The Martyrdom of Madeline

f the Golden City; her wondering eyes had been feasted with all the gay sights, her ears with all the gay sounds, which the wondrous ways a

Mrs. Peartree stood at the window, gazing dreamily forth. Mad

u looking at

ed, and bent to impress her usual kiss o

is close on eight o'clock, and

?' reiterated Madeline, a

gs that stopped off the ferry and sent a boat ashore-but now

r?' asked Madeline,

t that consarns us, be sure. There, get up

self. She had pretty nearly completed her task, and had her arms raised, and her

lushed, a minute afterwards she flew down the stairs, thrusting her arms into the wr

ghastly-his nervous fingers worked at a big hole in his guernsey, he stared about him i

on't think it! He went on hisself, he jibbed the ol

ghast, and her cheeks

said she, irritably. 'What's happened

ered with rugs and blankets, and carried by one or two of the Brethren who used to meet in the parlour on Good Friday. His face was deathly pale, but his eyes w

grew dim; then, seeing Madeline in the background ready to spring upon him,

ontrol. She resolutely choked back the rising desire to scream and fall into hysteric

I never thought to see my man

ght warm kitchen, where the breakfast was set, and, bringing in the horsehair

as to sit in a corner and cry like a child, asserting, with strange vehemence, that he had

ered Uncle Mark; no sooner did he get upon the couch than he

nd Mrs. Peartree, taking the drooping head under her arm, poured between the livid lips a few drops of the spirit

is run. The doctor wasn't at home, he said; he had gone to visit a

ed, smiling faint

doctor, mate. I've got my

alk so,' said Mrs. Peart

y again, and reached forth h

ar did the job for me-but nobody's to blame for it, only me;' then, as his wande

hat's come o'

e tears with the back of his rough, weatherbeaten hand. '

intly; 'many's the year we sailed her,

ll get her up again, but if you go and die we shall all be adrift toge

ed eyes, his breathing was laboured, and the ha

was dying, but she neither spoke nor moved; she only clasped the hand a

the old Dutch clock in the corner rang out bell-like and clear, and between the ticks came the stifled sobs of Madeline and Uncle Luke. The kettle was singing on the hob, the cat p

s eyes, and rousing himself su

ridge-only her sails be white-so white-and there be a chap in white at the helm. What's that noise? It be like a steamboat's whistle

line, creeping to his side. 'Dear, de

ld's voice. His eyes were fixed on vacancy,

nd on her quarter, and the waters all black beneath her. Look, there be folk in white st

eed stood near, turned pale

sleeve across his eyes; and he added, bending gently over

ured Uncle Mark,

ooking on vacancy, commenced to sing in his own peculiar style pa

shining

with t

is my

is my

e wessel

t night

Golde

far

hard 'ti

be win;

not, my

steer

e wessel

t night

Golde

far

after the hymn was done. The kettle went on singing, the cat went on purring, and the clock seemed to tick w

, Mark, dear?'

little Madlin-and that be Brother Billy Hornblowe

er Peartree,' exclaim

k, smiling gently. 'Well, ma

Hornblower turned his simple fac

I sing it? He seems to feel it kind o' soothin'

peak, for her tears choked her; and t

fraid w

angel

sheet an

holy

e wessel

t night

Golde

far

k opened his eyes, turned a radiant face

er, and let little Madlin kiss me too-I be goin' to Jesus- -up the shining river to Je

bbed his wife, now

you, and Luke, and little Madlin too. He's taking me away, the old ba

ing heavily, like one in a troubled sleep; the time dragged wearily on, the day brightened, then faded, and as the last rays of the setting sun fell across the floor, Uncle Mark heave