Year: 1878

! VINO had been for three wears a wan
derer in distant lands, rot entirely iovlee
ana hopeless now, for every letter breathe,
more cheerful spirit, but still mourning
the loved and lost; ana he. 1 49, -
dearer 10 me than all the world beside
! And yet no word OF love had h.. eve
| breathed. His letters were kind, brother
! ly, nothing more. Humiliating thought
l had given my love unasked And h,
was on his way home--would soon be will
| us. But, thank heavenl he did not know
! it-he should never know it. We parted
as friends three years ago; as such VIC
would again meet.


MY aunt death was sudden and unex.
pected. l did not understand when She
spoke so ieelingly of leaving me alone in
the world, why it was she manifested so
ihuch emotion. 1t must he she had pre-.
sentiment of her approaching end, for it
was the last conversation of the kind we
ever had together.


l Will not attempt to describe the lone
ilhess OF my life after her death. felt as
II had almost lost a second mother


When her will came to be opened, it
was found that after giving a few thous-
ands to public charities, aud providing
handsomely for her old and tried servants
some OF whom had grown gray in her
service, the rest of her fortune was left to
me


sat alone in my own room some three
weeks after my aunt death, thinking of
the past and trying to decide for the flu
ture, when Willie came to me, and look
ing up inquiringly in my face and said:
"Will papa ever Gomez want to see him
so much! What makes him stay so
long,"


nd 49,, Ia. -,iu ms ne intu MS curly
head in my lap. placed my hand on his
forehead, and for the first time noticed
how hot it was.


Are you ill., Willie?"


mo, only tired Let me lie here and
rest; and put your hand on my head
again, it makes it feel so cool. F"


Strange that had been SO absorbed in
my own grief that had not noticed Viii
lie was dropping That night he was in
burning fever, and before morning in
the widest delirium. For days after he
was dangerously i'll, and the physician
gave but little hope of his recovery.


The last letter received from his father
he was in Egypt on his way home; but
that was weeks ago, and | could not i'm
agine what detained him. And oh, if
Willie should die before he reached home!
] did not think how lonely my own life
would be without him; | only thought of
his father. and most fervently prayed hea-
ven to spare him for his sake.


For days and nights scarcely left him
| administered the medicine with my own
hands, carefully noted every changing
pulse, still hoping almost against hope
The physician said | must have rest and
food, or | should take the fever too But
no persuasion of his could induce me to
leave the little sufferer whose life hung
as it were upon a thread, which the least
neglect on my part might snap asunder.


The crisis came at last--the fever lefl
him. And then, after one long night of
almost breathless anxiety to those who
watched beside his little bed, he awoke
from the death-like stupor into which he
had fallen. refreshed knew me, and asked
for his father. When the physician came
he pronounced him out of danger, and
said with careful nursing he would soon
recover.


Then, for the first time for weeks, | left
Willie and went to my own room, resolved
to take few hours rest while the little
fellow again slept. | do not know how
long | slept, but when | awoke and at
tempted to rise, my limbs refused to do my
binding. A burning thirst oppressed me;
| felt faint and dizzy, and was obliged to
lie down again.


When the physician came in the morn
ing he said his worst fears were realized
had taken the fever from Willie. For a
few days after my attack, though suffering
intensely, | knew all that was passing;
and then for days after, it might have
been weeks for aught l knew, all was a
blank But at last the violence of the
fever spent ITSELF and | awoke to con
| sCiOusness.


The first object l distinctly recognized
was Willie, who, now entirely recovered,
and beautiful as a seraph, stood by my
| bedside, eagerly watching me.


fOh, papa, she is awakel Do speak to
How do you feel. darling2''
! Such words of endearment from Ed
ward Nernon-the man who of all Others
I had most longed, yet dreaded to meet!


Better think, though feel strangely
How long have been i'll, and when did
you arrivc?"


II reached home more than week
since. 1t is some three weeks, they tel
me, since you were seized with the fever.
You have been very ill, but thank hea.
ven, you are out of danger now.


And as he said this noticed there were
tears in his eyes, and the same look of ten.
derness with which he was wont to regard
Angela Was it true? Had he indeed
learned to care for me? | closed my eyes,
hardly daring to glance at him, for there
was no mistaking the look he gave me
g. UnconsciOusly, though | softly repeated
the words. I'll am SO glad"


"Glad of what, dear one?"


Glad that you have come home again u


And | am glad to be with you once
more. Heaven willing, we will not part
again. You and Willie are all that are
left to me now" And then, taking my
hand in his he said, you were a true
mother to my boy during my lonely wan
derings; only consent to be so for all time,
and nothing but death shall again sepa
rate us.


And theft and there, without any doub
or misgiving, | promised, when healtl
and strength returned, to take Angela
place-to be Edward Vernon's wife


THE DARDANELLES.


SOME FAMOUS PASSAGES OF TIL


TRAITS-LEANDERA AND THE PRIN


CESS HELLE-THE GATE To CON


STANTINOpT E-THE STOpv or TIL