Spirit of the age. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1849-1865, 1858-06-23
III.

t1utterlng breath ceased It's play forever
My child lay dead upon my knees
The afternoon had waned, and dreary
twilight shadow was creeping through
my husbands study, where | crouched by
the neglected fire and waitedfor his return. :
Ever since | had left the little motionless
figure up stairs I had been here, wander
ing vaguely about the room or dropping by
the fire alone with my wretchedncss, wait
ing and longing with wild impatience
for Norman's return, and yet dreading it
with terror unspeakable. "What will he
say?" oh, what will he say?" caught
myself repeating aloud, over and over again,
unmeaningly and unconsciously. Andthen
l hurried up and down the room and
wrung my hands in despair, or went tothe
window and strained my eyes to catch his
figure in the distance, or crept to the foot
of the staircase, perhaps, and listened idly
for some sound or motion from the room
above where the baby lay. Once ran up
again on some wild impulse to look at him
and see if he were really dead but the
darkened chamber, and the shrouded crib,
and above all, the death-chill of the white
cheek | stopped to touch, drove me back
again, shivering with strange fear, to my
post in the library.
And so the miserable hours wore on, un-
til the room was filled with darkness, and
still he did not come. At last the gloom
and silence and solitude grew intolerable /;
| could not endure it any longer, and
got up to ring for some one; but before !
had touched the bell | heard sound
which stayed my hand, and / stood sts;
faint, and breathless, quivering with 9
strange excitement of fear and expectation
for l knew it was my husband at last. II
was only moment before his step echoed
along the hall, and his hand was on the
lock of the door. He did not see me a
first, but bent over the gate to get light
for the chandelier. The next instan
the broad blaze revealed me>stapding il
front of him, and he started back in aston
ishment .#-..
agnes what is the matter with you?
he exclaimed, hastily.
"Oh, Norman !''-I threw my arms ou
wildly to him" have mercy upon me !
The baby is dead-our little Walter p
; clung to him in agony of supplicatiol
but he pushed me back with look of ho
ror and incredu!ity. "Say that again
! he demanded, almost freely, "my child
l dead g'
"He is, indeedr' | cried, sharply
Have pity upon me, Norman-my chill
I is deadw
! "PHy!" he dashed away my clingir
= hands as if they had been vipers, and stam
: ed his feet upon the floor in passiona
! despair "Pity youl You are satisfied
! you are contented now: you are free
- from your encumbrance that hindered yo
: so sorely. Never ask me to pity or fc
= give you!"
/ And he rushed away from me witho
It another word. heard israpid feet sprin
d ing up the stairs, andin the sudden silen
that followed | knew he was standing t
r side his dead child. stood still for M
J. .ment stunned and stupefed, as if | had /
e ceiyed blow; for with all my dread
the effect my tidingss would produce, l h
is not dreamed Of this, and could not re-
ize Just at first that such words had actu
@ ly been spoken to me by my husband.
&c They would have broken some weak v
mans heart, maybe; they only harden
mine, and threw me back upon my stror
,e hold of pride and resentment, from viii
IN the anguish of the last few hours had DIR
en- me. l waited only moment to coll
h. my thoughts, then | followed his footste
ell swiftly up 20 the room where the child v
.r- laid out. It was my own dressing-roc
We and Norman was standing in the very s.
as where he had stood the night before WI
Yo he asked me to stay at home from that b
l could not help the keen pang Of memo
ms the flash of sharp regret-"If had o.
st, known then what day would bring fort
int AS | glanced from the little waxen f
9ld lying under the folds of snowy drapery
lif- the stern brow and gloomy eyes of
he father bending over it. But did not
lie. yer in my purpose. | went forward to
O." side, and said steadily, without passion.
i'm Norman, | want to speak to you. J
'he told me down stairs never to ask you
mt pity or forgiveness. | promise you
'he not and | tell you now never to ask M
to forget or forgive the cruel words you h
Bit spoken to me. For, before this dead ch
off | never will p
red And turned my back and went
again. He called my name before
on' reached the door. Looking back no
leW can remember the strange blending of
nat pity, remorse, unutterable grief which
o"i voice expressed in that one word. B