The Argosy — page 251: what you’re looking at

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

234 A Story of the Sea-shore. Lying on a mattress in the little parlour, Serena bent over him, and took his helpless hand. Others went out and left them together. Were they not as good as man and wife? He was fatally crushed, but his face was not injured. “‘ Don’t grieve, dear,” he panted, as her tears fell fast. ‘I know you did not care for me, perhaps you never would, and may be the good Lord God has taken me in mercy to you. All these weeks that we’ve been separated, I’ve prayed to Him night and morning to think of your happiness and not of mine.*: Kiss me, darling ; we shall meet in Heaven.” Oh, the brave, loving, gentle heart ! Serena’s passionate tears and kisses fell on his cold lips. ‘Too good, too good for this world,” she murmured. ‘‘ God is taking him to a better.” Well, he died, and was buried ; and there’s little more to add. Serena mourned for him in true repentance, and went often to pat flowers on his grave. Summer had come round again before she saw Ernest Loraine. Walking her melancholy walk one day upon the sands, she met the blue eyes that had once been so lovingly fixed upon her. He lifted his hat and spoke calmly, hoping Mrs. Reece was well. Serena burst into tears ; she could not answer. He then noticed that she wore mourning. ‘Have you lost your father ?” he hastily enquired. ‘“* Not my father; my husband,” she sobbed. “It tale ; please don’t ask me to tell it you.” They parted. But in the course of the day, Mr. Léraine: heard all from Peter Janes. Serena had never been a wife, and poor Tom Reece had been killed by the falling of the mast in the shipwreck. ‘Surely you will let me now address you!” Mr. Loraine said to her the next day in her father’s house. ‘‘ There cannot be any im- pediment now.” | ‘Talk to me about it when October comes in,” she answered, with a blush anda smile. ‘‘ Not before.” : And accordingly never a word did he speak to her. But they wandered on the heath together, and sat on the rocks, and whispered in the moonlight. But not of love. In October, Ernest Loraine spoke to Moncton. | ‘‘T suppose there’s no help for it,” growled the father. ‘‘I’ve done what I can to keep her out of the world; but it seems she must live in it after all—and fill, I take it, a foremost position in its frivolities. As soon as Decembet comes in, you may marry; not earlier,” con- tinued this arbitrary man. ‘*November was the month in which poor ‘om Reece met his death ; I'll have you both vtec that,” itis Wem (EOP ACE eKoKe) <S