Wilmington journal. [volume] (Wilmington, N.C.) 1844-1895, 1869-11-26
The Broken Home.
TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION. "

In San Fran cisco, on the north side OF
Fo lsom street, overlooking Mission Bay,
stands palatial residence.
The interior of this house is even more
beautiful than its exterior, every apart
| ment being in it's way gem of magnifi-
cence 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 occu-
pied his hbrary-the proprietor of all this
| wealth appeared of all men the most mis-
cradle.
he was Mr.. Morton Preble for many
years leading banker of San Francisco.
It 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 fiowers-in vain that
the walls were lined with richly carved
bookcases and paintings--in vain that
soft couches and luxurious chairs had been
gathered around him.
He was wretched.
He lay Oh q 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 marble his eyes
having an expression of wofnl apprehen-
sion, OF narrowing anxiety, Of dreadful ex-
pectancy.
1t was evident at a glance that no mere
~ physical aiment had made him what he
was.
BY what whitening secret, by what de-
stroying affection, had he been thus ago.
rized ? thus haunted thus hunted he
so noble and good he so wealthy and dis
tingulshed
AS he moved restlessly upon his iuxuri-
Gus cushions the pretty clock on the man
tel-piece struck five, every stroke seeming
to fall like hammer upon the heart Of
struggling feebly to sitting posture.
''Oh, will this fatal day never, never
pass?" he murmured; 'nor bring us re-
lief ?"
Noticing with a nervous start that he
was alone be touched bell upon a liable
before him, and called:
"Helen. Heleni where are you?"
Before the echoes Of his voice had died
out'a step WAS heard, and his wife entered
his presence.
81 Left you only for a moment, Mortoo, -
she said, advancing to the bankers side.
"You were DOING, [ think. I wished to
send for the doctor!''
She was beautiful woman, of some six
auu IulEty years, pTICelul, Will DfOau
white brows, and loving eyes. in which the
brightness and sweetness of a sunshiny
nature were still perceptible, under grief
and anxiety no less poignant than that
evinced by her husband.
1.-THE loctor!" he echoed, half reproach-
fully.
Eyes, DEAR she said, ia calm and
cheerful voice, as she drew chair to the
side of the sofa, and sat down, stroking
the corrugated forehead OF the invalid
with magnetic touch. HE will be here
Immediately. Your last nervous crisis
alarmed me. You may become seriously
ill!"'
Mr.. Preble bestowed an a4iectionate look
upon his wife, but said despondently:
''The doctor! He cannot minister to g. |
mind diseased!' Oh, if these long hours
would Only pass! If only knew what the
day has yet in store for ns'
Look up, Morton y en:oiGed Mrs
Preble. with reverently trustful glance
upward through the open window at the
blue sky, and as if looking beyond the azure |
clouds therein. "Let rs appeal from the |
injustice and wickedness of earth to the |
goodness and mercy of Heaven =
The BANKER gave low, sobbing sigh.
81 canmot look up, Helen" he answered,
with passionate tremor in his voice
''ony down. down OF the grave that is
opening before me T.
M.r. Preble continued to stroke his |
forehead softly, while she lifted her pale /
face to the sunlight streaming into the |
apartment.