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Show H Her Last Dance. H Every event- M ing- she loft the child with a new pnug, H though sho could not but feel her safe H with good Martha, nml flew on the H wlngH of love to hor bedside on her re- H turn. Resolutely alio ohut. her oyea lo H' "M that displeased hor in her new ur- H roundings, and soon her dancing Ixj- H canio to liar an infatuation. For the H time Hhe Avas on the stage nil !se was m forgotten. ITer grief fell from her like B vn dismal garment, and sho stood the m personification of laughing youth. B grace and joy. Alway garbed in white S und with a gauzy, wing-irk scarf B "La Paloma" they calletl her after her first dunce she floated in an atmos- B plico-e ohnsto and poetic, iSo delicate to B k m,suderotootl, and, as before, event H the women were clinrmed. Yes, she K miht have become content, but dallj' H Maizie grew weaker and moro fragile, M and Iwr lweart failed within her. She B would take the child in hor despairing H arms and hold her so closo that the M Uttlo one-would cry .out, yet was happy B withal In the embrace, for she loved her B "Mumsie" with a deep devotion, and H seemed with n stirangc preclence ,to un H dcrntnnd much. B One night it was about three months M after her debut Uho kift homr a little M Jighterof henri, tbnn nsnnl, Jfaiie'Kru'f,, I 'f, $& Bc Bv , !? pw--.- i been, fovcrish nil day, naul had grotvn quieter townrd evcnlngand they .had had n. royal game, of romps and a "big. big hug and kiss" when she left. Toward tho close of the evening she began be-gan to grow ill nU ease, and, throwing her fur-lined mnntlc nbouthcr, without changing her costume, she left the theater hurriedly, and, jumping into a hansom, wis driven home In nil haste. The front door was open. From the liall came the voice of her physician: . "Go quitelcly, or sho will not know her." "Who will not know whomV" she said, to herself. "Who will not know whom?" she reiterated to the physician, physi-cian, as she wnlkcd quickly Into the luousc. He took her in his strong arms, carried car-ried hor to the nursery and placed her in a chair beside ihte ohtld. The dear little face, already fanned by the wings of the angels, flushed softly . ' "I was waiting, MnniHle," she whis-,pcrc(l: whis-,pcrc(l: "you will dance for me now, will you not?", She fell on her knees beside the couol'i, nud took the little one in her anus. "Sweet, lovely JIumsie," said the child, kissing the bare arms; "you will be a real dove in llcnven." "Maizle, Maizie, do not leave me!" wailed tho trembling woman. "No, Mumsje," answered the child; "you shall come too."' The mother gazed at her, speechless and wild with alarm. "Jluinsie," said the little one, trying to raise the heavy little head with the short golden curls in damp ringlets on the pale forehead, "Mumsie dear, do donefc. Pc'rhaps the angels don't dance, and I lovct so." With' a great sob and a supreme effort she rose from her knees, threw off the heavy cloak which was still about her, and began to dance. Was ever such martyrdom, over such bravery? Ah! Mother nud Saint, in other days calion-i7.ation calion-i7.ation was often more lightly won. On she danced in the dimly-lit death chamber, cham-ber, those outside standing with bnted breath not daring to enter, yet seeing all. ' Sweetly the child smiled, lifted the little hand once as If to thank her, then the fluttering eyelids closed, the long lashes rested on the pale cheeks, and nhe was .still. Closer and closer danced the mother, till she leaned anxiously, anx-iously, breathlessly over the child, fearing fear-ing to stop abruptly lest she should waken her. Then with a cry that rang through the hou.se. and rings now in the ears of the two who waited outside the door, she fell on thccouch beside her angel, and the bra,ve h'cnrt broke. Black and White. |