Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1861-11-07

lessened while il displayed the darkness of the
rooui At the room ! merely glanced; the
figure at the fire, crouching almost over it, took
all my attention. Her bonnet and shawl were
thrown off, but the face was still from ne gaz-
ing into the fire. She was weeping, | knew
from her movements-very bitterly, as an oc-
casional sob told me. She had the shawl my
daughter had given her in her hands. | saw
her press il to her lips and murmur, "My child,
oh my child !" | stole softly down stairs. /
could trust myself no longer. The pride, an
ger, stornness, and resentment of years were
fast thawing away, leaving me weak as any
child. At the first cab-stand hailed one, and
directed him to drive me home then request
ing him to wait for few minutes, | fastened
up stairs to my daughters room, and hastily
told all ] had seen. In moment, as had ex-
pected, she sprang up and said, II must 90 to
her. 90 to my mother" "And tell her ALL"
said. ! knew | need say no more, for she un-
derstood my strangely conflicting emotions.
Taking my arm she came down stairs with me,
strangely excited knew by the trembling OF
the hand that rested on my arm. would will
hngly have spared her the pain, the humiliation
she must experience, but | could not do with
out her. We had changed positions. My rea-
son yielded invountarily to her warm heart
We spoke but in syllables during our long
ride
When we reached within a street of our dcs-
tnation dismissed the carriage, and we walk
ed down the now almost deserted street, which
no longer derived even semblance Of cheer
funess from the lighted shop. windows. | could
feel how tightly Ada's arm grasped mine in
terror as we turned down the narrow court,
which scarce afforded passage for two. ! took
her hand as we ascended the stairs, cautioning
her to silence. Very slowly was our ascent
made, for Ada, unnerved already, and unac-
customed to such scenes, fell at almost every
step. AT length we reached the head of the
STAIR The door was aar, as before, but the
lire had burned down, and. dark and comfort
ess-l looking, scarce revealed the slight figure
crouching still over it. She moved not, though
she must have heard the steps ascending
But now was afraid had asked too much
of my child. Excited and trembling, she leaned
heavily upon me, and she whispered, 81 cannot
go in papa" saw that she could not realize
that that drooping, attenuated, wretched-loo
ing creature could be her mother, and she
shrank from the recognition. Again she whis-
pered, at isn't 1t can't be her ~ But Just
then, as hesitated between returning and going
forward myself, she rose with the shawl still in
her hands, which she again pressed to her lips,
and going to small box that stood in a corner,
united what seemed to be bundle of rags.
An ember blazing up for few moments re-
vealed to us its contents. A doll and bunch of
corals were alternately pressed to the thin faded
lips. l remembered when she had bought them
for our child. Ada, too, recognized then. A
small gold locket, which had given her after
our marriage, containing my likeness, was
pressed again and agail to her lips, while we
could hear the low voice murmuring, "God
bless them, my husband and child" Ada gent
ly withdrew her hand from my arm, and step
ping forward gently knocked. A cloth was
thrown over the carefully preserved mementoes,
and then her voice babe her daughter "come
in"
"My motherw was all Ada said, as she sprang
forward, but it was enough. In moment they
were locked in each others arms. Bewildered at
the unexpected entrance the woman raised the
face that lay on her breast, sobbng convulsive-
ly, and gazed into it. at is my child" she at
length said satisfied it was no dream, but re-
ality.
There are scenes which the pen feels itself
powerless to describe This was one. Freely
from my heart granted Mnna the forgiveness
she linelt to ask for the great wrong she had
done. That night | had seen more
clearly than had ever done where | had been
to blame. had loved my wife passionately
but that love was vailed under calm, cold ex-
teri n. What her temptation had been | knew
not-asked not only asked if he, the de-
stroyer of my peace, were yet alive.
He had died ere year had passed from the
time she left me; killed in a gambling quar-
rel; died bitterly repenting the great wrong he
had done. AS l listened the bitterness died
out of my heart. | felt thankful that had moi
yielded to the first wild promptinys of revenge
| felt solemnly the power of him whom in my
pride and rebellion | had rejected. "Venge
ance is mine, will repay, saith the Lord" HI
had died in disgracetul brawl in the noon o.
his days, in foreign land, the victim of deeI
remorse, consigned TO a dishonored grave, un
wept save perchance by the woman he had 81
foully wronged.
"And YOU" asked. "what did you?"
81 sewed for my daily bread washed, iron
ed, did anything could find to do for ten lonG
years, deprivng myself latterly of the necessa
ries of life that | might save enough to bring
ME back to my native land once more to die
| wanted, unseen, to look on your faces ono
more, and did so many time, when you dit
not know. have longed to clasp my daugh
ter to my arms, but my sin stood before me, al
impossible barrier. | have longed to throw
myself at your feet and seek but forgiveness.
thought | could die then in peace, but you look
ed so stern, so unrelenting, dared not, whel
| knew it was that had brought that expfes
sion TO your face. ! supported myself by sew
ing for the shop, and managed to live but
have been sick for a month, and reduced to tn
last extremity, and here none can help another
Tonight | carried back some work | had fin
ished, hoping to get for it sufficient to buy m
! a morsel of food. | have tasted none to-day
My hands had been weak and trembling, ant
the work would not do 1t was sent back wit
, me. In desperation, unable to bide the coli
t and hunger up here, wandered up and dow
the streets, not caring whittier went, till ha
reached without noticing. your door. ! lean
, ed against the railings, unable to Danish tn
t cravings of hunger. | saw light and warmt
{ inside, and, regardless of everything but tn
, longing for food and shelter, l commenced t
+ sing Annie Laurie You had often praised m
, skill in singing it. When | saw at whose hous
e | had asked for food and shelter, shrank bac
} and refused to go in, dreading recognition
You know the rest"
| The account was frequently interrupted b
: that tell-tale cough that shook the weak fran
so violently. In tears and silence we listened
e no words Of reproach on our lips no looks Q
: coldness and rebuke in our eyes. Oh no! Sh
t had sinned, but she had also suffered. Sh
1 shrank from my proposal that she should aC
}, company us home, but she yielded when saiC
n "rhen you do not accept my forgiveness"
t "Oh yes (" she faltered "but am so unwol
d thy, have SO wronged you"
!, "Let the past be forgotten"
And so we went away from that attic, the S
n lent witness Of how hard are the wages of sil
of tho stra anoo fncaS that paarad N,