The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1874-04-16

along. I'll stick to i'm and keep on hol>
leriD', and they'll soon come" And she
went towards the door.
There was q whispered consultation out.
side. and then sound of retreatiLg footsteps
along the pebbly path. Mary went back to
the bed and laid her head downlon the pill
low. The tears which had so long forsaken
her eyes began to flow, and her frame was
shaken by sobs Her husband turned and
put one hand upon her head, and said
"Tis fine lass, and bonny lass. God
bless thee, Mary -
An hour later all the rounds In the village
were hushed. Neville's friends had spread
q report that he had got home and was In
his own house The one policeman from
Strood had arrived, and peace was restored.
Mary left the Bedside. and feeling her way
to the back door, called out In cold and
constrained tone
Come along r.
And Neville CROPPED his way to the CLEAN
OF moonlight which the open door admitted
go down the garden and over the stile
into the forty acre. You can get to your
house then by the back way"
The man had crouched so long in that room
In deadly terror, that he was completely UNI
nerved. Holding by the door, trembling
ana crying, he tried to utter some words oil
thanks. and some promises for the future.
But at the so7nd of his voice Mary, with an
expression OF disgust, turned away. She
could not trust herself 10 listen to him, for
she felt as If she must seize some weapon and
strike him to the earth She went back to
her husbands side, and In the night he died.
she seemed to have known it all before.
Sne sat by his side, when all was over and
herslast offices fulfilled, not thinking, but
waiting. There was something else to
come she did not know what it was, but
something that she waited for. Perhaps 1t
was the day, for when long rays of light
stole through chinks in the shutter and
CRACKS In the door she watched them, Then
the voices of the birds tell upon her ear :;
tpe blackbird's whistle was like call, and
the thrush sang his loud, clear notes over
and over again, as If to make her understand.
She rose from the bedside, opened the door,
and stood in the cottage porch. How pitt
less the day was bright sun and clear sky
soft woods and springing flowers nothin
lett Tor her In heaven or earth nothing was
left to her. The day and the sunshine and
the fulness OF life tell like veil between
her and the dead, and spoke of eternal sepa-
ration. In the desolate room with Der dying |
little Jack had seemed very dear
to them. Now, father and children were to-
gether, and she was alone. Everything was
1t was not DEATH but life, that |
she dreaded life which was to part her from
all she loved life which would surround
her and shat her In, and keep voices and
hands from reaching her.
She looked toward the village. Here and
there thin thread OF smoke told of cottage
fires already kindled. The neighoors swould
have heard the truth about her the previous
evening. and would be coming before long
Where should she hide herself? How could
she escape? Her eyes wandered over the
trees toward Brenchley and there came back
to her the sweet scent of vIolets, which she
had passed unnoticed at the time-violets
covered with green leaves and wet with dew
How fond he was of them /! He used to
gather them on his way home from work
and bring them to her for posy, as he CALI
ed It, She would fetch some now, and place
a bunch between the hands that she had
folded on his breast And with this thought
she left the house, and passed unnotlced to
the woods. .
Early that day, women from the village,
and messenger from the hall, visited the
cottage. after some delay they entered.
The dead man had been tenderly and care
fully stretched out on his wretched bed, but
there was no sign of Mary. She had gone to
strood, they thought, to buy food, as she
had long been in The habit of doing, so as TO
escape unfriendlY remarks. Then, as the
day wore on, they imagined that she had
walked to Brenchley to see the undertaken
who had buried her child. But in the afters
noon IL was known that she had not been
seen in either place, and then vision of the
poor creature, wild with despair, made trans
tic by The Injustice of her suffering and her
solitude, began to appall them. Where was
she? what had she done to herself?
"You had better go down TO the ponds"
said the man who told the story of how he
had brought her home the previous evening.
and they went. Looking over the side OF
the boat, they saw q glimmer 90 of light
clothing, and drew up heavy form, still
white, which hey carried back and laid on
the bed beside her hush band. In her hand
she still clasped bunch of vlolets, and the
expression of her face was tranquil. a
Beneath the lime trees In the old churchs
yard there are three grass graves, and that