The Vinton record. [volume] (M'arthur, Vinton County, Ohio) 1866-1891, 1869-11-25
THE BROKEN HOME.
Truth Stranger than Fiction.

SlanlS palaUal resluence.
The interior of this house is
even more beautiful than its
exterior every apartment be.
ing in its way a gem of mag
nificence and refinement.
The library especially real.
ICES the most perfect ideal Of
an elegant and cultured home.
And yet at the moment we
look in upon him - one August
afternoon, as he occupied his
library-the proprietor of all
this wealth appeared ofall men
the most miserable.
- He was MIR. Morton Preble,
for many years leading bank.
er OF San Francisco.
1t was in vain that the broad
bay.window at The south end Ol
the room had been opened,
giving ingress to the sun,hine
and The fragrance of rare flow
ers- in vain that soft couches
and luxurious chairs had been
gathered around him.
He was wretched.
He lay on a sofa, in The
depths of the great bay-win
dow, the wreck Of a once pow,
erful man. His GSuIe was thin
and guant; his lace white a;
marble his eyes having an ex
preston of woiul apprehension
of narrowing anxiety, OF dread
ful expectancy.
1t was evident at a glance
that no physical ailment had
made him what he was
BY what whitening secret
by what destroying affliction
had he been tins agonized
thus haunted? thus hunted! sc
noble and good! he so wealthy
and distinguished! s..
AS he moved restlessly upon
his luxurious cushions the pret
ty clock on the mantel piece
struck five, every stroke seem
ing to fall like a hammer upor
the heart of tle nervous inval
id. He aroused himself, strug
Cling feebly to a sitting pos
ture.
"Oh, will this fatal day nev,
er, never paSs?" he murmured
"nOr bring US reliefp
Noticing with a nervous
start that he was alone, he
touched a bell upon a table be
fore him, and called:
Helen, Helen! where are
youp
Before the echoes of his
voice had died out a step was
heard, and his wife entered In,
presence.
81 lett you only for moment
Norton" he said, advancing tt
The bankers side. "You were
doing, | think. | wished to
send for the doctor!"
She was a beautiful woman
of some six and thirty years
graceful with broad white
brows, and loving eyes, il
which the brightness anC
sweetness of a sunshiny nature
were still percoptible under /
grief and anxiety no less poign
ant than that evinced by hel
husband.
"The doctor!' he echoed, half
reproachfully. rrr
"Yes, DEAR" she said, in
calm and cheerful voice, as she
drew chair to the side of the
sofa, and sat down stroking the
corrugated forehead Of her in
valid with a magnetic touch
''He Will be here Immediately
Your last nervous crisis alarm
ed me. You may become Sc
rious!y I'LL"
Mr.. Preble bestowed an af,
Ieclionate look upon his wife
hut said despondenlly:
"The doctor! lie can no
minister to a mind diseased!
Oh, if these long hours woulC
only pass! If | only knew
what the day has yet in store
for us!' r-
"Look up, Morton!" enjoined
Mrs. Preble, with reveren
tally truslrul glance upward
through the open window a
The blue sky, and as il looking
beyond the azure clouds there
in. Let us appeal from the
wickedness of earth 10 the
goodness and mercy OF Hea-
ven!"
The banker gave a slow sob
bing sigh.
81 cannot look up, Helen,'
he answered, with a passionate
iremor in his voice-"only
down, down at the grave that
is opening before mel"
| Mrs. Preble continued 10
stroke his forehead softly,
while she lifted her pale lace 10