New Orleans Republican. [volume] (New Orleans, La) 1867-1878, 1872-04-14

odd movement which / can not understand
almost as if-the idea. though unnatural
will come into my head as watch MN
almost as if he were caressing large dog.
and it vanishes while my weak, dim eyes
follow him into the white gloom OF the
night. The furious, crying wind is resting
now, but the whole country is covered with
the dangerous dritted snow. l go back
into the house. too anxious to think OF
going to bed myself, too much troubled to
be at rest save as tell my beads.
THIRD NARRATIVE.
Ihad never in my life spent such lonely
evening before. l think l never felt SO un-
accountably depressed; yet knew it would
not last long. because George had promised
to be home with me at midnight, and he
had never broken his promise to me once
since we had known each other first. This
expectation took me on through the long
hours which he and l ought to have been
spending cheerfully and merrily together.
went down stairs to bid our men good
night, and wish them "a merry Christmas
as they dispersed after their gay evening;
then l hurried back gladly tO tue sitting
room. stirred the fire, rearranged
the coffee cups, and put, Georges
slippers exactly in the right place for him.
for midnight was striking from twenty
clocks at once-as every clock does on our
premises-and he would be home directly
now. sent the servants to bed. No one
should let in the Christmas until George
brought it, though we had always done IT
before while the clocks were striking and
the church bells ringing The bells were
them for the terrible wind that shrieked
about the house and scattered wildly and
weirdly the snow that was falling SO fast.
1t was no use my listening for his step-1
knew he would leave his horse and gig at
the livery stables and walk up the street
vet / did listen with every power l pos
s6ssed, as sat watching there alone-did
listen TOR football which must be sound
less on the rapidly deepening snow.
Could George break his promise to me +!
One o'clock l can not bear one o'clock. l
think it is the loneliest hour of the night.
1t terrfes me to hear the solitary stroke
from the clocks below, even when George
is with me in the night. Now it struck me
like throb Of pain. Could George break
his promise to met That was still my
doubt and cry, because it was better to
have happened to detain him. l opened
the shutters once, but the street was so
white and solitary, and the wind rushed by
with such skriek of distress, that dare
not do it again l crept close to the fire,
which burned half way up the chimney, vet
shivered as if had been out in the wind
and snow.
Two o'clock! And still listened for a
footstep, though the snow was deep enough
now to deaden the tramp of thousand men.
Now and then fancied l heard wheels pass,
but it could only have been the raging and
roaring of the terrible night wind outside
the suffered windows. All what a weary,
weary thing it is to listen for step one can
not hear!
Three o'clock.
But when try to recall the hours as they
passed, my very heart beats cease. The
anguish of that night l know will live
through all my life-the long, vain, helpless
watching. l knew that nothing | could
have been suffering then with George would
have been 50 hard tor me to bear as this
was. l wished had kept one Of the servants
up, but shrank from calling her. l had
sent them to bed in the full expectation of
my husband coming directly after they had
lett me: and now l could not summon them
partly because dreaded to see or hear
hear their fear, partly because dreaded
letting them see mine The storm had
lulled before the dawn drew near, and then
l sat and waited in the silence. think ing
that more unbearable than the roaring of
the savage wind had been. Icould call the
servants up now, and 60 myself to find
George, for the dawn had come at last
had been i'll for months, and that they were
frightened by my looks when they saw me-
Ii they had told me was dying should not
have felt surprised, but l must die there
where he was. l never thought of his
broken promise now. knew that something
terrible had happened to him, and l could
not breathe longer in the doubt and sus-
pcnse. Surely 1 could not start now. l
tried to open the shutters, but nv fingers
trembed SO helpessly that hurt them in
the bolt, though | could not draw it. just
as gave up the attempt and went out upon
the stairs, heard a slow ring at the hall
door bell Not Georges ring; yet never TOR
a moment did doubt that | could see him
first when l opened the door Ny fingers
did not tremble now. l could draw back
the heavy bolts, and unfasten the chain
The faces III the street would be bright and
fresh-full of happiness to begin the Christ
mas Day-what would George think Of
mine when he met it /! The door was wide
open; the chill gray light crept into the
hall. and III an instant l forgot my own
pale face. One look at my husband had
chased everything else from my head.
Deathly, ghastfully white, he stood prop
pea against the doorway gazing at me va
cantly and wisttul1y. His clothes. which
looked all different from what had ever
seen them look before, hung about him,
torn and frozen and blood stained; his head
and one foot were bare; his hands, cropping
1eehly toward me, were gray and wiinkled
put my arms around him in sudden terror.
Il think l felt that he was going from me.
And what did it signify whose eyes could
see it
George, George. my love- l whispered.
as almost carried him in-for my strength
seemed TO grow tenfOld when l saw his
weakness" Home at last" | could not
utter one word of questioning, far less OF
doubt: could only try to cheer him, and
bring back some look which should recog-
nize into the wandering eyes. Home at
last. dear George and I've beautiful fire,
and hot coffee, and chops but think bran
dv will be best now-because you are So
so old-and-and-"
But my weak attempt broke down here
in frightened sobs and kisses.
a happy Christmas, darling"
The tone was so unlike nv husbands
bright and cheerful tone that l dared ne-
ther answer nor look up. | was literally
carrying him now up the lighted stairs-I.
who that morning would have said that to
carry him one step would kill me
Don't forget the dog, Annie" whispered
George, slowly. rising in bed to speak to me
the more earnestly. BE good to him, and
feed him. and warm him.
Yes, DEAR l said, smiling assuringly
into his dim eyes. had given him the hot
brandy and water, and was waiting
anxiously now for the physician. And the
Ginning OF the Christmas bells went on,
and on. and on.
''He has saved my life three times. Annie;
from robbers-from starvatiOn-and from
death in sleep. Be good to him, dear"
Indeed, indeed. will The wandering
eyes were little quieter now.
Home now-in time to bring in-the
Christmas morning. Yes. just in time A
happy Christmas, darling. just in time