Year: 1875

grant honeysuckIe was thrown opel


and the night wind stole softly in ant


touched with wanton kisses the pal,


brow of the sufferer, and through th,


little window the sea a-song came faintl,


in and soothed with its quaint melod.


aching hearts. Ralph, Ruth and hel


aunt were there, loving watchers ovel


her wasting strength. Her physician


leaned over and counted her pulse


and then drew himself back again in


the shadow to watch her features


Willis Waters may die tonight and


leave the sweets of life untasted, and


the bitter waters of grief deeply quaffed


She had been stricken mourner be-


fore the sunny years of childhood had
scarce passed over her head. The
thoughtless, happy child was rudely
awakened from her dream of beauty
and brought face to face with the
sternest oppressor OF life. Girlhood
she never knew. Standing on the
threshold of that untried, golden realm
she was briefly summoned to join wo.
mans toiling ranks. By one grief of
life she was waited over her proud
prime, and planted among the suffer-
ing legions who throng earth's stormy
wales. By a glimmer of fate she had
crossed the widening chasm, which
when once passed denies the victim a
return. If there is such thing as
toiling to the pinnacle of grief, Willis
Waters has nov the victory. He
whom he loveth he chasteneth." Ac-
cording to that, herniche in herSavior's
heart is great and exalted, for the last
few years of her life had been hid
eous dream. interviewer with countless
ills and crushing sorrows. Is the
storm almost past2 Will the blight
ing blasts always fall pitilessly on the
lonely young orphan? Oh ! no there
are still thorns in the wreath of pro-
mise; the laurels of life are always
imperfect and scentless. and should the
brave, sorrowing woman again be raised
to the warfare, she will find, 'pre cog
nita," it is but brief journey at the
best; smiling and moaning, grieved
and elated, and then in the end comes
the heritage of all eternity. Whether
spent in elysian or tartarus is for the
decision of the great High Priest.
Willis Waters past had been shadow
ed by fear and embittered by doubt;
will not the future deal more kindly !?
All there is glimmer of peace in her
soul. bright and perpetual. A holy
calm that has hushed the fierce heart
throbbing and put at rest the culver
ing strings. She was bewildered in
gloom, she aas found her star. She
was starving for righteousness. she
partakes of the feast. Her bark was
drifting recklessly on midnight sea,
she has anchored in the haven of trust.
Willis Waters was sneering priestess
of pyrrhonism, she is now a worship
ping woman of God. Surely, now,
should the grim angel snatch her life
from the frail portals of day and wing
its away through the little space of
being, up, on to the upper court, sure
ly her soul would not be doomed. She
is happily unconscious of the conflict
between life and death. and sleeps as
sweetly as dreaming child on bed
ofroses. Life holds for her now no
charms, no terrors. No vista ofpleas-
ure allures-no frown of fate disturbs.
She IS in the summer scented realm of
sweet unconsciousness, and winged
thought is wearied. aud nestled to sleep
in the wind tossed ferns of that beau
tiful land. She is not Willis Waters,
but the victim of the duelist. She is
not the desohte orphan, but queen of
the chaos-not a woman bereft and
lonely, but a reveler in the grand
chambers of annihilation.


The sweet summer night wore on to
its close, and still the watchers bent
with breathless anxiety over the couch
of Willis. The honeysuckle' perfume
was waited dreamily and silently in
throught the little window, and the
sea song was faint and plaintive. Ruth
had written for Horace, but the days
few by and he did not come. The
distance was long and weary and she
did not despair until this night when
the spirit of Willis Waters hovered SO
closely on the confines of eternity.
But now she stood by the bedside and
watched the little light of life grow
dim and Swallowed, she wept as only a
woman can weep. Tears that well up
from the hearts deep anguish and leave
their source agonized and burdened,
woman's tears; they dispel the miasma
of life and teach to callous hearts a
lesson of purity. There is world of
meaning in a woman's sob of grief.
When her life is freighted with tempta-
tions and trials and she is stepped in
bitter experience, her heart, like the
lotus which springs from dark sullen
water and crowns itself with blossom
of purity, will rise above earth's sordid
charms.


Ruth stood by the bed and moaned
bitterly. If Willis died she did not
care to live. (Odd sentiment for a
six months bride). Her father was
gone, Horace welded to a profession,
and Carter would be precious little
comfort to her. Her husband was not
considered. Noble and true as he was,
he never possessed the thrilling fascin-
alton of love for Ruth Clifford that
was requisite for happiness. No; a
wreck in the billiard-room, heedlessly
gambling his limited patrimony away,
could at that moment make her heart
to thrill and throb as no other man
had ever done. Love once is love
eternal-charmingly verified in this
case.


The night shadows paled, and pearly