LEMUEL ASHFORD'S WILL.

Tuapeka Times, Volume XVIII, Issue 1155, 20 June 1885, Page 1 (Supplement)

LEMUEL ASHFORD'S WILL.

" Miss Ashjobd, sir," said the servant, who had just opened Mr. Ashford's chamber door, — Miss Ashford is here 6ir."

" Show her in at once," said the sick man. Almost before he had ottered the words, a lady passed the servant and entered the room. She was a handsome woman of forty, with dark eyes and straight features, and a small, closely-shut mouth. Her face was naturally very cold, but it softened as she bent over her brother, saying : "I heard of your accident, Lemuel, and came at once. How are you— better ? " . " I shall never be better, Maroia," replied the man, " bat I suffer less. So you oared enough for me to come, after all." " Yes, I always cared," #aid Miss Ashford. " And you will stay until the last, Marcia ?" "I will stay with you as long as yoa need me."

She took off her hat and cloak, and bestirred herself to make the invalid more comfortable. She softened the light, and set the medicine bottles out of his Bight, and did all noiselessly and deftly. Then she seated herself at her brother's side, and he spoke again,

"What horrible tempera we have always had."

"Yes," responded the sister; "yoa and I have lived estranged from each other for five years, and it is I who come at last. The men were the worst always. There, I do not in* tend to reproach yoa, poor fellow. 11l never allude to the subject again." The lady took her seat by the bedside and kept her word. Soon the sick man slumbered. Then she arose, and stealing softly out into the hall, addressed the servant-man who lingered there : "Andrew, oan yoa tell me jast how my brother was hart?" " Thrown from his horse," replied Andrew. "Yes, I understand," sighed the sister. "And my brother has had the best advice." "Yes, ma'am," said Andrew. "The very best. " Everything was done for him that ooald be, bat he knew there was no ohanoe, and he sent for the lawyers the next day, and made his will. I was a witness." " And yon know what he has done with the money? " asked Miss Ashford eagerly. •• Yes, mam," replied Andrew. " I heard every word. "Oh, Miss Ashford, he hasn't left yoa a cent— not one cent. It's all gone to an asylum. The will is in the library, Misß, looked in hia desk, and the key about his neck as he lies in bed. Lawyer looked it up for him." I Miss Ashford listened without remark, but her heart was burning. She returned to her brother, and sat quietly looking at his sleeping face, bat over and over again she said to herself : "If he had died without a will all would have been mine. How cruel and wicked he has been 1 " Softly she stooped over her brother, and saw, tied about his throat, a narrow black ribbon, from which hung suspended a curious key. The temptation was strong, She yielded to it. Detaching the key, she crept Into the library, opened the desk, and took out the crisp parohment that lay hidden in its recesses. Opening it, she read the will, brief, but conclusive. Andrew was right. All went to the charity ; she was not even mentioned. With something that on a man's lips would have been a curse, she replaced it, looked the desk, and restored the key to its position on her brother's bosom, not a moment too soon, for the next he was awake and clutching at it. Miss Ashford had come to her brother with no thought of his fortune, bat anxious to be reconciled, after years of ill-feeling, to one who might be dying. She kept her promise, and sat day after day by his bedside, bat there waß no love in her heart. Once it became so difnonlt for her to hide her feelings that she left him and went oat into the fresh, cold air and walked until she was ready to drop. When she came baok, Lemuel, brighter than he had seemed before, took both her hands and said, fondly : " Marcia, I have wearied iyou, bat it will not be long now— not long." That night Lemuel Ashford died. His death was very quiet. Only Maroia sat beside him. Andrew slumbered in bis own room. The brother's last words had been : " Maroia, I want to tell you about my will;" but there bis voice had failed him. „ JSlatola, wished that he had not spoken at all; for even whUe ehTwwrcißr cream ßteai aoross his features, the thought came into her mind : "I am his heiress, his next of kin. Were the will bat destroyed all would be mine." And then she said to herself : "It Bhall be. No one oan suspect me. What more natural than that he should forgive at the last and destroy it himself? I will tellthelieif need be." Then, with trembling hands, she once more detached the key of the desk from its black ribbon, and crept into the library. It was quite dark, bat she felt her way to the desk, turned the key in the look and opened it. Her hands fumbled with the packet for a moment, then touched a crisp and oraokling parchment. She had no need to read it. She knew it word for word, and hastening to the fire, placed it upon the red coals, crushing it down amongst them and piling others upon it. " Safe," she cried, as she hurried back to the chamber of death. " Safe from, poverty at least." The man came hurriedly and stood with wet eyes beside his dead master's pillow. "Gone," he sobbed. "Gone, poor gentleman ! Ah, this is not the first of the family whose temper has been his death ; but he was a kind-hearted gentleman, and liked to do right. He told yoa about his will, didn't he, ma'am ? " "Do not speak about the will at such a time," replied Miss Ashford. " How Bhould I know my brother's plans ? We have been strangers for years." "Ah, poor gentleman," replied Andrew, "You'll find he was better than you thinkfar better— far better." - j Bat Miss Ashford only hid her face in her kerchief. "I don't think yon do know," said Andrew ; " you haven't been told. That's plain to me ; and I like to be the first to tell you. The day yoa were away he sent for Lawyer , and altered his will, because you'd been. nursing him so kindly, he said. A copy o£ the one he made a while ago ia in the lawyers' hands— thelawyers connected with tha asylum, you know— but that is no matter. He burnt the one in the desk there, and made another, leaving everything ta you. The latest date is all in a will, yon know, ma'am. Nothing can stand before that. And the asyltam people will be angry enough." Miss Ashford sank into a chair. The servant believed her grief for her brother had overpowered her. ■ Miss Ashford kept her own counsel. When the funeral was over search was made for the will, but it was not found. No one suspected the heiress of having destroyed a document which endowed her with wealth, and many pitied her, but the trustees of the asylum insitted on their rights, and Marcia had no power to contest the will, despite the lawyer's assurance that he ooald testify to having made a later one in her favour, for she was poor, and, moreover, burdened with a guilty conscience. She returned to her labors, and died poor, dependent on the charity of Andrew for shelter in her last days, and though the old man guessed her secret well, he kept it to him* self for the honor of the family.

