Orleans independent standard. [volume] (Irasburgh, Vt.) 1856-1871, 1870-09-13

IOmS OUT IL certainly was not uiul.
Yet it came up on the porch.
"Who is that ?" l asked softly
tom, is it you?"
"Ye-ye-yes, what's left ONE
do pray come down and let feller in,
Louise; it's cold as blazes out here"
"Tom's voice but how wondrously
changed. I rushed down to the door
with my heart in my mouth.
tom" cried, catching his arm as
he came into the hall. 30 what's
the matter, what has kept you out so
late 2"
A mingled odor of tobacco and
whisky, came before his answer, and
l drew back in sick disgust, the terri
bic truth breaking upon me. Tom
was drunk; he had broken his prom
Use. The very blood in my finger tips
tingled with shame, and without a
word or backward glance | ran back
to my chamber, and closed and locked
the door. Then l fell upon the bed
in paroxysm Of bitter weeping. The
tears calmed me, but my heart was
cold and hard. | could hear my hus,
band below, wandering through the
dark rooms, crashing over the chairs,
and calling for light. l knew that
few kind words, a little fearful en-
treaty, would be far more effectual
than any show ofanger, yet | remain
ed in my room, sitting in stony ST.
lence by my sleeping child, until the
grey dawn broke.
Then | went down. Tom was sit
ting before the kitchen stove with his
head in his hands. He had kindled
q fire, and put on the coffee boiler,
and even swept and tidied up the
room. He arose as | entered, and |
never shall forget the looks of the
face he turned towards me. 1t was
white AMI laggard, and full of remorse
and humility, louise" he began,
in hoarse, unsteady voice, "I'm sor-
ry for this, God knows | am. | didn't
mean to break my promise, but the
boys overrersuaded ne, and one drink
threw me off my guard. But it shall
never be the case again; forgive me,
Louise
Every word he uttered went straight
to my heart, but l answered coldly,
a forgive you, Tom" said, "but
l never can trust you again"
He turned his eyes towards me
with look Of imploring agony.
"No, no, Louise, for Gods sake
don't say that.
But l do say it, Tom; you have
deceived me, and disgraced both me
and your child. l am going back to
my father never want to see your
face again"
He laughed little, but his face
was white and startled.
poor Louise" he said tenderly,
Il deserve all you are saying. You
look pale and tired, darling; you
must lie down and rest, and forget
and forgive for this once, the first
and last time, Louise. Come baby,
come to papa"
The child held out its hands, crow.
ing gleefully, but | drew it back. At
the same moment my very soul yearn.
ed within me; wanted so to put my
arms about his neck, and tell him how
| trusted him and would help hin
keep his promise. But the evil spir
it put the words in my mouth. no
| said sternly, Il mean what | say
you have deceived me, and disgraced
your child. can never trust or re
spect you again. l am going back tc
my father"
An awful change came over him.
He faced me white and stern.
Louise" he questioned solemnlv
"do you mean what you say? do you
really wish to leave me p
Al do; l never want to see your
face again"
BE it so, then, you never shall"
He turned sharply, one glance o
mingled tenderness and pain, and
heard the street door close behinC
him. This brought ne to my senses
threw the child into its crib anC
rushed after him, out into the wine
and 8Ieet, He was just turning tht
corner.
30, Tom, Tom" cried, 'come bacl
to me, cpme back"
Bat the wintry blast whirled ava,
my words, and without a glance or ;
pause, he hurried out of sight.
could not follow him, the streets wer
glazed with ice, and my child wa
alone; could only return to tn,
house, with sharp thorn ranking il
my woman's heart. Ny hour of tria
had come, and despite my old father
warning, l had tailed.
A drearier, wearier day surely ney
! er broke upon earth. 1t stormed in
cessantly, and the winds walled wit
a wild, moaning sound. l felt as
| should 90 mad. | would have gi,
en- my life thousand times over t
have recalled what | had done. Bu
, Tom would surely come back; b
=, would not take my idle words t
heart; he would be home to dinner
, | fell to work, tidying up the hous,
and preparing just such dishes as
knew he fancied.
But the dinner hour passed and b
> did not come. Another night, vii
: and black and stormy. | made th
l rooms cheerful with light and hea
!, and watched and waited. If he woul
= only come, | would give him such
! welcome that he would forget th
wild, foolish words had spoken
But the dreadful hours went one b
one, and he did not return. My bi
: ter, heartless repulse had driven hi
y y to desperation At last the storl
lulled, the sleet ceased to tinkl
l against my window, the wind subs
: ded, and the dawn came, with crimso
L prophecies of brightness and sunshin
As soon as it was fairly light. N
old father made his appearance.
Louise" he began, sternly, tt
moment he entered the room, "what
! the matter between you and Tom
} what have you been doing ?"