278 SOME LEAVES FROM A LIFE.
that his baby's smile will wake an answering sunshine in Howard's face.
I am sure he was not always so moody and distant ; for an old woman told me confidentially, the other day, that " Mr. Nilmore was so stilllike, since he married, people wondered what had come over him." The old women and children almost worship him; and few clergymen are as generally beloved in their parish as Howard.
I can see that people look pityingly at Rosalie-they evidently think that, by some strange mistake, she has gotten into a place for which she is quite unfit.
September 15th .-Rosalie is lying very ill, having taken a turn for the worse that puzzles us not a little, and the doctor evidently does not understand it. Her baby girl is five days old , and, until the third day, the mother seemed unusually strong and well. A bright fever spot burns on either cheek, and they have cut off all her pretty curls. She is very much changed, and her mind wanders continually. There is a constitutional tendency to disease, the doctor says, never before developed.
I cannot do much else but pray. Howard makes the tenderest of nurses, and looks more like a ghost than ever.
September 20th.-I am holding a newspaper in my hand, with my eyes fixed on two lines, that I study again and again, in the vain hope of being able to realize the sad truth:
"Died, on the twenty- fourth instant, Rosalie, wife of the Rev. Howard Nilmore, aged twenty one years."
I cannot realize that my bright, young sister is soon to be laid in the grave. Oh, Rosalie! my sister! How willingly I would have died in your stead! I have nothing to live for; but you had so much!
October 20th . "You will not leave me yet, Susan ?" said my brother-in-law, imploringly, when we returned from the funeral. "I know that you will care for Rosalie's child."
"I care for you, too, very much, " I said, completely melted by the scene through which we had passed, and by the thought of what he must be suffering in his quiet, enduring fashion. "I care very much for Rosalie's husband and child; and I shall not leave you, if my presence is any comfort, until it is my duty to go elsewhere."
A faint smile of gratitude, that made him look more as he did when I first saw him, lighted up his face; and with the scarcely audible words , "Thank you," he went into his study, and I saw him no more that night.
Poor, motherless baby! My heart' bled for her when the nurse brought her down, with black ribbons on her little sleeves -and I took the poor little thing to my affections at once. Her father loves her, too , and will hold her by the hour together. She is a pretty child, but delicate as a spring blossom ; and we call her, " Wind-Flower. "
Howard is certainly softened ; he seems no longer stern - only sad He never speaks of Rosalie I believe he loved her very deeply, after all ; and now that she is gone, he is more kind to me because I am her sister.
December 9th. -Would it not be a charitable enterprise to get up a society to provide employment of mind for people who have nothing to do but to attend to their neighbors' affairs? One of these unfortunate ones said to me today,
"People think that Mr. Nilmore will not go very far to look for a second wife. It must be quite a different feeling to be step- mother to a sister's child, instead of a stranger's"
"A second wife!" And poor Rosalie scarcely cold in her grave! I was filled with wrath; and I answered warmly,
"People think' and say a great deal that they have no right to think and say. Can they not respect our grief at such a time as this, instead of publishing their coarse surmises ? As far as I am concerned , and I now say it once for all, I could never look upon a dead sister's husband in any other light than that of a brother; and I am sure that Mr. Nilmore would be equally shocked by such a revolting idea. I beg to hear no more of this-but it shall not prevent me from doing my duty."
March 20th. For six months our little blossom looked, with wondering eyes, upon this curious world, and then went back to heaven. I robed the waxen form in its prettiest dress, and laid it in the flower-wreathed casket. When they opened the mother's grave, and laid her babe again upon her bosom, I felt that I had done my last duty to Rosalie and her child.
Soon I was on my homeward way, with the recollection of Howard's warm, clasping hand; and his murmured, "God bless you, Susan! for all your kindness to me and mine! You have been an angel of light to this sorrow-stricken dwelling; don't forget the lonely minister in your far-off home."
December 19th. -Nearly Christmas again, the second Christmas since Rosalie's death; and my story is coming out so strangely that I know not how to write it. Not long ago, I had a letter from Howard-a letter that sent the blood in quick bounds through my veins, and nearly deprived me of every portion of my sober senses.
