The Nevada journal., 1859-03-25

in t.'s bereavement he has cursed me,
that curse is fearfully fulfilled! Poor
Mary is dying-has been dying for
months and / have known it. 1t has
been for mo to see the failing step-the
dimmned eyes; it is for me nowItc see the
terrible struggles of her nearly worn n-out
frame it is for me to listen to her Ian
guage of remorsc, that sometim IS alm5st
drives me mad. Yes, mad-mad- d--mad,'
he said in frenzy, rising and crossing
the floor with long, hasty, strides, then
burying his face in his hands, he ex-
claimed Too late-too late-I have
repented.' There was long pause, and
he continued more calmly, No human
means can now restore my poor COM
panion. Her moral scnsibilities become
more and more acute as she fails in
strength, so that she reproaches herself
constantly"
A weary, mournful sigh broke from
els i, as if his heart would break.
90 if he knew he exclaimed again,
if he knew how bitter penalty she is
paying for the outrage she has commit
ted upon him-he would pity her-and
it could be'forgiven.'
'Will you see her, sir 2
shrank from the very thought.
She has asked for you, sir do not
deny her request. Hearing that you
came from America, she entreated me
to bring youto her. 1 promised that l
would
L will go, then
Up the cool, wide. matted stairs, he
led me, into chamber, oriental in its
beautiful furnishing, its chaste magnifi-
cence.
There, half-reclining in a wide, easy
chair-a costly shawl of lace thrown
over her attenuated shoulders, the rich
dressing gown, clirging and followed to
the ravages sickness had made-sat one
whose great beauty and once gentle gifts
had made the light and loyeliness Of &
sacred home.
But now ! O pity! pity!
The eyes only retained their lustrc
they were wofully sunken. The bla-
zing fire, kindled at the vitals, burned
upon her sharpened checks, burned more
fiercely, more hotly, as she looked upon
my face. | could think no more Of an
ser-I could only say to myself,
'Oh how sorry i am for YOU
She knew, probably by her husbands
manner, that was aware Of the circula-
stances.
Her first question was :
Are You going back to America, sir ?
The hollow voice startled re. l seem
ed to see an open scpulchrc
told her that it was not my ihten-
Ion to return at present.
oh then who will take my little child
back to her father 2 she cried, the tears
falling. L am dying, and she must 60
back to him 1t is the only reparation
| can make-and little enough, oh little
enough, for the bitter wrong L have done
them
4 hoped, sir, you might see him. she
added a moment after checking her sobs;
i hoped you might tell him that his i'm
age is before me from morning till night,
as knew he must have looked when
the first shock came. Oh, sir-tell him
my story-warn, oh warn everybody.
Tell him 1 have suffered through the
long hours, these many years ah, God
only knows how deeply
Mary, you must control your feelings
said my host, gently
Let me talk while l may was the an
swer. Let me say that since the day l
left my home | have not seen single
hour of happiness. 1t was always to
comc-always just ahead-and here is
what has come-the grave is opening,
and must go to judgment. Oh, how
bitterly have I paid for my sin. For
give me-O my God forgive
1t was solemn hour, that which
spent by that dying peniment. Prayer
she listened to--she did not seem to join
or, if she did, she gave no outward sign.
Remorse had worn away all her beauty,
even more than illness. She looked to
the future with despairins kind of
hope and but feeble faith.
Reader, the misguided woman of Cey-
lon lies beneath the stately branches of
the palm tree. Her sweet child never
met her father in her native land. She
sleeps under the troubled waters of the