The home journal. (Winchester, Tenn.) 1858-188?, 1869-05-20

How the little thorn In my side
pierced and wrankled! Tom had
broken his promise, and my unkind.
ness was the cause. Nothing else
rang in my ears through the long
hours. lJ itA ~ ba'" foy ~"
About two O'Clock I heard . noise
below, and went to the window. There
twas man at the door. I could just
see him in the dim light, as he stood in
q listening attitude.
"Tom is that your" I asked softly,
putting out my head.
eyes, open the door, Lucy, quick
The police are after me-" '
| My heart sank. The police after
him! What could be done2 ran
down swiftly and unlocked the door.
But as I did so, two men stepped up,
and one of them laid his hand on Toms
shoulder and said, ~ arrest you, SIR"
"For what" cried.
"For Murder"
The door seemed slipping beneath
my feet, but l caught at the door to
steady myself and look at Tom. At
that instant the official uncovered his
lantern; and oh, heaven! there Yves
blood upon my husbands hands.
All the rest is blank. When /
came to life again, I was in my own
room, in bed, and kind, compassionate
faces we re- round me. ! asked for
Tom. He was in in prison, awaiting
his trial. had been dclirous whole
week. . ... ......
Inow learned all particulars. There
had been a quarrel at the tavern,
whittier my cruel words had driven
Tom, and Tom had struck his antago-
mist. The man was not dead, though
they thought he was at first, but he was
badly hurt about the head. But if he
recovered-well, it would not 60 80
hard with Tom.
/ arose and went to the prison, but
they would not admit me, because it
was not a day for visiting the pris-
oners. ..H..
Another day crept by--a highland
then morning. went down to the
door and opened it, with vague feel,
ing of expectation which always &C.
companies severe endurance not looked
for. The frost hung thick and spark
ling over everything, even Oh the scrap
of paper that lay at my feet. l stopped
down and picked it up idly, as we
catch at a straw or twig, sometimes,
without any motive or power OF vol
ton. The superscription caught my
eyes; it was my own name and my
husbands writing. l tore it open and
read,
"DEAR LUcY-I have broken out of
Jail, and am going--well, no matter
where. didn't strike Hastings with
the intention of killing him. And it
was more his fault than niue: but be
may die and then-at any rate it is
better for you. Now you can 60 back
to your father, and forget me and be
happy. You will find the vouchers for
what money Irossess in my desk; it is
enough to make you and the child
comfortable. Forgive and forget me,
Lucy. God bless you and the baby !
Tom"
That was the end! That was the
reward that my cross word had pur-
chased for me. Truly, truly, the wages
of ain is death. We shall need no
corporal punishment, no spark of
real fire, to perfect our torment.
Consciousness is sll-sufficient re-
morse, that worm that never dies. 1t
is useless for me to attempt to talk
about what ! suffered in the weary,
weary day that followed that morning.
Words could not express it; and no
soul save one that has passed the same
furnace Of affection, could understand
it. But lived, for sorrow and death
rarely walk in each others steps, and
nursed ny babe, and did the work my
hands had to do. ! did not 60 back TO
father. remained in Toms home and
kept his things all about-everything
to remind me of him, even his hat
hanging in the passage. Forget him !!
Does love ever forget2 a
Hastings did not die. He recovered
and made public statement. He was
more in fault than Tom was. Then he
put Q notice in all the papers telling
Tom to come back; but he did not
come. ''
The winter passed away with long,
long nights Of bitter remorse and ten
der recollections Of the dear husband,
whose strong arms had once been my
stay and support. The spring, the
summer, another winter. Three years
went by-crept slowly BY.
Ny child, Toms baby, grew to Be