The Argosy — page 331: what you’re looking at

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

310 A Dream from Heaven. answerest not. Not for wealth and luxury : a morsel of bread, a drink of water, a roof to cover us, avd peace. And this not in idleness: I would work for it from the rising of the sun till its going down. Others can find means of subsistence, but I cannot. It is a curse that is upon me. That Thou hast abandoned me is too sure, or in this, the last depths of my despair, there would steal to me a glimmering of hope. I have prayed for strength, for comfort, and it comes not to me. Oh! Thou who readest all hearts, Thou readest mine, and Thou seest how I am driven to Thee. Forgive me this last act! Jesus, supplicate for me ! I come, I come. Father, Father! reject me not for ever. II. ADAM GRAINGER was alone in his sitting-room. An ugly weapon of polished steel lay at his elbow, which he had brought down from his bed-chamber. He was writing the last words when a knock at the house- door was heard, and then his wife entered the room, a couple of bottles in her hand. He had deemed himself secure from interruption, and he started like a detected criminal, as he threw his pocket-handkerchief over the razor. ‘“‘ Adam,” cried his wife, ‘‘ here’s a curious thing! The Clayine have sent us a present of some brandy.” = Claytons ! !” echoed Mr. Grainger. ‘‘ Who are the Claytons?” ‘‘'The people who live at Lime Villa: that beautiful house higher up. I was talking to Mrs. Clayton the other day about her plants and flowers. She has seen me stand to admire them through the gate, and we have struck up a speaking acquaintanceship.” ‘Very strange! What should the people send brandy to us for?” “It does seem strange, but there can be no mistake. Their man- servant brought it, with his master’s compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Grainger, and begged they would use these two bottles of French brandy. I heard he was a large West-end wine-merchant. We will Open one to-night.” “T tell you there must be a mistake, Margaret. Strangers are not likely to send brandy to me.” “Oh, Adam, they are kind-looking people : who knows but they may have an idea that we are in need? I know it is all right.” ‘‘My dear, the world is not so romantic.” Mrs. Grainger left the room, taking one of the bottles. He hoped she was gone for some time, and turned to his journal to write a word of farewell to her. The clocks have just chimed nine: in ten minutes, Margaret, your husband will have ceased to exist. My love, my wife, forgive me! and you w7i/, for you alone know how wretched has been my existence. Gomichoo ‘s-comm