The Albany register. [volume] (Albany, Or.) 1868-18??, 1874-03-07
"ll, 90 for IT,

t"'H''S W''H'lN N'"diu titV Nit'IV.
No, lsaac, your lame a 4 stiff,
and | am . good walker. Keep
your strength tor tile hard rowin'
you'ii fruve to 4" md l'll ho hack
as quick as mortal man can 90 and
come. Sit down on the ruk, Old
tr'eld, and reSt-yo,'re trembling
Ike a lea'." .sH l.
Isaac l'elrith obeyed, mechan-
Na'ly, aud dropping his head upon
hiSlIands he sat motionless, while
the bloody track npn' the waves
grew purple and more indi>tinct,
AID the iar.off thunder of the
ground swell seemed to utter
melaces il, his ear.
Two miles awayi and tho brief
twilight was alreaay setting in 1!
How, slowly lrumana { life plodded
along; aid yet those IDIOTS on tie
shore bad always. called him a
swift walker. lie would go him
self aid he started up ouly to sink
back again weak AID help ess
81 have no strength left," he
thought. 81 must wait: | must
wait for that snail to creep along
tie sapds. They were right; it
will be a fearful night at sea! And
there is !" light IL the lighthouse
to warn homeward-bouud ships off
the reet!"
As he closed his eyes he could
almost see the stately ships drifting
upon their death, and going t.
pieces along the snnken rocks, while
their crew were looking ont IL vain
for the red signal star Of danger!
lie could hear the crpak and groan
of sIiyerius timbers--the crash Of
mast and yard-am-the shrek OF
human creatures! He shuddered
convnlsively. n
@And I shall be a murderer! @.
God !! why did | desert my post ?"
And in this moment of agony
and repentance, Dorr Martins
face rose up before him,
full Of evil exultation.
Gle always said could not be
trusted, and he was right.n
Dorr Martins triumph was the
bitterest drop in the bitter cup that
Isaac Pcnrith drained to the dregs
that stormy night! e4 raaa
"The sun has set-the honr of
grace has past" he mnttered to
81 will net live to have
widows asking me where. are the !
husbands who perished on those
reefs-l will not look little children
in their faces and hear them whis-
per that ! murdered their tather!--.
| will not see Dorr Martin triumph |
in my ruin! No; better quiet
grave at the bottom of the sea, |
than a lite ofrelnorSe and liShonor |
My little Lucy had better mourn
me dead ti,an live to blush, for me! |
Goodbye, my fair-haired darling!
| shallseeyour bonny face no more"
How the wind blew his gray,
uncovered hair about, as, mur. |
muring a faint halfiorgotten prayer,
he crept down to the beach, going
to seek his death where the cruel,
white tringed waves writhed along
the shore. An instant he paused,
to, look a last adieu to the world,
the sky, the tarspreading shore,
when all Of a sudden a Wild shrek
broke from his parched lips. voa
For, like a red star, trailing its
glory along the tumnltuous sea,
the light ofthe lighthouse streamed |
upon his vision! The danger signal
the steady finger Of fire held up
to bid a hundred crafts 'bewarep- !
the beacon for which many an
anxious helmsmsn was gazing out |
into the night! He was not dream
ing, his senses were not benumbed,
yet the light was all in a blaze in
its huge crystal lantern, and he
was guiltless Of the weight Of crime
and misery that had, 50 nearly |
weighed him down.
When Truman Cliffe rowed up |
to the shore an hour afterward, be |
found Isaac Penrith kneeling op |
thS wet sand, with forehead against |