The Union and journal. [volume] (Biddeford, Me.) 1858-1882, 1868-12-25
choked and the clasped fingers grew
white under each other'spressure.
How is Il possible, MaryT


How Is It possible, MaryT
She laid her fingers on his lips.
Hush J! she said, Il can guess all you
would say Hastily throwing open q
writing desk, she took from It an old, yell
low, folded paper, and giving Il to him,
continued, Read that before you judge
me-
The writing was irregular and scraw-
ling, as II done by one In great haste or
with shattered nerves. Mr.. Barnes read
the few lines three or four times through
before he seemed to take In their full Sig
nlfcance. They ran:
New YORK, Aug. z, 1S4S.
My dear wife: Come to me ut once.
Harry Is very III, and worn out with care
and watching, my own health is giving
way. send this by private hand, to Mr..
Jeremy, who will arrange for your de-
parture, and possibly may accompany you
o part OF the way.
ROBERT.
There was brief silence. Then he laid
the folded letter softly down, and whls-
pcring with bated breath, Il see 1t ALL
see Il all, held toward her his trembling
hands. A smile like the memory Of child
hoods sunny mornings flushed through
her lingering tears, and the weary burden
of twenty years seemed to be lifted from
her life like the mist of the night, as the
strong arms closed around her again. and
she heard the familiar voice, speaking to
his own heart rather than to her.
How can ever atone for these twenty
years Of wrongr
Oblivious Of the young people waiting
and wondering In the next room-obliv-
ious Of all the world but themselves, they
looked In each others eyes, and talked
fitfully for more than an hour; but the re-
ply to his first question dlscloscs all that
we care to know.
who gave you that letterv
Mr.. Jeremy, did not know what to
do. It seemed 30 unlike you to send
to him, and not to inc direct, that I
felt inclined to doubt. But you were not
quite well when you left home, and Mr..
Jeremy was your most trusted friends.
SO trusted. you remember, Robert, that
you laughed ut me, as both vain and fool
ish, when told you some months before,
that he seemed to be seeking opportunity
and encouragement for culpable advances
and In very shame tried to persuade mY-
self that you must be right. And then,
the thought that you and Harry might be
dying among strangers, q thousand miles
away from me, wrung my heart; and.
follow Ing my first IMPULSE, started to 90
to you ON the same day he gave me the
letter. IL was the second day out before
he threw off the mask. At first affected
not to understand him, and tried to laugh
but that only encouraged him. Then ]
repuised him, and threatened to appeal to
the captain of the boat for protection.
But he tainted me with my helpless anu
equIvocal position; and finally In his an
ger and chagrin, he threw of all disguise,
and told me that the letter he gave me
was written by himself, and that he spar
ed no pains to consult me irrevocably to
his fortunes; and, with devilish malignity
he even showed me copy, true one rs
found afterward, of an article which he
assured me had then been circulated
throughout the city. l was crushed, but
not conquered. l did appeal to the cap
tain. who placed me on the first westward
bound steamer we met, and within five
days after started away, was at homo
again. But 1t was home no longer. i
saw Mr.. Gage, and he told me OF all you
had done, but was slow to believe what. ]
had to tell. We have tried to learn your
whereabouts; but beyond the cold court
csy of tho bank officers at st. Louis we
could never penetrate. You guarded your
secret well. With the little money you
left me, added to what Mr.. Gage gener-
ously advanced me, opened this little
shop. God prospered INC abundantly
and here have remained ever since. In
my inmost heart l knew you would come
back again sometime, and never closed
my eyes In sleep without praying God to
spare me to see that day. Oh, husband
dear husband! the past Is buried out of
sight, aud we are young again!
rs Mr.. Gage still livingT
NO; he died two years ago, but his
sons have succeeded to his business. Sew
eral years ago the lots where we lived
were covered by large business houses,
built by Mr.. Gage. The rents paid for
them long ago, and since then, neither
father nor sons would take dollar OF
their proceeds, but have regularly depos-
tied them In savings bank, to the credit
of 'little Harry as they would always call
him. or course l would not touch them
without your consent. Twelve years ago
my cousin Helen died. and left me her
five-year-old girl. You saw her In the
front r00m.'
'Where Is Jeremy?'
Dead ten years ago. Mrs. Gage has q
letter written by him few days before
his death to hef husband. I have never
seen It. but they told me that these facts
were there stated, amid much penitent
protestation, substantially rs have Just
told you. God forgive me, but 1t was be-
wildering work, sometimes, to think OF
him with anything but maledlction.
There was long pause, broken only
by the scarce audible sob that marked the
ebb of the storm of emotions which had
so lately swept through that quiet house.
One by one the street lamps threw their
struggling beams into the settling dark,
ness, and the roar of the day subsidized
gradually into the city's multitudious
voices Of the night Then she rose soft
ly, and said; Let us call In the children
and when we shall have satisfied their
wonder, you shall tell me all your history
through all these many years.
In all Chicago's quarter Of million
souls this day, there were none more SO.
renely happy and devotcdly content than
thoso tfriad nnI trties