Litchfield enquirer., 1874-07-02

| Ahe ciitiu isit back uttIe, fegaEdI0g 1 her almost distrustfnllSr-tii l1ai,sleen.es face was so hard for q baby to read.
 ''Wiii thee not tell me thy naIne?" Phill:s repeated. See, here is rose for thee"
 The dimpied hand crept out for the flowhra, and then the pretty boldness came back.
 Jenny" said the'chil,l "Ooman, dld ta tsl' Jenny posy?'
 Phiilis stood mp.
 Yes" she said, Tn a tone curious enongh to use in speaking to child; ''I 1 gave thee posy.'
 That was ali. She did not stop to ca ress the little creature. She passed on, with the rest of her flowers in her cold hand, and left it peerlng through the fence at her. This was the chlld-thc child. and it's blue eyes had stabbed again the one rankling wound of her life. The little house had never seemed so quiet as it did when she unlocked the door and entered it; the stiffness was like the stiffness of death. But Phillis did not feel it. She laid her flowers upon the table, went to the fire, stirred the coals, and sat down. The flame shot mp, and, lighting up the room, glowed upon her face. but had not glow enough to flush it's pallor.
 'It is the child" she said "Her child has lived, while mine" l Her lips closed, as if in stern resolve. It was part of her creed to force herself to silaNce. If she had suffered, she had not rebelled by word or deed, d,-she had not rebelle1, even, if, in her severe strug- gle to bo calm, she had learned to be cold and hard as she was pure and just. | As she sat before the fire III silence she was battling with herself The stained. lost creatures child had lived, perhaps. to face her wretched mothers wretched fall, ard, perhaps, to fall and sin, and faunt and die, with scarcely breathing space of innocent childhood to remember in her misery. Her own little one, who had seemed the only breath of pure air left in the world about her, had been torn from her in the hour of her greatest anguish. | It was hard to understand. And then her l thoughts went back to the face of the child she had seen; such a pretty crea- 1 ture, with its innocent boldness and the | summer blue eyes, which had so stung l her. A sudden thought flashing upon her made her start before she had been think | ing of 1t two minutes. Theblood mount ed to her cheeks.
 ''Nay, nay!" she cried out, as if uncon- trollably. Mot that; I could not do that. Its eyes would mock me every hour"
 But she had no sooner spoken so than she turned pale again, knowing that it was this thing she must do, and no other, To such q woman there could be only right and wrong; and here, in an instant, the right flashed upon her, and left her no escape. The small, bold hand plucked at her again; but 1t plucked at her heart. Yet 1t might have plueked at her heart forever, If 1t had not been for this sudden conviction. She had never done willing wrong i'll her life, and she had never shirk- ed the right. Is was this thing she must do, and no other.
 She did not stop to ponder long. She rose from her seat and went about her household tasks. She eprepa-et.hs--..-.el -axrazai,aes .aAEAl and having paftook of it, set the room in order. It was her way to be quiet and orderly, and nothing could have made her otherwise. It was quite dark when she had completed her Preparations for the morrow, but she evi- dently intended going out, for she went into the adjoining room and came out again with shawl thrown over her head l and shoulders.
 Then she opened the door, and looked out into the night.
 'She may refuse me-" she said, i'll a low, thoughtful voice; "but must still make an effort. I cannot understand why it is, and yet truly it seems borne upon my mind, that if I should not do this thing, this soul would be required of me-"
 And then shewont out, closing the door after her. She had not far to go,-only a few rods into another street, only to the cottage where she had seen the child this evening-Janet Ayre's child. There was light burning in the room | at the front of the house, when she reach ed it., and as she entered tho gate she saw | through the window the woman she had come to seek. She was sitting alone, ap- | parently doing nothing, sitting in a | upon the bare table, her face resting heav- fly upon them. For one moment Phillis | paused. Something in the woman's post ure struck her with sudden sense of dis l comfort, and made her hesitate suggest ing to her, however faintly, that even this brazen creature might have her misery aI- | so.
 She stepped to the door, and standing upon the threshold, hesitated for second l again. Should she knock and risk being refused admission? No, she dare not.
 The next minute the door opened, and Janet Ayres raised her head slowly, and looked towards it. A slight figure stood | at the entrance, and as the gray shawl slipped aside, it showed face that made her start. 'Thee-Phillis Henders?'' she exclaim- ed.
 s.Nay," said Phillis, calmly; ''Phillis l Denham."
 The woman laughed.
 | "Oh," said she, ESQ that's it, is it? We'll, happen th'art in tn right. I dun not see that it matters so much; dunnot see as owt matters mysen. Have 1t thy 1 own way" And then sharply: "What dost ta want here?"
 Phillis stepped forward to the table, and laid her hand upon it.
 1 ''I could only have come to thee for one thing" she said. ''The Lord has given me a work to do. saw thy child to-day, and have come to make an appeal to thee. have come to ask thee to let me save the little one from being what her mother is." She had no pity on the wretched woman, but 1t was because she was cold, not because she was cruel eff the Lord spares her I want to keep her life pure," she said.
 l cauet AyreS Stared at her Tn blank amaze.
 "Whatw she cried out. "7ha wants to talk tn child-that child?" l '.Ay," said Phillis, with sudden sharp ening in her voice. Wilt thou give me the child, and Keep the man?"
 '"Th' monr' cried the woman, with a fierce sheer. ''I want neither tn mon nor child. Tha may talk both"
 ''Nay, but I will not take them both, :" answered Phillis, q shrill tone breaking from her, quiet as she tried to seem; ''I | will not take them both. William Hen ders chose between me and thee, and he chose thee, and he may stick to thee. He is naught to me, but the child want; and If thee has woman's blood in thy
 body, thou canst not say me nay. Thee knows what thy own life has been; does thee want that little ones to be like it !? Thee has fed her with thy own strength I-unless such as thee are different from 0fhaF womnu. f7osf fbou xx,r,& 4<, ~,,oI-o