Litchfield enquirer., 1875-02-18

gan to speak hoarse and low-'I did it for your sake; oh'-and he stretched out h1s hands with such a look-'for your sake. woman! And now don't you pity me? can't you help me?'
 ''She turned her face to him, but she might have been blind for arythin' she saw-snch a facei He gave a moan and clutched at the bed-curtain to hide it from him; and though she left the room, think in the great agony that came on he never missed her.
 "I dared not leave him. A woman came in and asked where Rhoda was We thought she had taken the child to our neighbours; afterward we knew different. Before twelve he died, never In his right mind after his wife had left.
 ''I was stunned like, and couldn't think of what he'd told us. Sometimes even now l catch myself wonderin' if he were not inventin' and accusin' himself falsely.
 ''I went for Rhoda down the street to where l thought she was; but our neigh bors said, Nay, she had not been there all the night And then a mighty fear came over me, and knew there was far ther trouble to come. We sought about for her, and listened, lest by chance we might hear the child cry. We could see well to look. for the full moon shone as clear as day. It was food-tide, one of the men said, and he half thought the wa ter would be over the new bank if it rose the next half hour as it had done the last.
 'I told naught of the tale I had heard to none of them; only told how Rhoda took opat the thoughts of losin' Jim, and seemed like one out of her mind with grief.
 ''We looked OF all through the night. till the moonlight faded away and the dawn began to show across the water. Then. close by the bank, heard cry out, and some men called to me to come on and some to keep back; but I went on and there she lay
 and dfa9 }Rey might SG t both have been asleep, so quiet and still they lay, her white face turned up to the gray sky, the water just lappip' up to her feet.
 ''The water had gone over the bank, and the people said the poor soul had tried to make her way across, guided only by the white posts on either side; had gone most likely to fetch the doctor, who lived just over tine other side; and so it might have been, but so l never think it was. It's one of the things we shall never know in this world. She must have died soon with that secret on her, for by her look knew that she believed it.
 ''So it is sad, isn't it, ma'am," said the lonely old man, ito have to live all these years and think of that time all by myself? You're strange, and it entered my mind to tell 1t all to you, for there's none alive the tale can hurt if all the world knows it."
 Iwould have said something to comfort him, but he did not want that; think the mere recountal of his story had eased him.
 'Good-night, he said. elf could only tell whether I was likely to see them again, l shouldn't mlnd it so much.'
 I held out my hand and bade him good by, and went home to my children, think ing my troubles were very light to what some folks had to bear.
 Brightland was soon left; my husband came back, and has been at home ever since. Dulce tells him of the charms of the island, but never can think of it ex- cept as the scene of that sad history