Year: 1862

to face in ' the valley of the shadow of death.
Buoyed up to the last with hope, that might ebb
and flow, but had never wholly fOrsaken them
the doctors warning fell heavily indeed on their
hearts; and the pangs of parting came upon
them with premature and unlOoked-toT bitter
ness


q could have wished to live little longer
with you," said tbs sick lady, in a momentaTy


ull of tears, " aud not to leave the bonnie little
children so soon with no mother to care for them;
but Phillip, you viii promise me this, it is my
dying request-do dot put them in the power Of
mother who is not their own; such are always
cruel. For the memory of me, dear Phillip, and
for the sake Of the children, promise me not to
marry again.


Phillip Stourton was silent he felt all the on
erous conditions which promise of this nature
involved. However much he loved his wife
and he loved her devotedly-yet he saw what
his partner could not see, that in depriving him
self Of his freewill to act, he might be creating
for himself life long burden and sorrow. But
his wife renewed her entreates, and, clasping
him around the neck in a passion Of tears, be-
sought him not TO refuse the request of one so
near to the grave. With those dark, beseeching,
dying eyes upon him, he could not deny the pc
tition; he promised Nay, she begged him even
to swear that he would be faithful to her memory,
and never wed a second wife; and Phillip StOur-
ton took the oath, his reluctance vanquished by
an importantly which it seemed almost cruelty
to resist


The nurse who tended Phillips wife was
women OF peculiar Temperament, strictly up
right, but fanatcal in her notions of duty, and
with a strong selfwill. She was an old servant
and had been in the family of Mrs. Stourton's
father many years, and had been selected to ac-
company the young lady at the marriage She had
a sincere attachment TO her mistress who trusted
and favored her, and when the fact became
known that Mrs. Stgurton could not recover, her
grief was violent and uncomfortable. On the
day following the scene above described, Phillip
StourtOn walking almost noiselessly into his
wife's sick chamber, observed the nurse bending
over the poor invalid, and taking from her
hands letter, whilst some whispered inStruc-
tionS were being given as to its careful delivery.
His entrance seemed 10 disturb them somewhat;
but he was too heavy of heart to heed anything
except the pale face which looked wistiully at
him from the pillow It was sorrowful day,
for before il closed his young wife died in bis
arms.


During the months of desolate solitude which
followed his bereavement, the circumstance of
the promise he had given never once recurred to
his mind. The great grief swallowed up all
minor responsibilities of life. His loss was ir-
reparable, his sorrow inconsolable; with his
heart sealed up, as he fancied and wished,
against consolation, he went on his eheerless
way. But the influences which nature brings
to bear upon us in our misfortunes, though
slow and silent in their operation, are in the end
irresistible Grieving constantly over his loss,
Phillips sorrow grew less poignant His chill
d,en became more dear to him, and, to greater
degree than he had thought possible, grew to
supply the place Of his dead wife. By degrees
theiI merriment became less grating to his cars.
There were times, too, when his disposition re-
covered its natural tone intervals Of foTgetful-
ness of the past, OF hopefulness for the future.
The children found kind but strict foster
mother in their nurse; and his household was a
fairly ordered household yet, though not the
bright and complete one which he knew before
the spoiler had trespassed upon it.


So Phillip StourtOn lived through his trouble,
and found, after while, in his children, his
calling, and his books, both comfort and tran
guilty.


In his profession OF an architect he worked
steadily and successfully he loved it because
he excelled in it, and labor of any kind blunted
the sense of pain and loss. wealthy manu-
fEcturer had employed him in the erection of
some extensive business premises, and alter
wards Of private mansion; and, on the COM
pletion Of the latter, arranged pleasant party
to celebrate tine circumstance. To this pleasant
gathering the architect received q kindly-worded
invitation. Philip debated with himself whether
he should accept it, and finally concluded to do
so. His wife had now been dead two years,
during which time he had altogether refrained
from society In his happier days he had been
anything but recluse, for gay and buoyant
temperament had made him the fayorite of many
circles; and now the natural desire to mix with
men once more began to find place in bis mind.
His promise occasionally REQUIRED to memory,
7farr
or -uneasiness. 1t was no fear on this score that
had Influenced his mode of life hitherto; and he
thougla not at all of the circumstances when he
consented at last to break in on the seclusion
which had become habitual Once under the
roof of his hospitable friend, Philips mind
quietly took a coloring of cheerfulness and
gaiety In keeping with the scene. This gaiety
was, in fact its most natural phase, and the long
constraint served no doubt to make each pleas
urabe impression more vivid. 1t has been said
that he was well fitted to shine in such gather
ings; he seemed to regain all his old powers on
this occasion. Had the reunion been specially
and cunningly planned las it was not) to allure
him back into the circle OF living sympathies,
the object could scarcely have been accomplish
ed more effectualy. The lights, the music, the
wine, conversation, and Tepartee, the fair and
happy faces about him, made up an atmosphere
which nature like his could not resist. And
when Philip returned to his sombre hearth, the
shadows seemed less dense, and life more low
able than before for we look at life through the
coloring medium of inward feelings, aRd to these
human in ercourse is like sunshine. But was
there no special reason beyond for this revulsion
in Philip Stourton's mind lie might have
answered there was no other; but it was whis-
pered that bright glances had shOne upon and
fascinated him. Pshaw glances, indeed Yes,
but they were Honor Westwoods glances, and
Honor was a very lovely girl.


She was the niece and ward OF Mr.. WestWOod,
their host; his heiress, also, it was said. Phil
lip admired her beauty, and felt, perhaps, lit


tie hattered by her favor But he was not to be
taken by the first pretty face that CHANGED to
look his way. Not in the least.


But Phillip had or made an errand to the great


house within few days, when an opportunity
was afforded to him Of Judging whether he had


not oVerestmated the young lady's beauty and


courtesy on his FIRST visit; matter which Curl


ously interested him, and exceedingly favorable


to the lady were the conclusions he came to.
Then more than once, OF twice, or thrice did


he repeat his visit, and gradually from his heart


and his hearth faded the dark shade which fell
upon them when his dear wife died.


One night, after a prolonged visit to the West


woods, Phillip Stourton returned home. and sal
down IN his silent study with a flushed and


troubled brow He tried to read, but after turn


ing a page or two the book was thrown aside


and he sat with thoughtful eyes before the fire


absorbed in Teverie, Not very pleasant were


his reflections, to judge from the muttered words
/ that escaped him now and then, betraying the
theme on which his thoughts were busy HI
had subjected himself to an influence which
| few can long resist, more especially when th


mind has been acted upon by sorrow and soil


t..lo IL. lo,,nI hirnasall sud larIr IN lnrhlael