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"Mr. Bunter."
At the sound of her loved voice his
eyelids quivered and unclosed.
"The convention have nominated their
candidate"
His eyes were fixed upon her fondly.
"Tho nominee is General—"
It is doubtful whether he heard, or un-
derstood, or cared; hut his eyes were
fixed most fondly upon her --his lips
moved. She knelt down by hies and
bowed her head to his. His eyes lin-
gered over her lovingly; idly he toyed
with her silken ringlets. And she bent
.and kissed his altered brow again and
again—many times, repressing the flood
of tears ready to burst forth.
He spoke in a low, tattering, broken
voice, with many interruptions. He said:
'My Augusta, 1 was strong and should
have sustained thee—wise (in men's.
opinion) and should have taught thee—
able and should have cherished, and
shielded, and comforted thee—but I
have deprived thee of rest, of friends, of
home, of all that makes up the domestic.
and social happiness of a woman. And
thou hast revised the rule—thou hast
cherished, inspired; and strengthened
ms." There was a pause, during which
he continued to play idly with her ring-
lets, while he gazed into her face with
a look of mournful, remorseful tender-
ness; then he resumed: "My Augusta,
all the rest, comfort, happiness 1. have
known in life have come from thee. Since
I have known thee, all, Augusta, all.
Do you think the people ever thanked
ine--ever loved me for the health,
strength, life, expended in their service?
Never, Augustly never! (Nor, indeed,
did. I ever labor for thanks, or love, or
any other refinement of pay.) And. you
---did you ever reproach me for the loss
of borne, neighborhood, familiar friends,
a1 that makes even the poorest laborer's
wife happy? Never, my own! never, I
am sure of ib, even in thought."
She had not as yet replied to him, be-
cause she could not trust herself to do
so; her heart was too full. But now she
lifted up her head and spoke, in a chok-
ing voice:
"Ohl did you not know I knew you
loved me all the time? That your love
was the best, dearest, crowning blessing.
of my life? Oh, don't'you know that I
never desired anything better,than
duet to be, with ' you, whrever
your duty called you? Ohl must 1 tell
you now, at this late hour, that there
was nothing earthly I valued so much
as your presence—nothing I dreaded so
much as a. parting."
"And vet, Augusta, we must part."
"Ne, no, not so -1 Teel it --the grave
cannot divide thee and me," thoughtthe
lady, but she did not speak.
He was gazing on Ater with unutter-
able affection -he slowly raised his
nearly powerless hand and laid it on her
bowed head.
"God bless thee. .God bless thee, as I
am sure he will."
Ile has blessed me—blessed me richly
in thy love."
11e remained silent so long that she
thought he had dropped off into a doze,
but when she looked up, his hands were
folded, and his eyes raised—he was en -
caged in client prayer. This was Ikler
longest conversation that they had held
since bis attack, and it was the Iast con-
fidential one.
For there were fresh arrivals of visi-
tors at the Hall every day, and almost
every hour. Since the news of Mr.
Hunter's illness had been bruited abroad
and especially since it was kpown that
the great statesman really lay upon his
deathbed his friends and admirers from
all parts of the country flocked to hie
neighborhood and called at the Hall.
Mrs. Hunter received all corners with
her usual air of suave and stately cour-
tesy, and the composed manner of the
lady misled them at first eight to argue
a snore hopeful condition of the invalid
than had been reported. In which respect
they were soon undeceived. The most fa -
or, to speak exactly, with well-mean-
ing but mistaken zeal they obtruded
themselves upon the dying , statesman,.
filling his room to the exclusion of his
own family, effectually preventing all
private communication with then!, ex-
cept it were obtained by the formal cere-
mony of turning out the intruders and
summoning the others, and totally hind-
ering those little impromptu words of
affection or expressions of his will
which it might have comforted his afflic-
ted wife and daughter to have remem-
bered and fulfilled.
It was in death as it had been in his
life.
Then the illustrious statesman had
never been able to keep an hour of his
time, an event of his life, scarcely a
thought of his brain, or an affection of
his heart, apart from the intrusion, the
espionage, the criticism or the sympathy
of the multitude.
Now they invaded his chamber—they
crowded around his dying bed to the ex-
clusion of his own beloved ones.
True, Augusta kept her station near
the head of his bed, but she might not
speak to, or hear from him one warm
heart word, for there was always e.
clergyman or two bending over his pil-
low, a half-dozen brother Senators and
Representatives and others near, and
worse than all, two reporters, hovering
in the passage near thechamber door,
and peeping in and stippling down their
hieroglyphic every time it was opened.
As Daniel Hunter had lived in public,
so he must die in public. And he was go-
ing fast—hourly his senses waned.— he
fell gradually into the stupor preceding
death.
