Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 16, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 January 1875 — MISS ERISM’S CODICIL. [ARTICLE]

MISS ERISM’S CODICIL.

Miss Rebecca Erism, a valetudinarian of sixty, lay dying at her house in town. She had held so tenacious a grip upon life that it was difficult for the two young people to realize the end was so near. These two young people were Gerald Erism, her nephew, and Miss Luane Williams, her companion and nurse. Gerald had seen the young woman every day for the three years she had lived with his aunt, but never until that moment had bestowed a serious thought upon her. He did not even know the color of her eyes till his aunt gasped out a sentence that caused him to look at her attentively. Then he found them shining luminously in the somber gloom of the sick chamber, and something therein forbade him to hate her, although the sentence his aunt had uttered was to the effect that she had left Miss Williams all her money. j “ If you expect to pay for that horse for Emily Thorpe to ride with the money you get by my death,” said the dying woman, “ you’re mistaken.” “You don’t understand,” began Gerald. , ■ the old lady, “ and what I call a post-obit. I found out enough about it to make me put a codicil to my will. That rascally horse-dealer’ll lose his money after all, and Emily Thorpe shall flaunt none of her finery at my expense. I’ve left every penny to Luane Williams!” It was then that Gerald looked at Luane; but his aunt suddenly stretched out her hands to him pleadingly, and finding a gray pallor spreading over her face he knelt down by the bedside and took her cold,'withered hand in his own. “If the horse had been for anyone butthat Emily Thorpe!” faltered the poor old lady. “ Oh, aunt,” said Gerald, “ if you’d let me explain ” “I would if I had time,” she said; “ but I must die now.” In ten minutes it was all over, and Gerald went out of the house with a great ache at his heart. He was very sorry for his aunt; she had been very kind to him—too kind, for she had reared him for the useless life of a drone, when now it appeared he must work for his living like all the rest of the bees. It had hitherto been something of a bore to him merely to spend money, and the fact began to dawn unpleasantly upon his mind that to earn it must be infinitely more wearisome. Walking aimlessly on, his feet took mechanically a familiar direction, and he found himself pausing before a fine house in a fashionable quarter of the city, from which shambled a somewhat bent and awkward figure that presently disappeared in a brougham before the door. Gerald recognized the man as Mr. Badger, the millionaire, and involuntarily contrasted his condition with that of the fortunate soap-dealer. He w r as, however, so absorbed with the direful news he had to tell Emily that before she came into the parlor he had forgotten Badger’s existence. It was singular that her remarkable beauty and brilliant toilet did not appall Gerald at that moment, that the fact of his no longer being able to grace that lovely hand with befitting gems did not prevent him from seizing it in both his own and kissing it rapturously. But for that enchanting moment he was allowed to forget the gloomy chamber where his aunt lay. dead, and the woman that waited there for the money he had been taught to consider his own. “It seems to me that you are very beautifulthis morning,” was all that he could say. Emily drew her hand gently away from his caress. “ Gerald,” she said K “ I have something to tell you.” Her accent was cold. There was something in her manner that caused him to step back and look at with *• dim premonition of what was to come. “ You know,” she continued, “ how bitterly opposed is your aunt to your affection for me. She has told me herself that she will never consent to our happiness. Gerald, I am too fond of you to wreck your whole life. There was but one way to end it all ” She paused. He leaned forward and still kept his eyes, now wan and haggard, upon her face. Then she sank pale and trembling into a chair, and covered her eyes with her hand. She was moved with pity, perhaps, or a vague regret. At last she spoke: “ I have just accepted an offer of marriage.” 0. . “From Badger,” cried Gerald, and walked to the door. “Your prudence.” he added, standing upofi the threshold, “ has served you well: You havejustgot rid of me in time. My aunt sied this morning, and has left every thing she had tt> her nurse and companion.” Then he got out into the street, and walked along with a faltering, staggering step. His- eyes were wild, his face lividly pale. People turned to look at him as he went by, and two or three won-

