The Morris County chronicle. [volume] (Morristown, N.J.) 1877-1915, 1907-08-20
CHAPTER XIX.
Continued.

A4Au1 Whdb nave WV J0NS 49,
pered the young man, as he leant
over him.
The effect of his sons presence on
the canon was something marvellous.
His brightness and his tenderness
worked upon him for good, as the
sunshine and the rains revive the
dropping flower. A sort of Indian
summer seemed to have set in with
him; and but for his old friends ill
ness / think he would have been as
happy as he ever was in his life,
though not quite in the old fashion.
"You may tell your Alma, Robert, .
said Aunt Maria, that her dutiful
advice to you has saved your fathers
life" She knew that way Of putting
it would please him better than If
she had praised his own unselfishness
in coming to England. "If you were
not here he would hardly stand these
distressing visits to dear Mr.. Ma
vors"
And, indeed, the spectacle of his
old friend and contemporary gradu-
ally losing his hold upon life gave
him unspeakable pain. There was
nothing, of course, terrible in such a
mans decease; no haunting fears or
distrust of the All-wise and All-merci-
full. Indeed, it would have been curl
GUS to those acquainted with the turn
of thought prevailing among men of
their stamp at Cambridge, that be-
tween these two men-both being
clergymen-the subjects so common
ly dwelt upon under such circum-
stances were rarely alluded to. They
spoke of old times with which they
were conversant, rather than of the
unknowable; of their lifelong
Though undemonstrative) friend
ship, rather than of their reunion
hereafter; of their common friends,
alive or dead. Once, however. a
something of bitterness in some re-
mark made by the dying man, sug-
gested the inquiry from his .compan-
ion, you are at peace, / trust, Ma
vors, with all men?"
with all that are worthy of the
name of man." was the stern and I'M
expected reply. Then, as if regretting
his harshness, the tutor added, with a
smile, There is not much malice and
hatred in my heart, Aldred, do as
sure you-nothing, 1 trust, to be re-
pented of in that way; a. little envy
of yourself, my friend, that's ALL"
How so?'
Because you have great posses
sions-a son, wife"
NAY, my poor wife is Dead said
the canon, soothingly, as one speaks
to a sick man whose mind has gone
astray little.
Eyes, but you have the memory of
her. Believe me, my friend, it is
well to have such memories to dwell
upon"
The canon had no prescience that
he had beheld his friend for the last
time when he walked home one after
noon with thoughtful step that grew
unconsciously more free and buoyant
as he neared the little home which
held his new-found treasure.
On his study table, however, was a
letter, the contents of which, for a
moment, put even Robert out of his
mind. 1t was in his wards hand
writing, which in itself argued moth
ing strange (for she had never ceased
to correspond with him in sup
pressed, mechanical fashion,; it had
not, as usual, been sent on to him
from the Laurels, but was directed to
his present address. 1t must have
come to Sophy's knowledge, there
fore, that he had removed to Provi-
dence Terrace. Though this was a
piece of information that might have
oozed out any day, he opened the en-
velope with no little apprehension
that she might have cleaned still fur
Their knowledge, and the first sentence
convinced him that it was so.
"Kindest and best of friends, whom
! have robbed and grieyed-dear
guardian, whose care and love have
repaid by falsehood and ingratitude
pity if you cannot pardon me. If
came to you in person (Which dare
not do, for the sight of your dear face
would kill me; and my life, other.
wise worthless, is necessary to my
child)-I say, If 1 came into your
presence and groveled at your feet
with tears and prayers, I could not
believe me, feel greater abasement
than l do, as sit here and write
these shameful words.
Until recently, though fully con
scious of my base behavior to you il
other respects, was not aware of the
ruin l had brought upon you.
thought that had only lies and de
ceit to reproach myself with-trans
gressions that have brought theil
own punishment upon me, and con
| corning which thought, therefore
! that | had some sort of right-as 4
sIch wretch as / had rights at all
to be silent. But now know wha
an irremediable injury 1 have dom
| to you and yours, it seems to me tina
no sufferings in this world can be in
flicted on me commensurate with m.
offenses. That l was but an uncon
scious instrument in the hands of an
other is no excuse for me, for, blu
| for my own misdoings. l should neve
have fallen into his hands. The his
tory of them you will find incloset
! (there was a paper in the enyelop
containing short narrative of he
first marriage, and the causes whicl
had, as she thought, compelled her 4
make the second). and when yol
| have read it, after the first sharl
,aoSn oF onoa~ and t.arraf &c 0vor m