He lay in this state for several hours,
during which all attempts to attract his
attention proved utterly futile, except
when his wife would bend over him, take
his hand and Iook into hie eyes—then the
fast stiffed fingers would try to close
around hers—and the failing eyes would
soften with affection or lighten. with
Intelligence. Long after lie was entirely
insensible to all other external impres-
sions he recognized her touch and her
glance. He knew her to the last. The
hearth the heart! it is the first to live,
the last to expire! He knew her to the
last.
And, therefore, site never left him
again.
After. having spent days and nights
byIris bedside, against the expostulations
of friends and physicians, Dr. Henry,
their old family practitioner, took her
hand and felt her pulse.
"Mrs. Hunter," he said, "most positive-
ly you must leave this room; go and
take some refreshment and lie down and
sleep. You yourself, are sinking fast"
"And I assure you, doctor. I should
sink faster any where else but here"
He looked at her, her hollow eyes,
and cheeks, and temples, her ashen hue,
and dropped her wrist, and turned away
with a deep sigh. The lady said:
"Be easy about me, clear friend. I ant
well enough. They say the heart know.
eth its own bitterness.' I say it knowete
its own blessedness as well!"
* * *
At noon that day Falconer arrived by
the new railroad at the Summit station.
Here the young man made inquiries, and
received information that raised his anx-
iety'to the highest pitch. He procured a
horse and galloped rapidly to Howlet
Hall.
As he crossed the Barrier, entered the
Hollow, and approached the house, every-
thing revealed the passage of some mo-
mentous event. Four or five carriages,
mud spattered and with wearied horses,
stood neglected before the door. The
footpaths were upswept. and the stairs
leading up to the portico unwashed for
many days.
The front door was ajar; the knocker
was muffled. No servant was in at-
tendance. He entered the hall; that, tom.
was dusty, empty and neglected. He
rapped gently with the end of 'his riding
whip. Then a man servant came out
vored of his personal and political from a side room. Falconer knew him,
friends had the entree to his chamber, addressed him by name, and asked after
his plaster. Henry, shook his head, and
answered that there lied been no change
since yesterday morning. lie then led
the way into a parlor, pieced a chair for
Ids visitor, and took his card to carry up.•
Falconer looked around hint; even in
this suniptoous rourit everything wore the
same dreary air of rtegiect. The rich
velvet -covered chairs were
coat folds ith
dust; dust had gathered
of
the satin damask curtains; a superb
Chinese screen of stained glass that
stretched across the room was dine with
fly specks; the vases on the stands were
filled with dead flowers, emitting a faint
tend sickening odor, and two tall silver
candlesticks, with their guttered wax
candle ends, stood upon the centre table,
left there from the night before.
He had scarcely made these mournful
observations before the door swung
slowly open, and his beloved Mand en-
tered the room,
And oh! how thin, and pale, and sor-
rowful, and self -neglected she, too, look-
ed! Her air was that of one who had
watched and wept for many days and
nights. She wore a white wrapper, very
carelessly; and her bright hair, if not
dishevelled, was certainly • disordered. She
looked—not near , so pretty as when he
had seen her last --but to him --oh! how
muck more beautiful. Ile sprang to meet
her, as she advanced slowly, holding out
her fair hands.- And Falconer!" and
"Dearest, dearest Maud',.," were their
simultaneous greetings, as he folded her
to his bosom. They spoke no more for
a little while; for as soon as her head
fell upon his shoulder,'she burst into
tears, end wept abundantly. Presently
she lifted her head, and wiped her eyes,
and said:
"A sad. greeting I have given you, dear-
est Falconer—a sorrowful, sorrowful
greeting. But you are "welcome. , I am
very glad to see you. Yet to meet in
such an hour as this. My father! ohs
my dear father'!' she cried, dropping her
head and weeping afresh..
"Row is he, Maud?" inquired the
young man, in the most gentle, tender,
sympathizing tone and manner. "How
is he, dearest Maud!"
"Alas, Falconer!"
"No better, Maud?"
"No; no better. Oh! i Falconer, that
has been the despairing answer to all
inquiries; how many dreadful days! No
better, for, Falconer, since his first
attack he has grown daily worse and
worse! I don'tbelieve the doctors know
what is the matter with him. They said
his first attack was apoplectic; now
they differ as to the nature of his
illness. They agree only upon this, Fal-
coner—that he must die," Again she
wept convulsively. Presently she said:
"I have not seen him for two days, Fal-
coner."
"Not seen him for two days?"
"Oh, no!"
