Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. XXVII, No. 1 — page 37: what you’re looking at

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

The Lady of Lindenwold. the span of noble chestnuts did not disgrace it. Many an admiring eye was turned toward the carriage and its clfarming occupant. She knew it, and her darkening eye and height- ened color told that the love of admiration was one of the ruling passions of her life. Perhaps she was not displeased, when a crowd in Duke street caused them to pause an in- stant, to see the fine face of the young rector at her carriage window. In the midst of her cordial greetings, the door of a drinking-shop, but a jew feet from her, opened, and a young man of some seven or eight-and-twenty emerged with an unsteady gait, and crossed the street directly in front of her horse’s heads. If only something would startle them! The thought flashed through her brain, and for the moment Olive Livingston was in heart a fratricide. Something about the horses attracted the man’s eye, and he glanced back. A look of surprise lighted his stolid face, and lifting his hat, he made a ludicrous bow and flourish towards the occupant of the carriage. Miss Livingston tried to put on an indifferent manner, and to appear amused, but there was an angry red in her cheek, and a fire in her eye that she could not quite hide, and which embarrassed both parties so much, that both felt relieved when the street was clear, and the interview thus necessarily terminated. “Am I to be disgraced and insulted in this manner, in the public streets, by him ?” she muttered, through her shut teeth. “ Would it be much of a crime, I wonder, to rid the world of such a fellow?” She shuddered and crew her shawl closer about her—these autumn winds were getting really chilly. That evening Arthur St. Orme came out to Lindenwold. Miss Livingston herself had appointed the hour, and it was so close upon office hours, that he had not time to run down to the cottage even for a moment, although he promised himself that he would hurry through the business, and step in @ moment before he went back to the city. He wanted to look in Annie’s blue eyes, and per- haps, with a lover’s freedom, hold her in his arms a moment, before he went back to the bustle, and confusion, and weariness of another day’s toil. He stopped at Mr. Van- stone’s a large portion of the time now, only coming home Saturdays, and once or twice for an evening in the course of the week. But his thought of seeing Annie that night was defeated, for never was business in such urgent need of attention as iiss Livingston’s, and never was client so agreeable and suave 41 before. And long before Miss Livingston had released him, the lights in the cottage were out; but poor little Annie sat at her chamber window, watching the red glow which came through the crimson curtains of the Linden- wold library, with a heavier heart than five months before she had sat, that first night of her coming, and watched the steady tramp, tramp, of a pair of unconscious feet through the June dew. CHAPTER X. In the humble chamber in Germain street, there sat an unbidden guest. And yet, stern and unrelenting, he waited in grim silence, while choking sobs and pleading prayers fell alike unheeded. The fair face among the pillows was little altered, save that a serener smile parted the pale lips, and the great brown eyes mirrored more the celestial brightness of that heaven to which they were so near. “O Alice, if you could only take me with you! You will see them all—father, and mother, and Harry—and I shall be toiling on here alone, all alone!’ And the sweet voice died away in a sad, unutterable wail. “Amy, it is His will. You must not mur- mur at it, darling. Maybe, if I am permitted, I shall come back to comfort you. I have suffered so much that—perhaps it is selfish— but I am glad, save that it grieves you, to be released. You will not want for friends, dear—” A frowsy head rose suddenly from the win- dow-seat, and a choking voice exclaimed: “If there is ever anything the likes of me can do to be of sarvice to such a sweet young creature—” And then the voice quite broke down, and the frowsy head, with its broad, scarred face, went suddenly down on the window again. “God bless you, faithful, tender friend!” said the steady voice of the dying girl. “Come here, Timmy, I want to look in your honest face once more.” She took his big hand in her thin, white one, and carried it reverently to her lips. He made a deprecatory gesture, but she said: “They saved my life once, and they have served me often since. It is a poor return, but it is all I have to give; but my heart is in the act, simple as it is, and you will think of it sometimes, and of the little girl who gave it you with’ her dying breath ?” “O my sweet, darling young lady, it’s a rich ith so pri if 7, man Lama with 20 poigless at sued