The Highland Weekly News

Original Story
Written for the News,

The Girl-Friends.

BY MARY B

CHAPTER XII.

CONCLUDED.

"She was startled, and as she passed from the room, looked back at me with an expression so touching and sorrowful, that I bowed my proud head, Nellie, and wept, though she never knew it. She never came again and pillowed her head on my shoulder, to plead with me; and I never told her that my heart would rest more peacefully, if she was there.

"I did not stay at home much; and when I was there, I was gloomy and irritable. I often saw the tears gathering in her eyes, as she sat quietly near me; and then my heart would ache, and I would firmly resolve to quit drinking, and bring the sun-light back to my Mary's life.

"She often prayed for me, kneeling down by her portrait; for she thought that I still loved her, and so I did!— At such moments a wild yearning would throb in my heart, to kneel by her side and pray with her; but pride—oh, what a mockery it is!—kept me back.

"I still attended to my business; but I became nervous and excitable, and but few came to me for paintings. Two years had passed away, when God gave us little Willie. How I loved him, Nellie, my beautiful first born! and I loved my Mary; but the curse of my sinful habit was destroying my spiritual nature, and I would taunt her, when Willie was but a child, by placing to his sinless lips the poison which was ruining me. Then the great love of the fond young mother would speak, and kneeling at my feet, she would implore me to spare her boy; not upbraidingly, but in the saddest voice I have ever heard.

"Don't weep, my child," said the old man; though the tears were in his own eyes; "don't weep, darling, she has gone to that land, where the wicked cease from troubling."

In a low, tremulous voice, he continued:

"I heard her pray again, Nellie; and she prayed that God might take Willie up to Heaven, or spare him the dreadful doom of the drunkard. One night the Death Angel did come for our boy. I bent over that little form, so dear to me, when the bitterness of death surged high. Why must he suffer so, I cried, when he never sinned? There came an answer. It seemed like one, speaking from heaven: Wonderest thou, fond father, why he suffers so?— Wonder no more! The great eternity of bliss, that is waiting for our cherub boy, is enough!"

"It was near the midnight hour when he died. I sat dumb and sorrow-stricken, under this heavy blow, but his mother tenderly closed the sweet mouth, and laid the curls back from the innocent white brow. And as she pressed the lids over the beautiful eyes, that had been so like her own, she knelt down and whispered, they will open again in the starry skies!"

"I followed my first-born to the silent grave; but instead of melting my heart to repentance, it was filled with rebellion and bitterness.

"I sat that evening by the dim light of a candle, gloomy and desolate, and wondered why Mary did not come.— At last her light footstep fell across the floor and I turned towards her, for I felt very lonely. Never shall I forget how she looked. She was dressed in her bridal robes; the faded bridal wreath twined in her hair. She came and knelt at my feet, and her voice was earnest and impassioned, as she spoke:

"You'll take me to your heart once more, dear husband? See, I have come, the same as when you took me first, only the flowers have faded, like my hopes. Oh, take me to your heart once more! Willie is gone, and you are all that's left to love me. Oh, do not turn me away!"

"I clasped her to my bosom, and bathed her sweet face with my tears; and once more solemnly promised to drink no more.

"When I laid down with her in my arms that night, she fell asleep first.— I looked, and a happy smile was on her countenance.

"Oh! my child! would that I could tell you I kept my promise sacred!— Would that I could pass over the lapse of one year of my life, as though I had never lived in. I grew worse! I went down—down—more rapidly! My business was neglected, and we became poor, very poor; and soon I had no means to satisfy my terrible appetite.

"One fatal night, I took her portrait, and gave it to the dram-seller, till I could redeem it. How its beauty mocked me and the lustrous eyes seemed to look sad and reproachful, as I did the shameful deed.

"I did not drink much that night.— My remorseful heart would turn back to the days when I first met my Mary. I heard a jest, and a laugh, and a scornful finger was pointed towards her portrait. My brain took fire! 'Give it to me,' I cried; 'let me take it from this accursed place!'

"Sir,' said the heartless liquor-seller, 'do you know what you are saying? do you know where you are? When you pay for your dram you can have that picture, and not till then.'

"A smothering sensation came over me. I rushed out into the open air and hastened home! As I entered, I heard a voice, and stopped to listen.— 'How long, how long will it be?' the voice gently murmured. I stepped into the room. It was Mary. She looked startled when I entered.

"What were you saying?' I asked, abruptly.

"I was thinking how long it will be, till I shall sleep beside Willie. The grass waves so sweetly there. I want to lie down too I feel so weary. If you would only think of me, sometimes, when I am gone; think how I've loved you. If you would only come too, darling, I'd weave a crown of white blossoms, to rest on your dear head.'

"Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes unusually bright. I looked at her, sitting there, so angel-like, with such unutterable love shining in her eyes, and told her in trembling words that her portrait was gone! She returned my gaze, as though the last hope of her life was dead; and with a cry of anguish, that I never shall forget, she sank senseless at my feet.

"I lifted her up, and pressed her to my heart, and the love of years thrilled my very being. I called her by endearing names, but she answered only in delirium. I laid her upon her bed, and for the first time in long years, knelt down and prayed.

"When morning came I summoned a physician; for she continued to grow worse through the night. He pronounced her sickness a dangerous brain fever. Days passed on; still she grew worse, and they told me one evening, my Mary must die.

"I started up in horror! Could it be possible? I begged her to speak one word of forgiveness; but she talked in her delirium of green trees and blooming flowers, far away. I prayed wildly for that life so dear, and God pitied me, and spared her!

"The spell of the tempter was broken at last! I returned to the man who had robbed me of so much peace, and redeemed the portrait. He set out a glass of brandy, telling me I looked pale, and it would do me good. I dashed it to the floor, and told him, thank God, that I was a free man!

"Oh, how I detest the poison, that robbed me of so much joy—that destroyed the youthful vigor of my frame, and almost murdered my wife! Oh, Nellie, Nellie! tears, bitter tears! the ruin of all that is holy and good, all that is worth living for, follows after the dark and fearful footsteps of Intemperance!

"When my poor Mary returned to consciousness, and saw her portrait hanging in its accustomed place, she smiled; but the tears would come when she saw my care-worn countenance; though I told her I had never been more happy in my life. Then I told her I was saved! and oh Nellie! our anthems of praise and thanksgiving to God went up together, joyfully.

"The succeeding years brought us much peace and happiness. I recovered what I had lost, and more; and in this very month, a score of years ago, I brought my Mary to this beautiful home. I have knelt with her here in this room to pray; and often have we sat out there on the piazza, while she sung sweet songs, till the twilight faded into darkness.

"But all earthly happiness is fleeting, and when God gave you to me, Nellie, he took her to Himself. It did not seem like death, the light of her life went out so peacefully. Her voice comes back to me across the labyrinth of seventeen years, and my soul thrills, as I hear again the last words that lingered in its holy music. 'Twas not my name she breathed, though I know she loved me fondly,— Neither for you, Nellie, were her dying words, though I know her heart was yearning, with all mother's tenderness, over her babe. But with a smile whose angelic sweetness has followed me all along the journey of life, she murmured, 'My Redeemer!' and went home.

"The tears will flow, Nellie, and my voice will falter, for my heart is full of those pleasant memories. Sometimes, in the still night, I seem to hear her songs again; but the melody comes from afar off—it seems to float to me from beyond the stars; and it is sweeter and holier than before. The garland of white blossoms is ready, and 'twill not be long, darling Mary, till we meet again."

One evening, when the world was radiant in its summer glory, there was a touching scene in the home of Mr. Lyle. The Girl Friends, arrayed in white robes, stood by the side of their chosen ones, to be united. There was no flash of jewelry, no rustle of satin, no dancing, no revelling there. With the few friends they loved best, the holy blessing of the dying old man resting upon them, they were wedded.

It had been his request; "for Nellie," he whispered, "I think this evening will be my last." But the dark wing of the Death Angel did not shadow the bridal eve.

'Twas not till the third evening afterward, that the parting hour drew nigh.

It had been a warm, sultry day, and a wild storm came up. The old man called his children around him. He took Eda to his aged bosom. At his request they lifted his trembling hand, and laid it upon her head, and he blessed her. Sweet, little lamb! She knew not the solemn meaning of all this. She prattled sweetly in her baby tongue, and tangled her tiny hands in his white hair.

The old man thought his life would close in the hour of the storm. But it was not to be. A glorious rainbow bent above the world, making it beautiful in its sudden light. Oh, the smile that came over the dying man's face!

"Lift me up," he said, "lift me up, that I may look out once more."

They threw aside the window curtain by his bed, lifted his head on his child's arm, and he looked up.

"Who could mistrust such a God?" he faintly murmured; then closed his eyes, and sank heavily in his daughter's arms.

With these words upon his lips, a seraphic smile hovering over his majestic face, he died. The shroud of death rested lightly upon his venerable form, and they laid him down to sleep, by Mary.

Philip and Elsie took up their residence in their bright country home.— Nellie lingered with her loved ones, where all things were dear and sacred to her young heart.

How beautiful the lives they live, by Faith! When their life-path, shadowed here and there with sorrows, merges to a close, like others they must be laid in the silent grave. But after a "night of sleep," far beyond the moon and stars, with their tears wiped away, they will all come again!

THE END.