The Bolivar bulletin. [volume] (Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tenn.) 1865-1888, 1877-09-20

| saving it was refused. ! wrote Mark
/ brought me back the letter unopened.
| His brother; he said, would have no fur
Their communication with us. At length,
| as if worn out with my opportunity,
| Mark exacted of me pledge of secrecy.
There was no need There was no need I
He told me that with his own eyes he
had seen the blow struck, and had got
ten away that he might not be used for
evidence. But did not believe it then.
I gathered all my ready money I went
to the prison and gave it to the keeper,
IN my ignorance thinking it necessary.
1t was the day of the sentence. l was
taken to the cell and left. He stood up
hurriedly to meet me. So changed so
! changed White as death, but Ills great
I eyes burning-and he held out his arms
/ to me. I waited one moment, one fatal
moment. Tell me first" I Cried oh,
just say yourself that you are innocent =
| His arms fell. You, too! he said, and
| he fold ID his aims upon his breast, and
stood there, his head fallen, surveying
me from under his eyebrows. You
toOp Oh, don't know what there was
| in the words, but 1 fell upon the floor,
! fainting dead away, and [ never saw
him again. Nothing made any difference
to me then. Mark was very tender to
me in those DAYS. I felt as if he ought
to hate the sight of me. 1t was five
years before l married him. l 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 ] tell you all this.
my dears 9'' she said, suddenly stopping
| And Mr.. Stephen, too? Only, per-
| haps, because you are a part of my life
DoW-you and he-and this life is
as real to me now as at that. That
| No, that is a dream: as the dying
| do not weep, so the old do not suffer in
! RELIEVING the past. It is no longer my
| story there is no sacred secrecy about it :;
| it is the story of that young girl of whom
| spoke to you. Well Ito go on. Per
| haps it was because he knew did not
love him; perhaps he wearied of me;
perhaps to see me only recalled to him
his crime. We've were net happy to
| gether. We lived a long life of wretch
! edness. Yet, being his wife, | tried
| yes, | tried---never to fail in my duty. I
! bore with him. l nursed 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 CHASTITY face like death re-
animated, he told me his secret. All his
/ life he had lived in luxury; bis table had
been sumptuOus with meats and wines;
his horses had been feet; 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 a
prison cot, prison fare, solitude, labor,
chains, all mems ccntumely ard con-
tempt; yet, of the two. his brothers lot
had been the best; he had laid 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 con-
sciOusness of innocence. 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 silent again and we
did not disturb her ooh, it was hard
| to forgive him she cried. Have l
! forgiven him? l do not know. But
with what mad haste / wrote out the
statement, called for witnesses, read it
/ to him before them, made him sign it
| with his dying handl Was it cruel? Oh,
| he had been doubly cruel! The pen
| dropped from his fingers with the last
faint. I bent and kissed him then, and
! took his head on my breast. He looked
up in my face with such relief in his
! tortured eyes, and then he was dead.
/ published that statement up, and down
| went to the prison to tell his brother
and to make preparation for his freedom
for although we were both Old---sixty
! sad years had we seen at least---theTe
was time yet for little happiness in the
bitter world. He had been pardOneC
two years before. and had gone no one
knew whittier. When hope is dead, you
live dull, colorless life; but when hope
has been upliited only 20 be destroyed
ali, it is ruinl But one is old, one out
lives everything. So I came over here
among my mothers people, thousand
miles from the places I had known al
my days. I left all his fortune un
touched; brought my own onl y. The
house goes to pieces, the gardens ART
over crown, the place is haunted by it
sorrows. But here l found happiness
here | found you, my children; here
found pleasant neighbors, and you, Mr.
Stephen. My heart is satisfied. ] have
no wants, These last years are full o
peace"
care full of peace" said Mr.. Stephen
: The wind blew shutter open; broad
full moonbeam came in and Overlaic
him as he sat bolt upright in his chair
his face as white as a cereclOth.
You look like ghost, Mr.. Stephen
said I.
~ am ghost, he cried---"the ghost
of a dead happiness. Margaret!' ht
cried, half rising, "has it never crossed
your mind that I am Harper
Bdzar.