Year: 1873

1ney talked OF other things, her plans
ior the summer, her father. There was
the slightest undertone of sadness in Nor
mans voice, but he concealed the pain at
his heart with quiet forttude.


When somewhat later he rose to go, |
she leit perfectly assured that her mean
Ing was plain TO him. She gave hin her
hand-a COOL soft hand, but with firm
toucll-and said in her gracious way, with
her voice SO musical, SO sweet, and so
cold:


II shall always count you among my
friends, Mr.. Norman. and shall not easi-
~ forget the pleasant hours we have spent
together"


He took her hand in the lghtest clasp,
ana said easily, though his face was still
pale, "Good-night and good-by!' and he
was gone.


When Miss Ashley sat in her own room
that night, combing her long, bright hair
that crowned her stately head. she said
half aloud and sighed:


Poor boy! How eloquent his eyes were
before checked his words. 1t was quite
impossible, of course,''


But through her dreams those dark eyes,
SO full of beauty in their pleading tender
ness seemed to follow her with reproach.


John Norman walked slowly across the
short space between the Ashley house and
his own home. The fresh green grass
was just as soft beneath his feet as it was
few hours ago, the breeze, that blew
softly on his face. as cool and fragrant.
the golden stars shone as brightly in the
unclouded sky, natures infinite rest and
peace was as deep and full, and yet how
| changed for him! He had never UNDER
stood until now how strong had been his
hope of winning this beautiful woman.
As well might l stretch out my arms and
cry for one of the stars to fall, thought he
bitterly.-For wild moment he doubted
if there were any object in life for him,
and thought how blissful to sleep the sleep
that no pain or sorrow can awaken. Why
had he permitted himself to hopeP But
had it been possible for him to do other
wise than love and aspire, after he had
seen her? Had he not struggled against
the sweet influence that drew him And
she-this devotion that filed his heart and
life was the merest ripple in her calm ex
istence.
however; the self-denial, and quiet, ear
nest endeavor OF his every day life made
it easier for him to bear this trial than any
Soui. but Hc COulu UOt
talk that night. He kissed his mother
with fervor but in silence, and she, seeing
his pale face, and the lines of pain
about his mouth, half OWNED the cause
and forebore to question him. So he left
her, and going up to his own room, shut
himself in with the darkness and his sor-
row.


Miss Ashley left in the morning. and
lnt hoe lin tn, J, TNbY
man 5 wound, until by and by there re-
manned only the carefully hidden scar. It
was impossible, he thought. that he should
love another, or dispace from its shrine
Helen's beautiful image. AS well might
some pious Catholic dethronc Mary, moth
er of God, the holy embodiment of wom-
lnhood and motherhood. and exat in her
place some inferior saint. But he could
live and work, without despair, and with
out losing his faith in goodness and truth.
The purity and unselishness of his life
and character won him even worldly sue
cess, in an age when honesty and ntegri-
ty seem at u discount, and shrewdness
and greed at premium. Like Sir Gala
had


''iIis strength was as the strength often,
Because his heart was pure"
In a few years he became member Of
the firm of which he had been clerk.
His increased means made it possible
for him to adorn his mothers life with cer-
tain elegancies and refinements she had
always !onged for. But he could not keep
her long with him. The seeds OF disease,
sown. in the early days of privation and
poverty, began now to bear their fatal
fruit. She grew weaker day by day, but
was so quiet, so brave, SO patient that
John scarcely suspected the truth until a
few days before her death. Then she
called him to her, and taking his hand and
looking up into his face with loving pride
in her large dark eyes, said to him very
gently, but cheerlully,


"John, you have seen, and it will not
shock you, if tell you must soon leave
you"


But thought, mother-the physician
does not say


NO, John, dear, not in so many words,
but feel it 10 be true, and you will hear
me, / have one last request to make
When | shall fall asleep anu you can keep
me no longer with you. you will open my
husbands grave and lay me on his breast.
can scarcely believe, after all the years
he has lain in the cold arms of death, he
will not take me to his heart"
And she repeated softly the words that
have stirred so many hearts:
"she is coming, my own, my sweet,
Were 1t SO airy tread,


| My heait would hear her and beat,
Were 1t earth in an earthly bed;
| My dust would hear her, anu beat,
| Had lain for Il century dead.
| Would start and tremble under her feet
And blossom in purple and red."
No one would have suspected the quiet,


practical, subdued woman ofsuch passion


ate depth of affection, or of so much poet
ic feeling. but as she looked forward. and


beyond her son, with such holy, tender
light in her eyes, such wistiul, yearning


expression, like that of child, on her
lips. this woman of fifty seemed to see


again, with the vision of youth and love,
her husband, whom death had taken from


her twenty years before.


So, not long aflerward, the faithful


heart was laid TO rest on the beloved dust,


.'dust unto DUST" and John Norman was
alone.


Some months after, and FIVE years since
his parting with Helen Ashley, he sat in
church on warm June morning. He
was somewhat worn and tired, half in
clned to ask himself concerning his life