Year: 1879

Now, from the farther end of the room
he comes towards her She does not hear
him, and she does not look up. In the
shadows of the room she sees the vision
of the man she loves. Her hand goes out
with the same nervous movement as if to
welcome him, but meets only the handker-
chief; and, as before, her fingers trace their
way along it to its ragged edge. And now
her face is turned from the window and
follows the movements Of her hands, Now
for the first time throughout the day the
vacant eyes seem to brighten, the dreamy
look passes off and she sees the object she
is touching. She grasps it quickly as if
with some sudden feeling; then drops it,
as if the memory of that feeling panied her.
Its fall to the ground releases with fiut-
ter the ragged parts and the pieces lie be-
fore her, parted and alone.


Like my love-" she murmurs like
my love-


mo, Ida darling not like me; and am
| not your love?"


She looks up and sees her father, who
bends over her very gently and very, very
lingeringly. Then he seats himself beside
her, and asks again:


cam | not your love, Ida p''





But she turns away her head, and once
more that handkerchief, with its ragged
pieces lying parted on the floor, meets her
eye, and when she turns to her father again,
a tear, hot and glistening, falls upon his
hand and tells another tale.


They had come at last--the tears which
had so long refused to relieve her, flow now,
andheld in her fathers arms she weeps
from her weary, broken heart
On bright day in May-May again, when
nature seemed bursting in her fillness and
the land looked very beautiful-a train
started on its way across the country to the
old county town of midland shire, bear
ing to his home a man "come back to
die"


Come back to die? He, with his tall
form, broad chest and bronzed face? He,
Yet nature, which. disown her as we NAV,
compels us to yield to her demands, and
nature had cried out "Heme" and he had
strangers, unknown, perhaps unburied.


And yet, when spring has clothed the
land again in all her beauty. it scarcely
seems the time to die Still, would
rather die in the spring time, and draw my





beneath some young, fresh budding tree,
than to leave the earth in her term of dark
ness ana chilly wintering. Some such feel
ing must have been felt by the king, stern
ruler though he had been, who could not
die within palace walls or cloistered abbey,
whose soul demanded that he should look
upon nature in her beauty, for it could not
out "of door or window


Ach ho tI,n I'll L.. - L;,L L.
asked himself, in doubt and irresolution,
why had he returned? And he answered
himself, that time had thrown doubt up
on words which, when he had heard them
uttered. seemed to bear but one meaning.
Now he asked himself if he had not with
jealous soul hastily placed upon them
construction they were not meant to bear.
Was his the error? Better far to solve the
qucstion-to forgive, and. if need be, to be
forgiven.


When, toward the close of that May day,
the train reached the journey end, Gerald
Edwards, Tor it was he, looked once more
upon the well-remembered scenes.


AS the chaise brought him from the sta
ton, and he turned his face toward the viii
lage home he had left in such bitterness
of heart, who shall say what feelings,
what emotions passed through his breast?


Was the old anger deadp Was the hope
of life quite gomez


The chase ratified on through the deep
ening gray of evening, and the traveller
passed through old and well-remembered
spots to his home. Did recollections of
old and happy days come crowding in up
on him like ''troops of friends" to well
come him on his return?


Welcome? From whomp From-not-
not from her-she was dead, he knew
but from his brother.


SO he had returned to see the old place,
to hear once more the voice that had
laughed with his in childhood, and diving
to lie near her who even yet he found
filled the one place in his thoughts and his
heart, and the tress of whose bright gold
en- hair laid upon his breast still beating
from love of her.


And now, when the chaise has reached
his village home, he fears the coming
meeting at the farm, and dares not think
it may be happy there. He leaves the
chaise at the corner of lane that leads
away up to the quiet village church. and
bids the driver go slowly on, forgetting
for the moment where it would lead him
only wishing for the respite of few min
uteS anu the quiet OF the evenlng-he
walks on until he stands under the grand
old trees by the dear old church. and finds
around him tombstones, heading quiet
graves dotting the green of the church
yard. Beneath him lies the village, and
he can make out every turn of the road
way, tracing it along nearly to the other
end OF the churchyard. Would it have its
old red glow OF freight in the kitchen,
blazing through the window, winter and
summer?


Acting upon the impulse of his thoughts
he crossed the churchyard toward the
other. trembling, not from the ghostly
dimness of the place, but from very eager
ness. He was weak he knew, and the ex-
citement he thought would pass off. But
before he could reach the spot he had pro-
posed to himself; before he could view
the farm, the home to which he was re-
turning now, he stopped as though
struck


There before him stood the box-like
stone which marked the entrance to the
Rutland vault. He came up to it so sud-
denly. and yet he knew it so well, but had
not thought, that he staggered as though