The weekly Anglo-African. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1859-1861, 1860-03-31


no children's eager eyes looked into the
embers. 1t was the stateliest house, by
far, in the little village-a lofty mansion,
cleaning white through the trees, with the
roof supported by massive pillars. No
where did the evening fire burn brighter,
but into it looked only two old people,
worn and sorrowful, with the shadows of
grief and time upon their shrivelled faces
two who had forgotten, long ago, their
youths fair castles, who looked back over
waste fields of memory, where not even
setting trays gilded the monuments built
to their dead hopes.
They sat there silently They had sat
silently ever since the darkness gathered.
The lofty, well-furnished room was lighted
only by the wood fires glow, and iii the
corners strange shadows seemed TO gather,
with reckoning hands and white brows
cleaning specifically through the darkness
Toward them, now and then, the wife
looked with anxious gaze; then turned
back again toward the fire, and clasped her
hands over the heart that had learned
through many trials the hard lesson of pa.
thence.
Judge Howard was a stern, self-contain
ed man. In his native town where he had
passed all his life, none stood higher in
public esteem. Toward the poor he was
liberal-toward his neighbors just and
friendly; yet, for all that, he was hard
man, whose will was iron, whose habits
were granite. His wife had come to know
this, even in her honeymoon. The know
ledge was endorsed by her sad, waiting
face, and her restrained manners.
His daughter Caroline, his only child,
had learned it early, and her father became
to her almost as much an object of fear as
of tenderness.
And yet he loved those two with
strength weaker, more yielding natures
could not have fathomed. When his child
was first put into his arms, when her frail,
helpless hands CROPPED blindly at bis own,
he felt the strong thrill of fatherly love
sweep over him. For the moment it swell
ed his soul, irradiated his face, flooded his
heart, but it did not permanently change
or soften his nature. AS she grew toward
womanhood, and her bright head glaring
in his path was the fairest sight earth held,
her ringing voice the sweetest music, he
never gratifed her whims, nor always
yielded to her reasonable wishes.
At length love came to her. She gave
her heart to one whose father Judge How
ard had hated. James Huntley and he
had been young together, and feud had
arisen between them which Rufus Towards
stern nature allowed him neither to forget
or forgive. He Lad yet to learn the lesson
holier than philosophy, loftier than all the
teachings of seers and sages-the lesson
our Saviour lived and wrought, aye, and
died, to teach, of forgiveness even of our
enemies-prayer for those who have de-
spitefully used us and prosecuted us. His
former enemy was dead now, but not so
the Judges hate. 1t had been transmit
ted, like real estate, to the dead mans
heir, and 50 he forbade his daughter to
marry him, and sternly babe her choose
between parents and lover. She inherited
| her fathers storing will, and she put her
| hand in Richard Huntley's and went forth.
| She would not have been her fathers child
| if she had not.
From that time, for ten years, her name
| had been forbidden word Letters she
had written at first, during her Danish
ment, but they had been sent back uno-
pened, and for years no voice or token had
come to tell whether she was dead or liv-
ing Therefore the mother looked shud-
deringly into the shadow haunted corners,
in the long twilights, and almost believed
she saw there the face for which her moth
erheart had yearned momently all these
years.
Judge Howard loved his wife too Oh
if she had but known it Every outline
of that sad, waiting face, every thread of
that silver hair, was dearer to him now
than when bridal roses crowned the girl
bride he had chosen; but his lips never
soothed away the sadness of that patient
face.
at is a terrible night" he said at length,
rousing himself from his long silence. In
the pause after his words you could hear
how the wind shook the house, groaned
among the trees, and sighed along the gar
den walk.
"Yes, terrible night" his wife ans
wered with shudder. "God grant no
poor soul may be out in it shelterless."
"Amen would take in my worst en-
envy on such night as this p
His worst enemy But would he have
taken in his own child-the daughter with
his own blood in her veins, fed once at his
board, warmed at his hearth? Ii this ques-
ton crossed his wife's mind, she gave it no
utterance.
"Shall light the candles, Rufus ?" she
asked meekly.
eyes, it is almost bedtime. / had for
gotten how long we were sitting in the
dark. will read now, and then we shall
better be in bed"
He drew towards him the Bible, whic
lay between the candles she had lighted
1t had been his habit for years to read a
chapter in it nightly. Somehow, tonight,
the pages opened at the beautiful, ever
new story of the prodigal son. Judge
Howard read it through calmly, but Lis
hand trembled as be shut the book.
Hannah he began and then paused.