"Why is that, dear
"Ohl I have no se
all, I think. When
refrain from weepin
my dear mother; she
since his illness. I
would; for le! Fa
in grieved amazement ----embraced her
again, more fervently than before, and
looked in her face. She was still gazing
vacantly. Maud knelt before her, and
dnnbreced her knees, and unclasped her
hands, and l.is:ied and wept over them,
and threw them around her own neck—
and called her by every tender, loving
epithet, and tried every afteetiouate de-
vice to win 1 .+ notice.
But Augusta gaveno sign of recogni-
tion. Maud started up in alarm, and
clasped her around the neck, exclaiming
wildly:
"Mother—dearest another ---oh! don't
look so; speak to me. It is your Maud!"
The lady's lips moved, and the words
issued from them in a cold, low mono-
tone, as, without moving her eyes, she
said:
The life has passed. away; the light,
and warmth, and strength have passed
away, and left me here !u the cold and
dark, and falling, falling, falling, whith-
er?"
In the utmost distress, Maud fell at
her feet, embracing her knees wepeing
bitterly, and crying:
"Mother, mother, my own dear moth-
er, don't look so; don't talk so. Look
at me, sweet mother. Speak to me.
It is your poor Maud. You used to love
me; you used to---"
Slowly the lady's eyes descended from
their fixed stare, and settled on her
daughter's sorrowful face --slowly the
light of recognition came into them, and
she raised her hands and placed. them on
her daughter's head, and looking at her
M the same still, tearless way, she said:
"The Lord bless you, my child—the
Lord forever bless you, Daniel Hunter's
precious child!"
"Dear mother, are you better? .How
do you feel? Shall I bring you any-
thing?"
"Where has it gone, Maud?"
"What, sweet mother?"
"The life --the love that lived with us,
and blessed us so, alittle while ago?"
"To heaven, mamma; surely to heaven.
Ab! dearest mamma—you that were my
guiding spirit—whet has so dimmed your
faith?"
The lady did not answer. She had
raised her eyes and lixed them afar off.
Sorrow, by prostrating her nervous
system, palsying her heart and brain,
had dimmed her vision of faith. Let no
Pharisee, full of self-righteousness and
spiritual pride, blame her too severely.
Let such an one remember that there
was an Hour when the blessed Saviour
cried:
"Why haat Thou forsaken Me?"
Mrs. Lovel entered with a servant,
bearing wine and crackers.
- "Here, Augusta," she said, "Dr. Henry
says you must take something."
Maud took a glass of wine and put it
in her another's hand.
Augusta raised it to her lips, but im-
mediately replaced it on the waiter, say-
ing:
1 cannot swallow."
Mrs. Lovel looked, et her, and, notic-
ing for the first time the awful pallor
of her face, she became frightened, ex-
deeming;
xclaiming: '
"Augustal My sister! My dear sis-
ter! Oh! do not do so—do not, Augus-
ta!"
"Now what would you have? I am
very gleet."
"Yes, yes—too quiet -•--•that's what 1
object to"
I might well weep and lament. He
deserved all my tears—but I cannot do
so."
"Augusta, you must rouse yourself,
and take something if you do not, in-
deed you will sink. You have much yet
deft to live for. Think of your child."
"Now what is it you would have me
do? Ohl 1 ant so weary!"
•
Is 49 0
Most people know that if they have
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It keeps up the athlete's strength, puts fat
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411
Food in concentrated form for sick and
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ucl?"
ntrol! none at
liim I cannot
am not like
ot shed a tear
sea wish she
h • looks „so
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strangely. Tt seemsl , •: shadows
of death were falling Oen her, tool"
Tenderly and revereetly caressing her,
ought to soothe
reed, there was
rs, and a hurry-
ing ot steps. Impresseh with a prophetic
feeling, Falconer arose, and stepped to
the door and opened it. A gentleman
had rapidly descended the stairs, and
was hurrying through the hall. Falconer
stepped out and accosted him.
"Sir, will you inform me—has
thing happened?"
"Mr. Hunter has just expired, sir,"
answered the gentleman, hurrying on.
Falconer stepped back into the room.
Maud was at the poor, pale as death
with dread. She caught his arm, and
gazed into his face in the speechless,
breathless agony of anxiety.
"Be composed, my deare 't Maud."
Still that wild, wild');aze of inquiry.
"Dearest, dearest Maud, it is all over!'
Her grasp relaxed from his arm. He
caught her as she was falling, and bore
her, swooning, to the sofa.
CHAPTER XXXII.
Daniel Hunter had expired in the arms
of his Augusta.
When his head sank forward on her
bosom, and they perceived that he was
dead, Mr. Lovel approached, and gently
and reverently relieved the lady of her
beloved burden, and took her hand to
lead her from the room.
She gave no sign of resistance, or
even of unwillingness. Pale as marble,
and seemingly as destitute of feeling,
she suffered herself to be conducted
from the chamber- of death to her own:
And there she sat down, as white, as still
as though she herself were lifeless.
