The Child of Waterloo, or, The Horrors of the Battle-Field — page 255: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

252 THE CHILD OF WATERLOO. name. She heard him utter that word, Mabel, with a revived. hope that he might yet baffle the enemy, death, which showed so strong a disposition to assail him, and to conquer him. She leaned over him, and looked Jong and wistfully in his face. ‘‘ Speak again, dear grandfather,” she said. ‘‘ You are better than you were, and you can now speak again to your own Mabel. Oh! let me hear your voice once more.” He turned his eyes upon her, and was for some moments silent. Then be made an effort to utter some articulate sound, but it was evidently a painful one, and his voice was sadly and strangely altered from its usual tones. ‘* Mabel, my Mabel,” he said, ‘‘do you not regret that I am going from you? The old, withered tree, once the strongest of the forest, must, in time, make a place for the young sapling that oe up so green and verdant, and full of youthful vigor by its side.” ‘‘Oh! grandfather, do not speak thus, You will stay with us long yet—I know you will. You will stay with us to bless us. It would be hard, indeed, to part with you so soon!” ‘‘ But, my Mabel, vou are young and beautiful, and I know that you are surrounded by those who love you well—those who will never let a cold world frown on you again, but en- circling you in their arms, wiil save you from all the frowns of fortune. You will be happy, my beautiful Mabel, you will be very happy.” . Sobs came from Mabel’s heart, for she felt a conviction creep- ing over her that could not be resisted, to the effect that these words she was listening to from those revered lips were the last the old man would utter in this world. She knew, at least she had been told, that, at his age, the shock he had received from so suddenly confronting the man who had been such a foe to his happiness, was one not likely for him to recover from; but still she had entertained, until now, a hope, at least, that the prediction might not be verified. But when she marked the altered voice, when she looked upon the face so strangely changed, she could no longer cherish the idea that this last one of her race would be long spared to her, and she already, in imagination, mourned him as gone from er. After he had uttered the few words we have recorded, the old man’s strength seemed to be fast failing him, and he closed his eyes, lapsing into a deep slumber. Being assured that he slept, Mabel stole into the next apart- ment, to weep alone, and there she was found by Henry Morton, who did all that one who loved truly could do to assuage her griéfs. He reasoned with her on the fact of the approaching death of old Monsieur Rouselli, a fact which he did not attempt, indeed, for one moment to dispute. ‘*T can feel all the truth of what you say,” sobbed Mabel; ‘ I know it all and can dispute no proposition that comes from your lips. It isas you say; but time, and time only, can assuage the sorrow that now oppresses me. That will be the only remedial agent to my griefs, But come with me into the chamber; I comicbooks. com