Wausau pilot. [volume] (Wausau, Wis.) 1896-1940, 1906-01-16
CHAPTER XVI.

A solemn calm came down upon the
house at Graybridge, and for the first
time Isabel Gilbert felt the presence of
death about and around her, shutting out
all the living world by its freezing influ-
ence. The great iceberg had come down
upon the poor frail bark. 1t almost
seemed to Isabel as if she and all in
that quiet habitation had been encom-
passed by a frozen wall through which
the living could not penetrate.
It was quite in vain that Mrs. Jeffson
urged her to so upstairs to the room
opposite that in which the surgeon lay;
it was quite as vainly that the good
woman entreated her to go and look at
him. now that he was lying so peace
fully in the newly arranged chamber, to
lay her hand on his marble forehead.
so that no shadow of him should trouble
her in her sleep. The girl only shook
her head forlornly.
So in that familiar room, whose ey-
cry scrap of shabby furniture had been
n part of the monotony of her life. Isabel
Gilbert spent the first night of her wild
owhood, lying on the little sofa, nervous
Iy conscious of every sound in the house.
feverishly wakeful until long after the
morning sun was shining through the
yellow-white blind, when she fell into
an uneasy doze, in which she dreamed
that her husband was alive and we'll.
She did not arouse herself out of this.
and vet she was never thoroughly asleen
throughout the time, until after 10
o'clock; and then she found Mrs. Jeff
son sitting near the little table, on which
the inevitable cup of tea was smoking
beside a plate of the clumsy kind of
bread and butter inseparably identified
with George Gilbert in Isabers mind.
There's somebody wants to see you.
if you're well enough to be spoken to,
my dear" Matilda said, very gently; for
she was inclined to think that. perhaps.
after all, Graybridge had judged this
helpless school girl creature rather harsh
ly. Take the tea, my dear: l made it
strong on purpose for you; and try and
cheer up q bit, poor lassie: you're young
10 wear your widows weeds, but he was
fit TO go. If all of us had worked as
hard FOR the good of other folks. we
could afford to die as peaceful as he
did"
You're very kind to me-" Isabel said
you uSeu 10 tnlHh Jnat L was wicked,
/ know, and then you seemed very un-
kind But l always wished to be good.
l should like to have been good. and to
die young, like Georges mother"
Mr. Raymond. from Conventford. is
here. It's early for him to be so far as
Graybridge; but he looks as pale and
worn-like as if he'd been up and about
all night. He was all struck of heap
like when l told him about our poor
master"
"Tn go to him. Mrs. Jefson." she
said rising slowly. He was always
very good to me. But, oh, how the
sight of him viii bring back the time
at Conventford. when George used TO
come and see me on Sunday afternoons.
and we used to walk together in the cold,
bare meadowsp'
Mr.. Raymond was waiting in the best
parlor-that sacred chamber which had
been so rarely used during the parish
surgeons brief welded life-that prim-
ly arranged little sitting room. which al
ways had a faint odor of old-fashioned
potpourri; the room which Isabel had
yearned to beautify into bower of
chintz and muslin. The blind was down
and the shutters half closed: and in the