Sister Dolorosa and Posthumous Fame

ium of hope, she with the delirium of despair, drained at their youn

, that he was unmindful of everything beside; and among the consequences of absent

of which grew briers and underwood. He had expected to climb this fence, and as he stood beside it speaking a few parting words to Ezra he absently thrust his gun between two of the lower rails, not noticing that the lock was sprung. Caught in th

age had been ineffectual; the loss of blood had been very great; certain foreign matter had been carried into the wound; the professional treatment was unskilful; and septic fever followed, so that for many days his life hung upon a little chance. But convale

edy her life had become entangled, and how conscience may fail to govern a woman's heart in denying her the right to love, but may still govern her actions in forbidding her to marry. To plead with her had been to wound only the more deeply a nature that accepted even this pleading as a fur

ence over him was too complete; even his wish to rescue her from a lot, henceforth unhappier still, too urgent; so that in parting he

In all ages of the world there have been persons, simple in nature and simple in their faith in another life, who have forgotten everything else in the last hour but the supreme wish to grapple to them those they love, for eternity, and at whatever cost. Such simplicity of nature and faith belonged to him; for although in Kentucky the

one to take it at the time; and when Ezra returned wi

hich thus acquired fictitious remoteness. So weak that he could scarcely lift his head from his pillow, there left his heart the keen, joyous sense of human ties and pursuits. He lost the key to the motives and forces of his own character. But it is often the natural result of such illness that while the springs of feeling seem to dry up, the conscience remains sensitive, or even bur

t her soul belong to her religion; and if one or the other must give way, could it be doubtful with such, a nature as hers which would come out victorious? Thus he said to himself that any further attempt to see her c

s; and with the conviction that she was lost to him her image passed into that serene, reverential sanctuary of our common nature, where all the highest that we have gras

me quietly into the room and took from a table near the foot

looking at Gordon for his approval, and motioning with his head t

dark, quiet eye of an invalid. "I think I ought to write a few lines this

here had regularly come to him delicate attentions which could not have been supplied at the farmhouse. He often asked himself whether they were not inspired by her; and he thought that whe

stretched out his hand, and opening one of them took from it a letter which bore the address, "Sister Dolorosa." It contained those appealing lines that he had written her on the day of his accident; and with calm, curious sadness he now

d to carry Gordon's letters to the station, and his eye now rested on the table where they were always to be found. Seeing one on it, he walked across, took it up and read the address, "Sister Doloros

; and then in an instant everything whirled before her eyes, and in her ears the water sounded loud as it dropped from the chain back into the cistern. And then she was gone-gone with a light, rapid step,

hich excludes from the convent worldly affairs, she had not made it known except to those who were to aid in carrying out her kin

s, if possible, of outward duties, that no one might be led to discover the paralysis of her spiritual life. But there was that change in her which soon drew attention; and thenceforth, in order to hide her heart, she began to practise with the Mother Superior little acts of self-concealment and evasion, and by-and-by other little acts of pretence and feigning, until-God pity her!-being

or it was then that emotions had been awakened which drew her to him in ways that love alone could not have done. These emotions had their source in the belief that she owed him reparation for the disappointment which she had br

left her struggling. But how to undo the wrong-this she vainly pondered; for h

of that terrible moment, it was, that having been false to other duties she might at least be true to this. She felt but one desire-to atone to him by any sacrifice of herself that would make his death more peaceful

she drew near the house, Martha, who had caught sight of her figure through the window,

re i

iar pleasure in her eyes she saw Sister Dolorosa cross and enter it. A little while longer she stood, watching the keyhole furtivel

have been thought the face of one dying. Her eyes rested on it a moment, and then with a stifled sob and moan she glided across the room and sank on her k

le he could not trust himself to speak; his love threatened to overmaster his self-renunciation. But then, not knowing why she had come unless from some great sympathy for his sufferings, or perhaps to see him once more since he was now soon to go away, and not unde

f for what has happened-never to let any thought of having made me unhappy add to the sorrow of your life. It is my fault, not yours. But I meant it-God knows, I meant it!-for the happiness of us both? I believed that your life was not suited to you. I meant to make you happy! But since you cannot give up your life, I have only been unkind. And since you think it wrong to give it up, I am glad that you are so true to it! If you must live it, Heaven only knows ho

om each word had fallen with hard distinctness. But now, with the thought of losing her, by a painful effort he

nk that I do not love you! O Pauline-not in another life, but in this-in this!" He could say no m