The Pulaski citizen. [volume] (Pulaski, Tenn.) 1866-current, 1869-05-21

| and went TO the widow. Inere was d
man at the door. 1 could just see him in
the dim light as he stood in listening at
titude.
.TOm, is that you 90 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 he have done I ran down
swiftly and unlocked the door. But as
did SO. two men stepped up and one of
them laid his hand on Toms shoulder and
said, Il arrest you, SIR
''For what % cried.
"For murder"
The floor seemed slipping from beneath
my feet. but caught at the door to steady
myself and look at Tom. At that instant
the official uncovered his lantern and oh,
heaven there was blood upon my hus-
bands hands.
All the rest is blank. When I came to
life again, was in my own room, in bed,
and kind, compassionate faces were around
me. 1 asked for Tom. He was in prison,
awaiting for trial. had been delirious
whole week.
| 1 now learned all particulars. There
had been quarrel at the tavern whittier
my cruel words had driven Tom. and Tom
had struck his antagonist. The man was
not dead-though they thought he was at
first, but he was badly hurt about the
head But if he recovered-welI, it would
not go so hard with Tom.
I arose and went to the prison, but they
would not admit me, because it was not
the day for visiting the prisoners.
Another day crept by-a highland
then morning. 1 went down to the door
and opened it, with the vague feeling of ex-
peclation which always accompanies severe
endurance not looked for. The frost hung
thick and sparkling over everything. even
on the scrap of papsr that lay at my feet.
1 stopped down and picked it up idly, as
we catch at a straw or twig, sometimes,
without any motive or power of VolitiOn =
The superscription caught my eye ; it as
my own name and my husbands writing.
1 tore it open a0d read
DEAR LUCY-I have broken out of ail
and am going-well no matter where.
didn't strike Hastings with the intention of
killing him. 1 was intoxicated, and it was
more his fault than mine but he may die
and then-at any rate it is better for you.
Now you can go back to your father and
forget me and be happy. You will fnd
the vouchers for what money I possess 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 purchased for me.
Truly, truly. the wages Of sin is DEATH
We shall need no corporeal punishment, no
spark of real fire, to perfect our torment
Consciousness is all sufficient remorse,
that worm that never dies. 1t is useless
for me to talk about what suffered in the
weary. weary day that followed that morn
ing Words could not express it and no
soul save one that has passed the same
furnace of affiction, could understand it.
But lived, for SORROW and death rarely
walk in each others steps. and nursed my
babe, and did the work my hands had to
do. l did not go hack to my father.
remained in Toms home, and kept his
things all about and everything to remind
me of him, even his cap hanging in the
passage. Forget him Does love ever
forget?
Hastings did not die. He recovered
and made putlic statement. He was
more in fault than Tom was. Then he put
a notice in all the papers. telling Tom &c
come back but he did not come.
The winter passed away with long. long
nights OF bitter ,remorse and tender recol-
lections 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 by slowly.
Ny child, Toms little baby, grew to be
a fair little thing. with fair blue eyes, and
golden hair, and tongue that never wear
led of its childish prattle.
All the day long she sat on the door
step. where the evening sunbeams slanted
in. lispng to her doll, and listening while
1 told her of the father who would surely
come back to US some day. Surely Gods
mercy would vouobsafe some compensa
lion. some pardon. for such bitter repen
my soul poured forth.