The Elk County advocate. [volume] (Ridgway, Pa.) 1868-1883, 1877-09-13

her voice trembling. elbow strange"
she resumed, presently, "that 1 should
be telling this SO calmly Oh, it was
a storm-it was a storm % and her old
hands clasped and unclasped nervously.
"What a dark and dreadful time of hor-
ror, and now SO tranquil! But L will
tell you. You always do seem so like
what my own children might have been
all but Mr.. Stephen, 1 mean," she
said, with quick laugh that restored
her to herself. cone day we were in
boat together, alone upon the little river.
How l remember it all the green
boughs meeting overhead the green
shadows underneath, the sunlight sitting
through, and his face, his proud, pale,
passionate face, as he said some simple
words that let me know, not that he
loved him-as if that had always been
understood-but that he expected me
soon to be his wife. / loved him-oh,
how I loved him % said the old lady,
clasping her hands again. "But some
evil spirit seized me. L was coquette !;
| answered him lightly. Chow did he
know, said, 'but that 1 was already
plighted to Ralph p We had hung close
to the shore, beneath the great boughs,
and looking up as 1 spoke, saw Mark,
the second brother, sitting in the boughs
oh, so strange his face looked then
1 beekoned him mischievously, and in
a moment he had parted all the leaves
and sprays, and was threatening to
spring and swamp the little boat if we
did not let him in. That night, at the
home of the three brothers, there was a
fearful contest-I was the cause. All
this soft sweet summer night who could
believe it +? and could L ever have be-
lieved should sit here calmly and tell
of it to those who were not yet born {?
They had grappled Ralph was killed !;
his eldest brother was found red-handed.
When Mark came home from his ramble,
the officers were carrying that brother
to prison. He never opened his lips
concerning it from that day." said Mrs.
Dalrymple, with sob in her voice.
He employed no lawyer, although the
court appointed one yhe refused to plead
guilty or not guilty. will hurry. He
was sentenced to death his sentence
was commuted to imprisonment for life.
AS for me, / would not believe it -
"Nevers" said Mr.. Stephen, hoarsely.
"Never. L sent Mark to procure me
admission to the prison (; he came back
saying it was refused. wrote Mark
brought me back the letter unopened.
His brother, he said, would have no
further communication with us. At
length, as if worn out with my impor-
tunity, Mark exacted of me a pledge OF
secrecy. There was no need There
was no need He told me that with his
own eyes he had seen the blow struck,
and had gotten away that he might not
be used as evidence. But L did not be-
lieve it then. l gathered all my ready
money; went to the prison and gave it
to the keeper, in my ignorance thinking
it necessary. 1t was the day of the SEN
tence. L was taken to the cell and left.
He stood up hurriedly to meet me. So
changed SO changed White as death.
but his great eyes burning-and he held
out his arms to me. I waited one mo-
ment, one fatal moment. "Tell me
first" I cried oh, just say yourself
that You are innocent = His arms fell.
'You toon he said, and he folded his
arms upon his breast, and stood there,
his head fallen, surveying me from under
his eyebrows. you too = Oh, / don't
know what there was in the words, but
I fell upon the floor, fainting dead away,
and 1 never saw him again. Nothing
made any difference to me then. Mark
was very tender to me in those days.. /
felt as if he ought to bate the sight of
me. 1t was five years before / married
him. 1 never loved him but he was
nearer than any one else. I should never
have married him but for messages of
something little short of hatred that he
brought me from the prison. Why do 1
tell you all this, my dears?" she said,
suddenly stopping. "And Mr.. Stephen
too? Only, perhaps, because you are
part of my life now-you and he-and
this life is as real to me now as that.
That ? No, that is a dream as the
dying do not weep, SO the old do not
suffer in relieving the past. 1t is no long
er my story there is no sacred secrecy
about it; it is the story of that young
girl of whom 1 spoke to you. Well-to
go on. Perhaps it was because he knew
1 did not love him; perhaps he
wearied of me perhaps to see me only
recalled to him his crime We've were
not happy together. We lived long
life of wretchedness. Yet, being his
wife, I tried-yes, 1 tried-never to fail
l.
him faithfully in those final years of
nervous illness that wore him to his
death and nearly ruined me. 1t was the
last day that, pillowed in his bed, his
ghastly face like death re-animated, he
told me his secret. All his life he had
lived in luxury; his table had been
sumptuous with meats and wines his
horses had been fleet; his bed had been
of down he had married the woman he
loved; he had wealth, freedom, all mems
honor. His brother" she said, again
with that dry sob, chad prison cot,
prison fare, solitude, labor, chains, all
mems contumely and contempt yet, of
the two, his brothers lot had been the
best he had lain on roses where Mark
had lain on red-hot Goals. Let grief and
loss and want have been his-he had had
the proud inward consciousness of inno-
cence. For it was Mark who was the
felon, who was the murderer. 1t was
my husband who had killed Ralph. His
elder brother, in that great love of his,
had taken all the burden, and Mark had
let him do it," Mrs. Dalrymple was
was silent again, and we did not disturb
her. "Oh, it was hard to forgive him I"
she cried. "Have 1 forgiven him?
do not know. But with what mad haste
l wrote out the statement, called for
witnesses, read it to him before them,
made him sign it with his dying hand |!
Was it cruel? Oh, he had been doubly
cruel! The pen dropped from his
fingers with the last faint stroke. |
4 L. L.