430 THE SONG OF LADIES' EYES.- INTO REST.
her. She returned to them, she wrote, that she had small pleasure in keeping, and was too unhappy to enjoy. A few days afterward a deed, properly signed and witnessed, was forwarded from the lawyers whom Charles Dean had recommended to her. With this deed came another letter explaining the firmness of her intentions. After that she disappeared as utterly as if no trace of her presence had ever existed.
But Mr. Dean and his mother were incapable of profiting by her generosity. All their efforts were now directed to finding and cherishing the sweet little creature who had suffered by their rigid justice, and sense of wrong. Now that she seemed irrevocably lost she was dearer to both, and rose in their estimation to the height her noble unselfishness deserved. But the one had keener regrets, more painful reminiscences, deeper cause for sorrow than the other—and his own heart, robbed and reproachful, condemned him day and night. Ever present to his memory was the girlish, gentle face as -he had seen it, with the new light upon it that his kindness had kindled there; then sad, humble, disappointed, as it had grown in later dags, beneath the strict constraint he fancied was his duty. Now, by a sudden return of sense or reason, he saw how he should have dealt with the love he felt, and the love he had won.
The great house at Riverview remained closed and desolate through all the varying seasons of another year. Storms and sunshines crept over it, fruits ripened and flowers bloomed in vain, while Charles Dean sought, far and wide, by letter, and advertisement, and personal search, for its little mistress. He spent all the time he could command, and all the means he could spare from a now narrow income, in this pursuit. At last, as the year had nearly drawn to its close, he found her.
When another Christmas-eve returned, Annette Lyle was no longer a helpless, friendless girl, but a rich and happy woman. She had received back her fortune to endow with it the man she loved, and who loved her beyond her utmost hope. Sorrow had strengthened, and suffering ennobled her sweet nature; it seemed to him that her new experiences had set her above him; there was something almost pathetic in the tenderness of his reverence, the devotion of his love.
And in that love she said, beyond all changing fortune, was her best CHRISTMAS GIFT.
THE SONG OF LADIES' EYES.
BY D. K. A.
A SONG of ladies' eyes—
Which bear the bell
From blue of Summer skies?
I know thou can'st not tell.
Of mirth the hazel tells,
Of pride the gray,
And love in brown revels;
But still I say,
That blue alone of eyes
Shall bear the bell;
Who this plain truth denies,
Is beauty's infidel.
Indeed, it is no whim;
A lover will divine,
Those eyes were blue that long ago
Love-lighted mine.
Alas! alas! in vain
I picture them anew;
And as I write I sigh again—
Her eyes were blue.
INTO REST.
BY EBEN E. REXFORD.
"LET me rest," she whispered softly,
And we hushed our busy breath;
For we knew the rest she sighed for,
Was the endless peace of death.
And we gatherd softly round her,
In the twilight's holy calm;
And the whispers of the breezes
Seemed the echo of a psalm.
Gently fell the moonbeams o'er her,
With her white hands on her breast;
And her face grew strangely brilliant
With the dawn of endless rest.
Fell her golden-fringed eyelids
O'er her eyes, as though in sleep;
In the silence of the twilight,
We could hear each other weep.
Once her white hands fluttered gently,
As they lay upon her breast;
Then a quiet fell upon her,
And we knew she was at rest.
