The next was also certificate, but TINS
time Of the death Of Mark Garthorne IN
the autumn Of 1864.
Paul read them with increasing curlos-
ity and surprise; then he laid them ASIDE
and took up the remaining paper-a long
clesely-written letter in his mothers s
handwriting. 1t commenced somewhat
abruptly.
Il hoped to be able, my dear Eau,
Il ran. "to tell YOU at some not very far
distant date the news which this letter
contains.-But I have had several warn
ings lately that my hold on life is grow
ing fainter, and SO I have written this IN
case the summons should come before
the time is ripe for me to speak. You
we're too young when your father died
to remember him, or the days OF grind
ing poverty and hardship which hrmly
believe caused his death. But You know
that his father was sorely offended by
his marriage with me-a girl who was
beneath him in rank and had only GER
tain amount of good looks and clear
head to commend her to his notice. we
loved each other well, and with youth
and health on our side we could afford
to laugh at poverty, and for the first
wear or two we were very happy.
"Your father was, as you know,
clergyman. Old Sir John was the patron
of good living, and when your father
took holy orders it was with the under
standing that when the living fell vacant
it should be given to him. 1t did fail
vacant about eighteen months after one
marriage and was given by your grand
father to the son Of an old college friend
who holds it still. This was great
blow to your father ~ not only be-
cause Of the disappointment, but because
it showed so plainly Sir Johns implaca-
BILE anger against him. 1t was almost the
first time that the living had been held
by a stranger; it had always been re-
garded as suitable provision for one OF
the younger sons.
"Soon after this your fathers health
began to fail, and he was obliged to re-
linquish his curacy. was fairly well
educated, having been, before married.
a governess in school, and l succeeded
in obtaining few pupils and also earned
little money by working for one OF the
fancy shops in the town where we lived.
But it was hard work, and it grew harder
when l had young baby as well as an
invalid husband to tend.
'sYou will understand-you who know
me so well-how low my pride had fallen
when I tell you that | wrote to your
grandfather and asked for help. ! wrote
more than once, until at last my letters
were returned unopened, and | knew
that it was useless to expect any help
from that quarter. Then the news OF his