THE SAILOR THAT LOVED A LASS. " Messmates all, there is a song, and I have heerd it sußg, and so belike have you, about a lass as loved a sailor. Now I've got a yarn to tell you here at the Sailor's Snug Harbor, where we're all becalmed, about a Bailor as loved a lass, and loved her true, and how the love and jealousy brought him into trouble as he needn't have been brought into. And the story is about myself when I was young Bandolph Levit, afore N the mast, and as able a seaman as any living. " It's the story of this ring. I had Nettie's name put on it and mine. 'From Ban t it read, "to Nettie.' She was Henrietta Amelia Jane Wells in her Bible. " ' Now,' says I, • Nettie, I loves you deep and I loves you true; and if yoa loves me as I loves you, no knife can cut our hearts in two. Promise to be faithful to me while I'm on this voyage, and we'll be spliced when I come back, if so be you are willing.' (^ " AnjLshe was willing. She let ma pnlihfl.

111 I'll never take it off until yoa con% book; and then yon shall put the other oa top of it.' "So we kissed, and I felt as if I was the happiest fellow alive ; and I sailed away without a cloud in sight in the sky or in my mind's eye, with Nettie waving her pockethandkerchief to me and piping her eye for love of me. " It was a long voyage, and a gloomy onq and no chance for letters ; and we had a lowspirited chap along, who believed that nothing ever went right in love matters ; and when I told him about Nettie, remarked : " ' Shakespeare, whose plays I've seed of tea and often, remarks this here : " The course of true love never does run smooth ; " and Shakespeare, mind yoa, knowed what he was Bayia' when he said that.' "I don't know as I believed him, but re> marks of them kind, on a stormy dky, with grog low, and the captain out of sorts, does have an influence. " Moreover, as I sat a thinkin', or walked a thinMn', or swung a thinkixi' in my hammock, I'd remember that I wasn't much of a ohap to look at, and Nettie was as pretty as a picture; that I was nigh thirty, and she seventeen; that I hadn't any money, and hadn't got ahead as some had ; and I'd think of the ohap at the store, with hands as white as milk, and a big moustache on bis upper lip, and clothes like a first-cabin passenger ; and my fingers were tarry, and my nails black, and I got home at last in a state of mind just ready to expect the worst. " I went up to Nettie's house in a hurry. The parrot I had brought home had died, and the pine apples had spiled, and the captain, as weighed three hundred, had sot down on a handkerchief full of glass things I'd laid down unforeseen on to a bench; and I felt mean to be empty-handed, and coming to Nettie's house I see a ohap a coming out smiling, and saying : "'Good-night, Miss Henrietta; hope to meet yoa at church a Sunday.' " And I bolted past him, treading on his toes, and Nettie gives a scream, and says : •Why, it's Ban;' and I caught her in my arms and kissed her. ; " ■ Glad to see me, lasa ? ' says I. " ' Glad as glad can be,' says she. " And I was just as happy. Old folks were off; gone to a grandchild's christening, miles I away ; wouldn't be back until next day; and we had a pleasant evening, until she said : " • Well, Ban, I've not offered you a bite. I I'll get yoa a glass of cider and some ginger* i bread, 1 and went away to the kitchen and oamß back with a tray in her hand. As she set it ' down the lamplight showed her pxetty hands plain as day, and I saw she had no ring upon her finger. I "'Nettie,' said I, and my voice soundad ; hateful to myself— ' Nettie, where is your ring?' | " ' Don't talk about the ring to-night, Ban, 1 said she, softly. . " • Why ?' said I, trembling, and my head hot. " ' Because it makes me feel bad,' says she. " ' Bad or good, tell me why you don't wear your ring ?' says I. " The ring you swore never to take off your finger while I was gone." " ' Since you must have