|Newspaper Title||Sydney Mail (NSW : 1860 - 1871)|
|Trove Title||Which Wins? A Tale of Life's Impulses|
A TALB OF UFB'S IMPULSES.
ST ARIEL, I
-4 Troud of you, fond of you, clinging eo near Co you. Light is my heart now 1 know 1 atn dear (0 you ! Now I &ced never blush At my heart's holiest guih — Tie wife of my Owen, her heart may discovtt — ' tfotloving first, but loving wrong, Is shame.' — ^ . LrTTawoH. Life protracud, is protected woe!' — Jounsoit. A rav weeks after my marriage came 01ave*a de&th- hour. I hadspent every spare hour at her bedside, at John's desire, find I hancooxed herioto telling me much that fihe would never have uttered to him— a hittftr Ulp ? A «..* .11 .v7
'?'T' «' Wtu DlUt 4JUW UU Uie earthly fire had nickered out from the nature of the d)ing girl, and she was lying Quietly wailing for lie iaU stroke. She had nothing to do— every preparation was made, repent ance was over, a refuge was found, assurance sreured, end she waited simply for the moment ^hen ahe should be called to take the last journey. It was beautiful to look upon her, with the solemn smile in her eyfB, and iheearnestoess of look and word that directed aU the said * beautiful to hear the street troubled voice calling upon her frantic father and mother to be even such as aha waa. ' But, Isola,' she said one day when we were alone, ' there is one othtr tiling to be done ; I miu( aee Henry/' 'Mufctyou*' and I looked doublful ; it did not teem to me that the interview would be good for citbtr, ?' Rut I mutt,' Olave repeated eagerly, IC I'm past any such 6cene bs you saw once before, but X must see him.' Of course neither 1 nor lienry could refuse her, and, on the following day, he came at her desire. She looked earnestly at him, when she held out her wiastedhand. 'Do you forgive me, Mr. li&rrettr' tv ere her first word*. 'Not mine is it to act the part of pardoner. I have been h&rsh and rude to you, Hits Lyathor, and for that forgive me,' She msb silent then, and slightly embarrassed. ' I wished to say— I warned to tell you that I have been mad.' ' To till tne that you have been mad f ' 11 Tea, because— you must forgive me again— but you are the oue person in the world to whom my whole nature longs to explain itself. I an dying— but I think that in the next world it would as severely pain me that you should think either one thought worse or one thought better of me than 1 deserve, as it would pain me here.' 14 1 will always think of you with affection,' he said. u Will you— why, jou are kind to me at last. Do you know howl loved you ? ' He bowed his head, but did not look at her when the said that. ' I did, from the time we were children together. And, 1 did not doubt but X should wis your lore, until 1 caw that you loved Isola with just the same kind of nicked passion that X loved you.' He started and looked quickly at her there. '* Y«,' ahe continued earnestly, ?? it was the same kind ol a passion, although you were sterner and better able to hide it, and it was wicked, very wickcd.' 41 Wicked, Miss Lysthor r ' 11 Yea, because— was there a thing, above or below, that you for a moment cared (or in comparison with Isola r 11 He rested his brow upon his hand for a moment or two, looked thoughtful, and then, looking up at me with a quiet smile, aaia, 'No, I fear there was not at tbat time/' '* And now 'Experience of the disappointments of earthly lore has taught me better ; not even Isola could fill the place ol God and duty now»' ' Oh, X am glad,' she aaid, clasping her hands fervently, ,*I am so thankful, not that you have ceased to love Isola, but that the ain of that wild passion has gone out of your heart. I think ao now too ; and I would not give up the hope of dying in a day or two— no, not for a thousand years to be spent with you, Henry Barrett.' ' X think,' she said, after an exhausted pause, ' X think that, as far as life in this world goes, both you and X have failed utterly. Yon made everything too practical, you forgot that others crossed your path ^ constantly whose feelings you had a right to consult ; you meant to be good and noble— you will be— but you cut out such a wooden dead figure of goodness for a model that it looked ugly to every one but yourself. Are you angry r' ' No. X think you are right.' 41 Ah ! but you'll change, you are changing now— X love you better than ever X did, if not so wildly. I did wiong too. X lit up such a fire of madness ia my sou), Uxat burnt too fiercely to last, and yet in its transient flame sucked out mv life. I have loU in this world, but I am going to win in the next.' ' That is the best winning, Olave, dear,' X aaid. ' Yts. 13 ut you have won alike for earth and for heaven, dear. Your love was purer than either of ours, inasmuch as it held duty above love, and love a thing more of heaven than of earth, You are the winner, IsoIj.' lit my sat with her for a long time, and at every motion he made tu depart she still detained him. At last, with an effort, she exclaimed, ' Look in my eyes, lienry Usrrctt. Isow, remember— remember— remember— we are to meet in heaven ! ' ' X will — I will !' he said earnestly. She fell back wearily. 'X don't think you cm forget. Good-bye until then,' she said. He b looped tuid kissed her damp brow, she threw up her arms and returned the kiss, and then he went out from her death chamber. Five days after she was laid to rest in one far narrower, and the LysthoiB* darling was gone. Ten years have passed since that day, and, while X write, John cits on the other side of the table with a book in his hand, but he raises his eyes occasionally to look with an amused emile at a curly-headed little Johnny, who is making vigorous efforts to obtain a ride on Jumbo's hack. The old dog has an evident objection to the project, and, quietly trundling the child on to the carpet, at every climax of success, rises and goes to the other side of the room. Our eyes meet, and John says ' he is getting very cuaning, that boy of ours, love.' The tears fill my eyes for I think of two others who lie beneath the willows in St. Cudgereewonga churchyard. ' Xf you should be taken from me, X could not bear the sight of him— he is so like you.' ' Don't speak of it, dear wife 1 X often pray that we mav never more be separated.' 'Xao not fear death, but parting ; it would be fearful, John.' 'I wonder if wi love each other too well, after all, Isola.' 'Ah! X fear.' X return to my pen to write one other sentence. My father married Mary l*owe a year after my mother's death. Ah, there John speaks. ' Isola, put down that pen/' 41 1 won't.' 41 You must.' u You tyrant ! ' ' Put it down, you little gocse, and come out for a walk. No wife of mine is going to be a scribbleress.' The compiler of the foregoing narrative thinks that the following paragraphs may not be uninteresting to the reader, as they have reference to the family of Barrett therein mentioned. 11 We arc torry to Inform our readers that, on Thursday last, a melancholy accident occurred, occasioning the deuth of tbc Jlcv. John Bcnoui Barrett, of St, Cudgereewonga, his wife, and Infant son* Shcy were crossing the harbour to Milsoni's Point, wbcu a sudden squall coming up caught tbc sail before the boatman had time to take it in, and turned tbc boat completely over. The boatman swam to shore, but tbc lamented gentleman lost hie life in futile efforts to preserve Mrs, Barrett,'— M, Herald. November 12tb, 1600. 'On the 21st instont, at the pariah church of St Cudgeree wonga. by — ? ? tbc lk-v. Henry Barrett, to Una. only daughter of filr Charles Afvern, of Cavamooy Park, Cornwall.' — £. &f, U ctaid, May 20th, 1801.