Orleans independent standard. [volume] (Irasburgh, Vt.) 1856-1871, 1856-03-28

4
tongue, and then crept to my feet to sun
themselves in the dangerous softness of
my smile.
Glow hated them all
"At early dawn I was miles away
Straightas the lapwing to hernest I sought
my children.
Il came to this city disguised.
"There was no marks of age then
midnight orgies had respected their fit
associate, the devil had cared for his own.
1 stained my face, my royalty beautiful
hands. The feet which had been planted
in their slender divinity upon The necks
of my subjects, were hidden in coarse
shoes. The figure was now swathed in
rusty garments, which enabled me, un-
checked, unrecognized, to dog the foot
steps of my children and their attend
ants.
"One day Emma stumbled, and /
caught her in my arms. The graceful,
modest girl of twelve turned her blue
eyes gratefully upon me. I trembled like
those leaves which the wind now beats
aside.
Years have passed since then. 1 dc
not give myself the enjoyment. the pas
sive delight of even a hut, where in per
feet solitude I might brood over my life
my griefs.
"There is refinement of penance tc
my mind in searching out such spots as
the one in which I now live.
"To surround myself with common
place, ignorant, prying people, whose
very contact once would have disgusted
me. They irritate me now; they are
the hair-shirt and lash which, devout
Catholics administer to themselves.
"Do you realize my life? Doyou un
derstand it? This is my jar of ointment
pour it out daily.
"The only relic possess of what 1 was
is the cruelest stab which yet remains tc
be told.
When I left my home, my children
my all, the stern, infexible father of thos,
children sent me my portrait, taken il
+ the pride of my youthful maturity. H,
would not retain vestlge winch spoke 0
me. I have it still. When the storm Q
vexed passions, of undying regrets rage
highest within me, open the box il
which it stands.
"It is not the sight of my past beaut,
(for need no diguises now which wiring
my very soul, but the memory of my in
nocence."
She stopped.
Away" she cried, lifting up he
, arms {" the hurricane is at hand now
: Who can teach me to wipe out the past
Repentance will not do it, tears will nc
do it, penance will not do it p
" But prayer will" whispered softly
folding both fiercely-nervous hands in m
aged ones.
Prayer she repeated scornfull,
" Prayer viii not give me my children
my lost name, my proud position. Praye
cannot heal the bleeding wounds tn;
make up my heart. Prayer cannot prt
vent what has happened this night-th
sacrifice of my Emma. Prayer may sav
{ my soul, but it cannot help Them"
Alas! Alas
. [ almost hoped that / read Alright N
) neighbor's mind had gone astray as we
Z as her poor, faltering footsteps.
FAREWELL she said, rising abruptly
+ farewell. thank you. Do not folio
70 me. Ask no questions about me. Tht
(" tell me you write tales for bread. IF "
u can, make a warning Of me. Far
4 well.
e She walked straight down the path, f
into the darkness. l saw the flow of Ia
N black gown and her steady march un
"' the trees shut her out.
Il began by saying II have neighbor
I should have said !" I had"
g l looked for her in her usual seat ne
- morning; she was not at the breakfa
d table.
~ Where is Mrs. Brown ?" asked.
VI "Ahr' answered Mrs. Plunkett, " S
~ left at daylight, bag and baggage; 4
much of it she has to move though-oH
-e. big fat box and trunk. The Lord
knows where she has gone. A que
= soul, that Mrs. Brown. ] am not sor
~ to lose her. Shall ] ill your cup, 81
ih LITTLE GIRLs.-There is somethi
Us inexpressibly sweet about little gin
I