Orleans independent standard. [volume] (Irasburgh, Vt.) 1856-1871, 1860-09-14
win his father consent to see

him?'
Il do not knowl o, do not know
wept the poor, yet trembling mother.
He has loved him better than any child
we have. But he will never hear bis
name mentioned now. Sometimes be
lays groaning all night, and in his sleep
have known him start, and cry out as II
be was in pain, Martha Martin 7 you
ksa me, you kiu your father He is
not the same man now,--he is gloomy
and silents-he seems always brooding
over some great sorrow, and we can
guess what that sorrow is
Without designing it, the mother sent
daggers to the heart of her son, be burst
forth into deep cry of agony, ard twist
ed his hands in his hair. / endeavored
to soothe him, and prevent his doing vio-
lence to himself.
Let me go said be. Let me 90.
I had better have died than ever to have
come back Why didn't drown NY
self in the river, as was temptedl'
No more Of that! said, somewhat
severely. The errors of the past are
to be retrieved, not sealed up with the
black seal of despair. l promise you,
Martin, that if you truly desire and viii
it, you shall be a man yet, restored to
| your home and friends, and to your own
selfrespect. Will you go and tell his
father he is here?'
20, l dare not! said Mrs. Lockwood.
With all his kindness, he is so stern, he
is so set against Martin now, it must be
broken to him by degrees, and you must
do it,
i shall send for him, then,' I answer
ed.
But was saved that trouble by see
ing Mr.. Lockwood shortly afterwards
pass by the house. 1 hailed him from
the door, and invited him to enter my
study.
He came ina tall, iron-framed man
slightly bent, with thin gray hair, and
wan features that looked as if they had
known afliction, and became greatly re-
conciled to 1t.
/ Fl sat down in the chair his son had
sat in but a short time before. As l
watched the expression of his, stern sor-
rowful face, l thought how strange it
was that he could sit there, and speak Of
that son as distant and lost, unconscious
that he was even then in the next room,
with but half-closed door between them.
Yet Mr.. Lockwood must have felt the
influence of the drama that was enact
ing so near him. He seemed TO know
that l wished to talk with him about
Martin.
/ I have been toId,' said I, that your
son has written you letter. Is he COM
ing back ?
/ had a pTesentment when ] came in,
that was to have my feelings wrung
again. be responded, uneasily moving,
and knitting his brows. I'D rather not
talk on that subject. 1t causes useless
pain
| have heard from your son. I said.
'Ah?' He started, and his gray eye
fickered with emotion as he turned its
questioning glance upon me. Has he
written to you p
i have news of him and I know that
be is penitent. He would return to you.
if you would receive him. A crisis in
bis life has arrived; his whole future
perhaps his souls saIvation-turns upon
the event. Would we cast of a broth
er at such a time? How much less a
son =
1T IS uselessp cried the old man.
shaken by anger, or pain, or both. /
have tried him, he has failed me 10 eve
rything; God forgive him can't ?
Has he sinned against you seventy
times seven? I mildly enquired.
Yes, and morel Yet-yet-'tis not
thatI don't forgive him-I wish him
well-but he has no longer any claim,
he is no longer my son never mention
bis name to me again
He arose with violent emotion, his cane
trembling in his grasp, and he was hur-
/ rying away, when gently detained him.
Hear enc word, and I viii never op-
portune you again on this subject.
have seen your SON.
i Without speaking he looked at me
] strangelys-pale, and shaking more and
more,-and suffered himself to be LED
back to q chair.
have seen him, and IL know any.
thing Of the human heart, Martin Is Z
changed creature. Not poverty only
| bata realization Of his guilt toward yot