Port Royal standard and commercial. [volume] (Beaufort, S.C.) 1874-1876, 1876-04-20
THE WAGES OF SIN.
An Affecting Family History with n Saita-
BILE Moral.

lnE NAGES Ur SlNs
An Affecting Family History with n Saita.
Bile Moral.
4 few days ago the Cleveland Leader
gaze in a special telegram from Sandus-
Ky the substance of ON account given by
man who had found in Ceylon MIR.
Harlow Case, collector of the port OF
Sandusky in 1850, Who defaulted and
run away with the wife of his deputy.
The. paper completes the story, giving
the full narrative of the traveller, who
found the guilty pair living in afauent
style in Ceylon. He visited their house,
and, after fine dinner, the following
took place:
"Sir," said he, in tones which shall
never forget, elf I have sinned, God in
heaven knows that I have suffered; and
if in F. g bereavement he has cursed me,
that curse is fearfully fulfilled. Poor
Mary is dying-has been dying for
months, and have known it. It has
been for me to see the failing step-the
dimming eye; it is for me now to see
the terrible struggles of her nearly worn
out frame; it is for me to listen to her
language of remorse that sometimes
almost drives me mad. Yes, mad, mad!"
he said, in frenzy, rising and crossing
the floor with long, hasty strides. Then
burying his face in his hands, he ex-
claimed: "Too late too late! I have
repented!" There was a long pause,
and he continued, calmly: "No human
means can now restore my poor COM
panion. Her moral sensibilities become
more and more acute as she fails in
strength, SO that she reproaches herself
constantly" A weary, mournful sigh
broke from his lips as if his heart would
break. "Oh, if he knew !" he exclaimed
again, eff he knew how bitter penalty
she is paying for the outrage she had
committed upon him, he would pity her
and, if it could be, forgive. Will you
see her, sir9"
I shrunk from the very thought.
"She has asked for you, sir !; do not
deny her request. Hearing that you
came from America, she entreated me to
bring you to her. I promised that I
would"
Il will go, then"
Up the cool, wide, matted stairs he
led me, into q chamber oriental in its
furnishing and chaste in its msgnifi-
cence. There, half-reclining in a wide
easy chair, a costly shawl of lace cast
over her attenuated shoulders, the rich
dressing gown clinging and followed to
the ravages sickness had made, sat one
whose great beauty and once gentle gifts
made the light and loveliness of the
sacred home. The eyes only retained
their luster they were woefully sunkeo.
The blazing fire, kindled at the vitals,
burned upon her sharpened cheeks
burned more fercely, more hotly, as she
looked upon my face. could think no
more of anger I could only say to my
self: "Oh, how sorry I am for you !"
She knew, probably, by her husbands
manner, that I was aware OF their Cir
cumstances. ...-t e. ,..
The first question was: "Are you
going back to America, sira"
The hollow voice startled me. 1
seemed to see an open sepulcher. told
her that it was not my intention to re-
turn at present. "Oh, then, who will
take my little child back to her father 2"
she cried, the tears falling. "I am dy-
ing, and she must 60 back to him. It
is the only reparation / can make-and
little enough for the bitter wrong I
have done them. I hoped, Sir, you
might see him." she added, moment
after, checking her sobs; Il hoped you
might tell him that his image is before
me from morning till night, as I know
he must have looked when the first
shock came. Oh, sir, tell him my story.
Warn, oh, warn everybody. Tell him [
have suffered through the long, long
hours these many years-ah God only
knows how deeply" 'Mary, you must
control your feelings" said my host,
gently. Let me talk while I may"
was the answer. "Let me say that since
the day I left home I have not known a
single hour of happiness. It was always
to come-always just ahead-and here is
what has come-the grave is opening,
and T must 60 to judgment. Oh, how
bitterly have paid for my sin. Forgive
me, oh, my God, forgive y
1t was solemn hour-that which I
spent by that dying penitent. Prayer
she listened to she did not seem to
join, or if she did, she gave no outward
sign. Remorse had worn away all her
beauty, even more than illness. She
looked to the future with despairing
kind of hope and feeble faith. Reader,
the misguided woman of Ceylon lies be-
meath the stately branches of the palm
tree. Her sweet child never met her
father in her native laud. She sleeps
under the troubled waters of the great
wild sea. Where the betrayer wanders
I cannot tell, but wherever it is, there is
no peace for him. How often rings that
hollow voice in my ear: "Tell him my
story. Warn, oh, warn everybody"
A Genuine Move.