dered what was sending that man to the devil. He went home and stood by the body of his aunt. There was a singular fascination about this death—something very wonderful and tempting in that mysterious and absolute rest. Suddenly he became master of himself, of the bitterness and despair of the moment. He walked firmly to the door; but a step followed him, and, turning, he saw the pale, perturbed face of Miss Williams. Then he remembered her presence in the room, but his madness and grief had prevented him from realizing it. “ Just one word, Mr. Erism,” she said. “Of course you know that I will not touch one penny of this money!” “It doesn’t matter now,” he replied. “It might as well be jours as anybody’sf’ • , “ But it is yours,” she said. “ Oh, as for me,” said Gerald, “ I shall not want it.” He walked on through the hall. Miss Williams followed him stealthily. He entered his room, but when the door shut him in .Luane remained, haggard and trembling, her ear glued to the cold panel between them. A grim silence reigned about her. She could hear the clock tick in the dead woman’s room below. Suddenly she put both her hands about the knob and opened the door. Gerald turned quickly; there was an ominous click; the pistol fell a little as it went off. The blood soaked through his coat and trickled upon the floor Just as Luane was about sinking at his feet Gerald put out his hand to her. “ An accident, Miss Williams,” he said. “ Please send Adams for the doctor and then help me off with my coat.” This brought Luane to herself. She hastened to do his bidding, dispatched Adams and, returning again to Gerald, stanched the blood with strips of pil-low-case from the bed. When the doctor came she held the light for him while he probed the wound and extracted the bullet. “An inch or so higher,” said the doctor, “ and you would have been buried on the same day with yojir aunt.” “ It was a lucky thing, then, that Miss Williams had an errand to my room when she did,” said Gerald. “As she opened the door my hand fell and the pistol went off.” “ She has unconsciously saved yffiir life,” said the doctor. Then, as Luane left the room, he added: “ She’s the finest young woman I know, and would make a capital nurse in my hospital. Do you know what she thinks of doing now that your aunt is gone?” “ No,” said Gerald, with a grim smile; “ but I fancy she’ll think of something livelier than that.” “ She has such an excellent physique and splendid nerve,” said the doctor. “ But I must go. Keep as quiet as you can and have Adams within call.” That night Gerald awoke with an intolerable thirst; his temples throbbed, his eyes burned. Looking over at Adams, he found that he was sound asleep. This of itself was offensive to Gerald. What business had the man to sleep when he was suffering? How horribly oppressive the stillness was, this semi-darkness and loneliness! At that moment a ponderous snore resounded from the throat of the sturdy Adams, and Gerald almost leaped from his bed. It was like a stab to him; it was unendurable. He stretched over his sound arm, and reaching a pillow threw it with all his might at the unconscious Adams. Blit in spite of the agony the movement cost him it was a futile one. The pillow fell far short of the object on the floor, and Gerald sank back with a groan. But suddenly the soft touch of a woman’s hand fell tenderly upon his forehead, the sweet tones of a woman’s voice fell soothingly upon his ear. “It is time for your medicine,” said Luane, and put the cup to his lips. Gerald drank as if it was nectar. Then he thought his head was too high, or perhaps a trifle low; every moment caused him intolerable agony, but he hated to be alone with Adams again. Besides, he was curious about this Woman. She must have really divined his motive, and come to him to save his life. She was again about to leave him, but he put his hand upon hers to detain her, and found that it trembled a little beneath his touch. “ Your hand didn’t tremble when you held the lamp for the doctor,” said Gerald. “He wants you for a hospital nurse, but I told him you’d prefer something more cheerful.” “ Why, I think I’d like it,” said Luane. “ You know I must do something." “ I don’t see the necessity,” said Gerald ; “ you have my aunt’s money, and it will occupy all your time to enjoy it.” “Your aunt’s money is your own,” said Luane, “ and you insult me by thinking I would take advantage of the poor old lady’s weakness; I never will touch a penny of it. Aind, Mr. Erism, you must, not talk.” “ One word, only one,” pleaded Gerald. “ But for you I might have been like — like our poor old friend .below.” Gerald shuddered and turned pale. “ I’m cowardly enough,” he went on, “ to hate even the thought of it now. HoW can I thank you, Miss Williams?” “By taking what is your own, and using it well and nobly,” said Luane, and vanished from his sight. But as she left him he felt a sudden throb in the hand beneath his own, and saw a quick flaiiie leap into her cheek, a glow to her eyes. “Three long years,” murmured Gerald, “ and I never knew her till now.” Gerald was young and strong, and the fourth day, the one appointed for the funeral, he was able to be up and dressed, and welcome Luane warmly as she entered his room. She looked paler than ever in her black dress, but Gerald thought he never had seen so sweet and noble a face. “ How I would like to go down, Miss Williams,” he said, “and enjoy the surprise of the good people below! I’d like to see them bow and smile to the heiress of my aunt’s fortune. I’m as bad as the rest of them, I suppose, for I feel like making you all sorts of pretty speeches." Gerald paused, and his face grew suddenly grave and tender. “Go now,” he added, “and kiss my aunt good-by for me; tell her I am quite satisfied with everything ” Luane went from the room and down the stairs. For the last three days she had been like one in a dream. It seemed awful to be warm and happy even after she entered the dark, gloomy drawingroom, eVen after she had bent and kissed the cold, stern face for and for herself. “ I will not take it,” she whispered, hot tears raining On the dead woman’s face—l will not take a penny of it; but it has given me such a gleam df happiness. God forever bless you for it!” Then the people began tc pour in, and the ceremony commenced. Lutine’s jvere the only tears that were shed, and the

most of the guests came from civility or curiosity. Miss Erism had taken but little active part in the world for many a year, and the poor lady was very soon put away and forgotten. The most important part of the proceedings was when they returned from the burial to hear the reading of the will. Luane trembled when the pompous lawyer unrolled the parchment and began in a sonorous voice—“ In the name of God, amen!” What would they think of her —what would they say of her? Oh, how glad she was that the only one she cared for in the world knew all about it! how innocent■she was, and how ignorant! But even while she thought thus she heard the lawyer read: “ To my beloved nephew, Gerald Erism, I give and bequeath all my property, personal and otherwise.” Luane could scarcely believe her ears. She listened to the end and heard at last: “To Luane Williams, my faithful nurse, I give a mourning-ring and the sum of fifty dollars.” Then she went up stairs to Gerald. “ The king shall have his own!” she said. “ Only on one condition,” said Gerald; “ I’ll take your money only on one condition.” “You’ll take my money!” echoed Luane —“my poor little fifty dollars!” Luane’s face shone with a profound joy. “ Your aunt left her money where it belonged, Mr. Erism. I have just beard you declared her sole surviving lieir.” Gerald remained stunned and bewildered. “ Where is the codicil?” he cried to the lawyer, who stood at the door. “My aunt left her money to Miss Williams. She told me so when she was dying!” “ Oh, that was when you bought that horse! I was afraid there would be trouble then, but, bless your soul! she got all over that.” “And the money is mine?” cried Gerald. “Of course it’s yours;” and the lawyer went down-stairs chuckling at his incredulity. Then Gerald held out his hands to Luane. “ I was going to be magnanimous enough to marry you despite your money,” he said; “now there is no obstacle to our happiness. Come, my sweet Luane, and bless the life you have given me!” Luane became his wife. Mr. Grundy said that he married her to spite n:mily Thorpe. The lawyer chuckled still more and thought of the codicil. But we know that it was for love, and for love alone. — Harper's Weekly.