Urbana union. [volume] (Urbana, Ohio) 1862-1872, 1870-12-28
WHOLE NUMBER l55.

Answered o infinite Father an
swered! RObeTt-husband-a last-Oh,
at lastp and totering forward, she seiz-
ed his unresisting hand, and clasping it
closely in both her own, looked eagerly
into the bronzed face, where surprise
and joy and love; and the smOuldering
fires of half forgotten anger and dis
trust, seemed struggling for supremacy.
He would have signed to the young
people to leave them alone; but she led
him still unresisting into her little sit
ting-rOOm at the rear of the shop, then
softly closing the door, she released his
hand, and, still looking into his face,
said:
Not one kiss for your wife, Robert,
otter so lOng-sO longs? and the low
voice chOked and the olasped fingers
grew white under each others pressure.
How is it possible, Mary-@
She laid her finger on his lips.
Hush y she said. 4 can guess all YOU
would say Hastily throwing open a
writing desk, she took from it an old,
yellow, folded paper, and giving it to
him. continued, Read that before you
Judge me-
The writing irregular and scrawling,
as if done by one in great haste or with
shattered nerves. Mr.. Barnes read the
few lines three or four times through be-
fore he seemed to takelin their full signifi-
cance. They ran:
New YORK, Aug. Z, 1913.
My DEAR WIFE:--COme to me at once.
Harry is very i'll, and, worn out with
care and watching, my own health is
giving way. 1 send this by private
hand to Mr.. Jermy, who will arrange for
your departure, and possibly may accom- |
pRny you part of the way.
.f. ROBERT.
There was a brief silence. Then he
laid the faded letter softly down, and
whispering, with bated breath, 4 see it |
ALL see it all held. toward her his
trembling hands. A smile like the
memory of childhOod's sunny mornings
gushed through her lingering fears, and |
the weary burden of twenty years SEEM
ed to be lifted from her life like the
mists of the night, as the strong arms
closed around her again, and she heard !
the familiar voice, speaking rather to
her own heart than to her. How can I |
ever atone for these twenty years of
wrong?
ObliviOus of the young people waiting
and wondering in the next rOOm-Obliv- |
ious of all the world but themselves,
they looked in each others eyes, and
talked ftfully for more than an hour;
but the reply to his first question dis
closed all we care to know.
Who gave you that letter?'
1MF. Jeremy. I did not know what
to do It seemed 50 unlike you to send
to him, and not direct tome, that I felt /
inclined to doubt. But you were not
quite well when you left home, and Mr.. !
Jeremy was your most trusted friend. I
So trusted, you remember, Robert that |
lonuhod of ou hOA -, i
foolish, when I had told you some
months before, that he seemed to be /
seeking opportunity and announcement |
for culpable advances and in very shame /
/ tried to persuade myself that you must /
be right. And then, the thought that |
you and Harry might be dying, among
strangers, a thousand miles from me, /
wrung my heart; and following my first !
impulse, I started to go to YOU on the
same day he gave me the letter. 1t was 1
the second day out before he threw of /
the mask. At first affected not to un- 4
derstand him, and tried to laugh; but I
that only encouraged him. Then I re- !
pulsed him, and threatened to appeal to |
the captain of the steamer for prOtec- /
ton. But he taunted me with nv help /
less and equivocal position; and finally /
in his anger and chagrin, he threw of !
all disguise, and told me that the letter /
he had given me was written by him i
SELF and that he had spared no pains to /
commit me iTTevOcably to his fortunes,
and with devilish malignity, he even
showed me a copy, true one as I found 4
afterwards of an article which he had
sent to the press, which he assured me
had been circulated throughout the oity.
I was crushed, but not conquered. I
did appeal to the Captain, who placed
me on the first westward bound steam
er we met, and within five days after
started away, I was at home again.
But it was home no longer. I saw Mr..
Gage, and he told me of all you had
done, but was slow to believe what I
had to tell. We have tried repeatedly
to learn your whereabouts, but beyond
the cold courtesy of the bank-Officers at
St. Louis we could never penetrate. You
guarded your secret well.
with the little money YOU left with
me, added to what Mr.. Gage generously
advanced me, Opensd this little shop. /
God pTOspered me abundantly; and here
I have remained ever since. In my in
most heart 1 knew you would come
back again some time; and have new
er closed my eyes in sleep without pray
ing God to spare me to see that day.
And now that day has come. Oh, hus-
band-dear husband! the past is buried
out of sight, and we are young againv
rs Mr.. Gage still living?'
No, he died two years ago; but his
sons have succeeded to do his business.
Several years ago lhelOts where we liv-
ed were covered by huge business hous-
es, built by Mr.. Gage. The rents paid
for them long ago, and since then,
neither father nor sons would take a
dollar of their proceeds, but have regu-
larly deposited them in a savings bank,
to the credit of little Harry, as they
always would call him. OF course I
would not touch them without your
consent. Twelve years ago my cousin
Helen died, and left me her five year
old girl. You saw her in the 'front.'
Where is Jeremy?
Dead ten years ago. Mrs. Gage has
a letter written by him a few days be-
fore his death, to her husband. have
never seen it, but they have told me
that these facts are there stated, amid
much penitent protestations substan-
TALLY as 1 have just told them to you.
God forgive me, but it is bewildering
work sometimes to think Of him with
anything but malediction.'
There was a long pause, broken only
by the scarce audible sObs that marked
the ebb of the storm Of emotion which
had so lately swept through that quiet
house. One by one the street-lamps
threw their struggling beams into the
settling darkness, and the roar of the
day subsidized gradually into the city's
muItitudinous "vOice of the night"
Then she rose softly, and said:
Let us call in the children; and when
we have satisfied their wonder, you
shall tell me all your history through
these many years.
In all Chicago's quarter of million
of souls this day, there are none more
serenely and devoutly content than
these tried and true,'
mas DREAM.