The Evansville journal. [volume] (Evansville, Ind.) 1866-1870, 1870-04-01
NOVEMBER
ny REnrcoA uARpISe DAVIS.
TcoNoLUDED.1

hAAGA G&N 49, E@~HA~ A ~
these savings in q triumphant sum.
drawing a little framework of vines
about il, and presenting it to him
with her Joyous little chuckle.
She scarcely glanced at the money
now. But he would try her further.
Il can not use it for the mortgage.
SlOueh refuses to pay back salary"
"Then the mortgage will be fo[e-
closed tomorrow? And you lose
year homer"
She came suddenly close to him,
her face colorless, her dark eyes wet
and full of pity. Not love. lie was
not deceived.
Not love.
No wonder she had some little
compassion for the man on whose
bosom she had lain for years. on this
night when she meant to fly from
him.
poor old Sam"
1.-THE loss of the house matters lit
tie to US now"
"Why, l thought your heart was
bound up In it?" She paused sudden
ly, a keen suspicion flashing into her
face. what else have you lost?''
For q moment there was silence,
the husband and wife loked steadily
at each other, the oil lamp burning
with uncertain yellow flashes between
them.
Il do rot know" he said at last,
in as quiet u tone as though replying
to an ordinary question, " what there
is left to me. There is nothing on
Gods earth that / can call my own.
She aid not answer by a word; but
stood mOtIonless, with the same pene-
trating, doubtful look fixed on him.
Now Mary was not naturally a reti-
cent woman all her emotions bub-
bled straight to the surface. She had
been a gay, giddy girl and now, when
she was a mother, she kept the house
alive with what her husband eensured
as most unmatronly light-hearted-
ness; sinirg, jesting. laughing most of
the time, and washing away any
trouble in a shower of tears.
Her immobility now proved how
deep his thrust had wounded her.
You've nobody in the world No
bodyl Not even mel she said, slow
ly, at last.
She turned to the window, putting
her hand, for support, on an old chair
that stood there. 1t was a worn and
shabby chair; but she had nursed
both the children in it-Jackey and
little Jenny-Jenny who was dead,
who would never lie on her breast
again. Did she remember? She
looked at it, and then at him for a
moment; and then, without a word,
turned away and left the room.
He KIN. ~ that she would never en-
ter it a3ain. 1t was strange how
many Of these intuitions, amounting
to certa tiles, came to him tonight,
He thought that pain In this great
crisis of his life, had given him a
spiritual clearness of insight. An
other person might have suggested
that the devil helped him..
1t was only z O'clock; there were
two hours yet to pass before the end,
He sat by the fire, pushing the poker
between the bars, looking around him
There was nothing in the cheaply
furnished, pretty chamber that haC
not tonight a terrible meaning TO
him. He remembered when he ha,
brought that very chair home, twI
or three weeks after Jack was born
and lifting Mary out of bed, hat
placed her in it, and laid her baby II
her arms.
That was only six years ago; yet he
thought of himself as but a boy
: What a perpetual frolic they made o
life then! Hard at work and miser
ably poor, but joking away ell weari
ness or want; how full IF joy an
contel.. the world was; how man
friends they had thenl
Ha had learned since to see thing
differently. When he set his hear
on paying off that mortgage, it seemet
suddenly to open his eyes to the serl
BUSINESS of life. Ii affected his relig
ion. He began to see faults 10 the oil,
friends who were in the habit of DROP
ping in every day, finding Mary
house so pleasant; he began to fea
that his own and his wife's spiritui
character would suffer from contaC
with them; one by one he had drive
them off. AS he stinted aud save
more and more to gather this none
his ideas of duty hardened. lie ha
grown old and grave, while Mary +,
NAMED the anne happy tempere
girl.
Tonight, for the first time, a du
doubt came to him, whether he NJ
rot been to blame; her perpetu
good humor, her eager interest in pc,
pie about her. singing, her moi
romps with Jack, all had SCENE
giddy and trivial to him; he had r
buked her necessarily for them.
was a solemn thing to live: who cou
20 dancing over gravesp" had becoI
a proyerb with him. Could he ha
driven her from him? Driven her
a man whose temperament suited h
own?
He was standing before a lookin
glass, and he could not help compari
his own commonplace, gloomy IA
with its stubbed black beard, TO /
gay, winning c~ountenance that b
won her from him.
He put his hand up to hide the ia
from himself.
y Il loved her." he said quiet
thinking that if she had known b.
much, she would have forgiven hi
He sat down again. Searching aga
for miserable secrets in the fire,
had become a wiser man since no h
been i'll. Sitting staring, day af
day into the embers, he had learn
how utterly hollow the world W
how treacherous were men, AID fai
less were Women Nothing was Il
but God; and as God to Sam. Benz
meant his own narrow notions
duty, there was nothing to lift h
out of the slough in the thong
there was nothing In it either,
check him In the slow, subtle M
ness that nerved him to his pres
purpose.
What maddening fancies those
hours brought to that unhappy IN
it is needless for US to know.
The house remained very GU