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Show " - , ; M I I NUnCU r.lARQARET.. that ward I saw a picture that I shall remember to my dying- day. "It was late in the afternoon, near sunset, and the broad bars of polden light that streamed in at the window fell full upon Margaret. In the gray uniform of a nurse, kneeling beside a low white bed on which lay the figure of a man, so swathed- In bandages and looking- so g-hastly and corpse-like that I thought he muft Be dead. Margaret was holding- his hand, and, as I drew nearer, 1 heard her murmur "'Jim. Jim!' . "I involuntarily pfeuaed and waited. 'Jim! Jim." she cried again, and the anguish In that low voice held me spell-bound. spell-bound. "But It made no visible lmpresnlon upon that still figure on the cot. For many moments Jt lay there silent and motionless; then, eo suddenly, that I was startled, thf Injured man sat bolt upright and opened his eyes. They fell upon the face of thp nurse beside him. "Margaret,' he nald faintly, you hereT ' 'Yes,' she answered. "Don't excite yourself. Lie back on your pillow, pase.' . vHe obeyed, still keeping hi eyes fixed upon her face. At last he said, even more faintly than before " 'It la good to see you. dear. I am dying, and would like to hear a prayer before I go. Pray, Margaret, pray!' "She did not speak, but the slender hands were clenched convulaively. " 'Pray,. Margaret, pray? he pleaded.- "She raised her eyes to heaven, and said pathetically " 'Jim, I do not know how tb pray.' "When she looked at blm again he was dead A beam of yellow light had fallen on his face like a benediction. "That is all. The priest was none other than James McKenna. Margaret's former lover. He Is deai. and I have always been the most unfortunate unfor-tunate of beings, and the fact that I still exist la quite a phenomenon In its way, . for accidents have beset me all the days of my life. Perhaps the "closest call: I ever had occurred some three years ago, when I was & member of the Hall Theatrical company. We were Journeying from Kimball to Scranton when It happened by "It" I mean that memorable railroad rail-road accident that cost so many people their lives. Three, of1 our company were killed, and the most of us were more -or less Injured. - I unlucky wretch! had a leg broken, and was taken to the hospital, where I endured many a long, long week uf agony. I think the pain I suffered was quite as much mental as physical; and when they said I was delirious, I believe I had simply gone mad for a sight of the dear old footlights. One day, when X was so far convalescent conva-lescent as to be able to sit up In a chair. Jack Callahan a member of our company, who had received a few very slight bruises In the accident, painful enough, however, to confine him to-his bed for days, and to detain him In Scranton until then called to see me. Dear old Jack! How delighted I was to see him; and bow we did talk! We discussed every known subject, and were beginning to explore the unknown, when Jack, who" was still far from befog be-fog strong, arose and said he must go. He had Just offered me his hand at parting when a resident nurse passed through the room. Jack must have had a good look at her face, although she did not turn it toward us Indeed, she seemed unconscloua of our presence and was evidently In a hurry for he fell back in hla chair like a log. and muttered something which sounded like , wears the garb of a regular nurse. I thlnkthe story of her life end here." "No." I said, "it does not. There is something more to add something that Is a sort of sublime lesson In Its way the great, grand lesson of life. Jack! Every day, . at the hour of sunset. Sister Margaret kneels at yonder window, and as she turns her eyes toward the western west-ern lights she murmurs, 'I have learned I how to prayr "Agnes Southard. "Margaret hereT "What is the matter, old fellow V I asked, tightening my grasp on his hand, which I still held. "Anything wrongT' "I'll be all rlghjt In a moment," he replied. re-plied. "I am still a little weak and giddy, you know, and the least thing knocks me over. Beside, I think it would be quite a shock, even If I were In full health; to find Margaret O'Grady, whom I haven't seen for Ave years, in the garb of a hospital nurse!" "You know her?" "Yes, we were born and bred in the same town." "Then you ' must know something about her. I confess she has often aroused my curiosity and Interest. I have -watched her day after day. I think she has the 'most divine face I ever saw. Come, Jack, tell me all you know of er." "Some other day," he said, rising hastily. has-tily. "No, no!" I cried. "That won't do. 'Some other dav Is altogether too vague. I want the story now. I am sure there Is a story back of that face. and I shall die of curiosity if I don't hear it. Do, Jack, humor . the whim of an invalid. Think how lonely he gets at times, and how much he longs for something to occupy his miad while he Is tied to a chair!", This allusion to my unfortunate leg seemed to soften him; he reluctantly resumed hla seat, and spoke as follows: fol-lows: "You cant expect me, Joe, to begin in the true story-telling fashion, as 'I lay no claim to the title of author. I will simply say that John O'Grady, Margaret's father, was an Irishman who contrived to amass considerable money. Her mother hadn't a drop of Irish blood In her veins, and bo far as religion goes, was an out and out heathen. Margaret was an only child. They literally worshiped her, and from the time she was born she ruled them with a rod- of iron. Nobody ever crossed her in anything, and she grew up pretty much as she pleased. She never attended any regular school, but studied and read any books that took ner iancy. as ior religion wny, sne never so much aa saw the Inside of a church. The consequence was that by the time she was eighteen she was like a beautiful wild animal untamed, untutored, un-tutored, self-willed.- Yet, in spite of everything, one could not help loving her, she was so very beautiful and had such pretty, Imperious ways. "One day she conceived the idea that she would like to go to Europe; the wish was hardly uttered before it was complied with, and the three were off and away Jn an Incredibly short space of time. They were gone two years, and when they returned they brought with them a handsome young Irish stranger. James McKenna by name. It seems that Margaret met him at some summer resort; he fell desperately in love with her, and she returned his passion pas-sion with equal ardor. "Well, all went smoothly for a while, and the day set for the nuptials was rapidly drawing nigh, when he, poor fellow, unluckily made some . remark which gave Margaret to understand that he was devoutly religious. At one time he had even thought of studying study-ing for the priesthood, but had given up the Idea, deeming himself unworthy of such a high calling. "Margaret flew into a rage at once, and told him that she had no creed, no beliefs that she hated all such nonsense, and that he must either renounce his religion or her. A scene followed, and the uDshot of it was that McKenna vowed to dedicate his life henceforth and forever to the church. That ended it; in a moment more he had left the house. "Soon after McKenna's departure for parts unknown, I secured an engagement engage-ment with a certain theatrical company and -went away from home. I was gone a number of years, and when I finally took a run down to Medina, I was surprised to find how much the old town and the people In It had changed during my absence. Margaret's father and mother were both dead, and she had entered the Medina hospital on trial as a nurse. I wanted to see her, so called at the hospital for that purpose. pur-pose. One of the surgeons, a most gentlemanly fellow. Informed me that Margaret was busy; a priest. In trying to snatch a child front under a horse's feet, had been knocked down, run over, and fatally Injured : he bad been brought to the hospital and taken to Margaret's ward; nobody knew anything about him he was a stranger In Medina and he could not possibly live more than an hour. Margaret was doing all she coujfd for him. and It was Impossible for her to see any one. "I Insisted; told, him I was to leave town that night; that she was an old friend of mine, and I could, not go without seeing her. 'Well, well. he said, 'you can run up. and perhaps she will be able to spare you a moment.' X did run up," and when I entered ' . vl |