The Montgomery advertiser., 1905-06-20
IN MERcY'S NAME.
BY GEORGE T. PARDY.

man garden at Munich, chatting oVei foaming stein of beer that my friene Captain De Longhe. of the French z4tn Hussars told me this story. It all came about through the custom of Quartering the soldiers on the town folk wherever we went. At the tune speak of we were maneuverlns al Toulon. D It was late. about II o'clock at night. when I found myself standing at the door of the old stone house to which the quartermaster had directed me. A venerable old man appeared in an- swer to my ring.
 Upon my explaining the object Of my visit he bowed his head sorrowfully and without speaking led the way to an inner room.
 "Sir," said he, when in answer to a courteous wave of his hand I had seated myself. You will pardon the sadness of your welcome. My daugh- ter is dangerously Ill. Her husband is. like yourself, captain of artillery, and now with the army in Algiers. She Is delirious and does not recognize us, but is constant ly calling for him. He has been sent for, every day we have expected him and when we heard of the rattling of your spurs on the steps we dared to hope"
 Here the old man paused and his lips quivered pitifully, as he strove to control himself.
 The accents of a weak, girlish voice trembied across the hall. Are you not coming, Jean? I know 1t Is you. Oh, father. why does he lin ger? I have waited so long and
 heard-I heard him come in!" There followed a sound of feeble but passionate sobs. The old man gazed at me in mute hopeless agony She truly believes he has arrived" he whispered noarsely. "Ah, sir, If l | dared but beg of you-' He paused, our eyes met and in that one glance we understood each other. To gratify the wish of a dying soul would 1t not be we'll? I arose and said, Surely 1t would be for the best-it may be but little while-1 will go to herw
 The old mans eyes sparkled 'The good God bless you. captain" he exclaimed; it is harmless decep- tion and may comfort my poor childs last moments"
 Together we stepped softly toward the bed chamber and entered. penetrating odor of ether filled | the air and the rays of a tiny lamp
 glimmered feebly through the dark ness. I drew near the bed where the young woman lay.
 At last!" she murmured softly Gently I bent over her, fearing lest | each light breath night be her last. | She spoke again.
 And it is really you-you at last, | my love. Come closer. I can hardly l see you. I am so sick, so very sick, and have so much to tell you, dearest | one"
 The great dark eyes aglow with the | fires of fever. met mine and the | parched lips murmured: Kiss me, dear"
 Reverently I touched her forehead with my lips. Then as the wistful | eyes still rested upon me with the painful intensity that lack of reason gives. closed them with gentle kisses,
 caressing her brow. cheek and soft. dark hair. with nothing but sad joy Imust leavo you soon, Jcan," she
 said ''Slt beside me. dear, and hold
 my hand"
 l I took her burning hand in mine. 1 T am now happy. dear." she whis
 pered faiI.tly al d seemed to fall into
 slumber.
 At the foot of the bed stood the old
 man. and as my eyes grew accustomed
 to the gloom I could make out the
 outlines of another figure huddled in
 a chair. It was the mother watching
 by her child's death bed ! I thought over the strangeness of
 my position. This young creature of
 whose existence an hour ago I had not
 been aware. now revealing the ten- 'derest thoughts of her loving heart to | me! | What of the husband who might ar
 rive at any moment, to find stranger l seated beside his dying wife7 | But, after all, what mattered it?
 Jealousy could scarcely exist in the very shadow of death, and for myself
 I cared not. Several times she awoke and spoke | of old time memories. her fancy roam
 ing back through the vanished years. | That night by the sea, dearest" she | said. You remember, do you not, the
 moonlight on the water-the song of
 the waves and what they told us? i And afterwards. how long we stood by | the open window watching--watching | where the path of silver lay across the | beach," Her little hand pressed mine con- vulsivcly. as though to enforce those | golden dreams of past in which I had | no part.
 Earnestly I entreated her not to | speak, fearing to be drawn into the intimacies of that lost life. Yet l dared not arouse her suspicious. and thereby destroy the effects of the | kindly deception which was quleting | the pain of her last hours. Often she spoke, and reverently l heard the revelation of pure woman's heart. I felt as though in a sanctu- ary through which there thrilled in a silver monotone the confessions of an angel.
 Slowly the dreary night passed away. At times her pulse beat rapid ly and then slowly. feeling like the heart throbs of a bird imprisoned in my hand. At length the clock struck and in the distance I heard the shrill- ing of the bugle that summoned me to roll call.
 She was sleeping peacefully as I gently disengaged my hand from her grasp and left the house.
 
 Six months passed before visited Toulon again. My heart was heavy with forebodlngs as I approached the house for l feared to listen to the tidings of what had transpired since that even tful night. s
 But the father met me joyously.
 All was well, that night had been the turning point of the fever. The husband arrived when the crisis was over. To him the parents condded the story of my visit and the strange de- celt that had been practiced.
 It had been kept secret as far as the innocent invalid was concerned. and to her the hours had spent beside her were a blank.
 The old nan led me to Q window overlooking the garden.
 She Is there-my child. whose life you saved he said simply.
 Clad in loose, white gown, she lay in reclining chair among the flowers. The sun was setting and the western aNENV z11w. l | AG -s,1l