it, Ban,' said she, ' because I lost it." " ' Lost it 1 ' said I. ' Then you did take it vitr - " • No,' said she. ' I is-as out boating, and paddled my hand in the water, when I looked the ring was gone.' " • The ring was tight for you,' said I. " ' I suppose the water chilled my hand,' said she, • and made the finger smaller.' "Now if it had not been for that lowspirited chap, Larkin, with his poetry and hia Shakespeare, I'd believed my lass, but all the doubts I'd caught as you catch the smallpox on the voyage, rose up, and~made me furious. " • Who were you boating with V says I. "«S9veral people, 1 said she. 'IS waa a party.' " • Who sat along with you ?' said I. " ' Mr. Marsh,' said she. " ' That fellow from the store,' eaid I. " ' The gentleman who keeps the store,' " * I passed him at the door," said I. " • Very likely,' eaid she. •He called.' " ' I believe you lie,' said If' I believe yon gave him the ring. He's got it now ;' and I swore. "I'd been on a long, rough voyage. I'd talked to sailors only. I was crazy with jealousy. Oh, it's the wildest kind of madness, messmates, worse than bydrophoby. " I didn't know what I was saying, only I quoted Shakespeare and them songs, until I saw Nettie rise up. " ' lam no " liar." I have told you tha truth. Until now I have loved you, and been faithful to yoa," she said. ' Now I have lost every bit of respect I ever had for too. That is the way out ; take it.' " I went. " I shipped next morning for a long voyage, thinking Nettie false, but ashamed of my fury, for all that. Larkin was my mate. I kept along with him, and we spent our time talking about women, and he told me his story. It was worse than mine a deal. " Three years went by. "Wewerebaok in port. I didn't even go ashore. I hated the place. And the captain wanting some shad for dinner — shad were in season — told me to fish for some. I did. I caught a couple of fine ones and took 'em to the cook. " He cleaned 'em and I stood by. " Now, mates, don't go for to laugh, and say this is a fish story, after all. For I swear it's as true as the compass. " I watched the cook's shining knife at work, and I saw" something under its point that looked curious, and down went my thumb and finger. "I lifted the shining thing out of the stomach of that shad, and saw it was a ring ; a golden ring that shone again as I washed it in a pail of water and dried it on a dish-cloth, and I turned it over in my hand and saw that there were letters inside, and I read the words — Nettib from Ban, 18—.' " The cook picked me op a minute after and gave me some brandy and water, and I told him whose the ring was, and how I knew now that Nettie had told me the truth ; and his advice was to go ashore and see her and try to make it up. "I hadn't much hope, but I did what he advised, and came to the little home I knew by heart in no time. "The garden looked just the same, but there were two children at the door, and a woman I did not know, answered my knock. " • Mr. Wellis I' said she ; ' he died, and hia widow is gone away, I don't know exactly where, only — ' " 'Hadn't she a daughter ?' I asked. " ' Oh, yes 1' said the woman, • Henrietta - Amelia Jane. She was engaged to a sailoy and he broke with her. She felt pretty bad about it, I guess. They thought she wns going into a deoline, but Mr. Marsh from the store, a real nice, gentlemanly young man, came and came, and he was awfully sweet on her, and kind o' consoled her, " • They're married now ; that was what I was going to tell you. Widow Wolls has gone to live with her son-in-law. She thinks the world of him. He's get a store somewhere, in business for himself, but whether it is Montany, or Californy or Alasky, I don't know, but yoa could inquire at the post-office.' " I didn't take the trouble, messmates, and that's the story of my ring and me, and why I'm an old bachelor alone in the world with- ..... ..VS—lti— .UMJ . •__ * ___ « . » - -_« »— —