The Argosy — page 333: what you’re looking at

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

312 A Dream from Heaven. “ The brandy-and-water will do you good. Make it, please. It is all ready.” “To you give brandy for fever, Margaret >” *“ Ves, for such fever as yours; which arises from want of support. Make it at once, or the water will be getting cold.” He rose mechanically, and it is probable that his shaking hand may have poured more brandy than he intended into both glasses. Mrs. Grainger silently added additional water to hers after tasting it; but he drank his. Suddenly she burst out laughing. He looked up re- provingly ; her gay mood did so jar upon his nerves. ‘‘ Adam, I cannot help it. I was thinking suppose the man should come for the brandy again. How foolish we should look !” ‘Vou are merry to-night!” ‘‘T am so pleased at our delicious supper. I wish Jemima had not gone to bed, I would take her some ; but she has had a hard day’s work and was tired. And for it to come so unexpectedly! Wenever know what things may turn up.” ‘‘Or one hour what the next may bring forth.” She talked on, thankful to cast aside care for one brief moment, but he only chafed at her sitting there with him. The cordial had warmed him, had soothed his broken spirit, and he leaned back in his chair, almost in enjoyment, but his fatal resolution abated not one jot in its force. Hoping to drive her from the room, he kept silence, and at last shut his eyes and feigned sleep. It succeeded, for she left the room and now the opportunity was come. He rose upright in his chair, determined not again to lose it. Yet he did pause for an instant or two. His thoughts were turning to chaos : all things of his life seemed to be before his sight, and yet nothing. He stood on the confines of this life, on the threshold of Eternity: one minute more, and he would have entered on its mysteries for: ever. Eternity! .... forever! .... his own ac! He made an effort to nd himself of the thoughts that were crowding on him. He untied his neckcloth, and it fell to the ground. IFven in that last moment he was conscious of this, and picked it up again. He was sick at heart. Suspense, dread, fear overwhelmed him, shaking him with agony as one in a convulsion. Yet, with all this, there was no repenting, no turning from his self-willed doom. ‘‘ Now or never!” he muttered ; “‘if I hesitate I am lost.” Lost / He threw aside the handkerchief and took up what was under it. He raised his hand. One convulsive shudder, and Adam Grainger’s spirit» was in the other world. But to what had he hastened? oh, horror, horror! The pen cannot write it; words cannot utter it; living, waking beings cannot imagine it. Mercy, mercy upon him nivd all such! Fellow-creatures, cease not, cease never to supplicate for these mistaken outcasts. They were Comichbooks.€¢o m