Mr Lovel stood by her, bending over
her, bolding her hand, murmuring in her
ear, the commonplaces of sympathy and
comfort—well meant—but so vain—so
utterly vain—that they must have vex-
ed her, could anything have done so.
But she was past all that now. Nothing
could disturb her more. She answered
not, she understood not a word of the
gentle flow of sound that fell upon her
ears. She sat back in her chair, and
closed her eyes.
Mr. Lover thought she looked weary
and in need of rest. Ile pressed her
hand, and left the room, t, send itis wife
to her assistance..
a ' w * x
The first thought and' words of Maud
on recovering her recollection were:
"Oh, my mother!" •
And the poor child strove hard to con-
trol herself, and eagerly took the restor-
atives offered her, and suppressed the
grief ready to burst fortlfr he dead
father, that she might go and
her living mother,
She event upstairs to Mrs. Iunter''a
chamber.
She found the lady sitting in the same
still wap=sitting bask hi her chair, with
her hands carelessly folded in her lap,
and her eyes gazing on vacancy.
Tho maiden fondly,• tenderly and si-
lently embraced. her, But she took no
notice of her child, Maud 'looked at her .
he Ied her to a sofa an
her grief.
While yet they con
a sudden opening of -
any -
but preternaturally vigilant . She heard
the hurrying to dad fro, and the voices
below stairs, and she knew that they
were about. She lay many hours in that
darkened chamber, with only one
desire in her heart, to lie
down by the side of her dead.
Afternoon waned into evening and the
room became pitch dark. And Hien some
one softly opened the door and stole
into the room to see if she were asleep.
Augusta called:
"Is that you, Letty?"
"Yes, dearest Augusta. How do you
feel now?"
"Where have they laid. him, Letty?"
"For the present in his form, on the
bedstead where he died. The eammitteq
who have assumed the direction of a
the arrangements, have decided that he
shall lay in state in the saloon the day
after to -morrow, They have sent a mes-
senger express for the undertakers and
upholsterers."
"In state!—but it does not matter,
Who watches by him to -night, Letty?"
Letty named some half-dozen gentle-
men who had assumed that dty.
"Give them my thanks and desire them
from me to watch, not in the chamber
where he lies, but in the adjoining front
room."
"Think of his child, Augusta --think
of his orphan child, her kneeling by your
feet."
"1 do! I do! Cod bless her! God
forever bless her—so Ile surely will—
she is such a good child."
"Oh! then, Augusta, for her sake, and
her father's sake, do try to bear up."
Letty came in—came up to the lady in
her quiet, soothing way, and gently took
her hand and asked:
"How do you feel, dearest Augusta?"
"Contented, Letty. Contented."
Letty held her wrist, and, fixing her
gentle grey eyes steadily on her face,
read her eountenance.
"Nay, now, never look a,t me so
mournfully. Indeed, I am not unhappy.
1 ant very well. It makes no difference.
Ali! do you think I wished him to live
t be old and infirm -•-•to see those weary,
weary days in which lie should say, 'I
have no pleasure in them'? No—no—at
lomat 1 mean it is not right to wish it.
He has gone in his glorious day of life
•and fame, ere yet one laurel leaf had
drooped upon his brow. And it is, well.
The Lord 'Meth all things well.' Let me
lie down, gide. ; •d'•• •ry line!"
Letty, who still held her wrist, and
stutileu It's c.1" ti N.......:.., ,. ,.ae,.1a1
Mrs. Level to take Jtarid out and leave
Augusta in her owe charge.
itta.ud got up. and kissed her mother,
and left the room with Lucy. Letty then
gently undressed the suffering lady, as-
sisted her to bed, drew the curtains, and
left her to repose.
She lay there with her hands elasped
tightly above her head, not sleeping,
(To be tont4nued.)
a.e
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Oe0
Love Light.
Som
Aioodingetiines � tendon erness e orness isshed,r
The law green intervals it fills
As fills the silvery streaut its bed.
Ons moment past, it via., net there—
Or were my eyes not yet aware?
That Light—•it comes with flickering mors.
At harvest noon, on sunset plains, •
And when the fields look old and lora,
AAdn
ditocan reachw ands vee flowmsin•
s;
The cruel spirit of the snow!
Sometimes isnetadIstenFere
whtepllad
The myriad eyes of Nigh austere
Prom their keen wounding have been held.
A11 unbetolten is that Pray
Whose dawn must be midst dark or day,
There le an anvblent World of Lovo•
Wherein our little world is rocked;
An arae beneath, an arm above;
Around our slumber Warmly locked --
And Love Light thence, in moments blest,
Goes tremblingothrough some dreamer's
b
Bela' ',1, Thome.
1