The Fremont weekly journal. [volume] (Fremont, Sandusky County, Ohio) 1867-1877, 1869-11-26
The BROKEN HOME.
STRANGER THAN FICTION.

TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION
In-Ssn Francisco, on the north side
OF Folsom street, overlooking Mission
Bay, stands a palstial residence.
The interior of this house Is even
more beautiful than its exterior, every
apartment being in its way a gem Of
maguifcence and refinement
The library especially realizes 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 ibrary-the proprietor
of all this wealth appeared Of all men
the most miserable.
He was Mr.. Morton Preble, for ma
ny years leading banker of San Fran
cisco.
1t was in vain that the broad bay
window at the south end of the room
had been opened, giving ingress to
the sunshine and the fragrance of rare
flowers-in vain that the walls were
lined with richly carved bookcases and
paintings-in vain that soft eouches
and luxurious chairs had been gather
ed around him.
He was wretched.
He lay on sofa, in the depths Of
the great bay-window, the wreck of
once powerful man. His figure was
thin and gaunt; his face white as mar
Bile; his eyes having an expression Of
woful apprehension, ofharrowing ankle
ty, of dreadful exeetancy.
I4was evident at a glance that no
merely physical ailment had made
him what he was.
By what withering secret, by Whst
destroying sfiietion, had he been thus
sgonizedl thus hauntedl thus huntedl
he so noble and good he so wealthy
and distinguished
As he moved restlessly upon his lux
urious cushions the pretty clock on the
mantel-pieee struck five, every stroke
seeming to fall like a hammer upon
the heart of the nervous invalid. He
aroused himself struggling feebly to q
sitting posture.
'Ob, will this fatal day never, never
passp he murmured; nor bring rs
relief?
Noticing with a nervous start that
ne was alone, he touched a bell opon
a table before him, aud called:
Helen, Helenl where are your
Before the echoes of his voice had
died out step was heard, and his wife
entered his presence.
Il left you only for moment Nor
ton" she said, advancing to the ban
ker's side. you were doing, I think
wished to send for the doctorp
She was beautiful woman, Of some
six and thirty years, graceful, with
broad white brows, and loving eyes, in
which the brightness and sweetness of
sunshiny nature were still pereepti-
bic, under a grief and anxiety no less
poignant than that eyinced By her hus-
band.
"The dOctor| he echoed, halfre-
proaehfully.
eyes, DEAR" she said, in a calm and
cheerful voice, as she drew chair to
the side of the sofa, and sat down,
stroking the corrugated forehead Of the
the invalid with a magnetic touch.
He will be here Immediately. Your
last nervous crisis alarmed me. You
may become seriously I'LL"
Mr.. Preble bestowed az afectionate
look upon his wife, but said despon-
IDENTITY:
The doctor! He cannot minister to
mind diseased !" Oh, if these long
hours would only pass III only knew
what the day has yet in store for usp
'Look up, Mortonp enjoined Mrs.
Preble, with a reverently trustful
glance upward through the open win
dow at the blue sky, and as if looking
beyond the azure clouds therein. "Let
US appeal from the injustice and wicked
ness of earth to the goodness and mercy
of Heavenp
The banker gave a low, sObbing
sigh.
4 cannot look up, Helen," ne ans
wered, with a passionate tremor in his
voice-"ouly down, down at the grave
that is opening before me"
Mrs. Preble continued to stroke his
forehead softly, while she lifted her
pale face to the sunlight streaming in
to the apartment.
''Look up, Morton-aIways look upP
she again enjoined upon the invalid.
"During all these fourteen years Of ago
ny, 1 have not once doubted either the
goodness or the justice of Heaven.
BLESSED are they that mourn; foE they
shall be comforted.' I believe that we
shall yet rejoice more keenly than we
have mourned, and that we shall come
to glorious day of Joy beyond all this
long night Of sorroW!'
The face of the invalid lighted up
with an answering glow, and ne muir
INJURED:
GLORIOUS faith! Ny wife, you are
indeed blessed comforter! Perhaps,
after al, you are right%
A knock resounded on a side-door at
this juncture, and the next moment
DR.. Hutton, the family physician, for
whom Mrs. Preble had sent, entered
the room.
He was 40 old man, portly IN figure,
with white hair and beard, but with a
fresh and ruddy complexion, a pair 0
CONCLUDED on Era PAGE.