The bee. (Newtown, Conn.) 1877-1877, 1877-07-26

Do you remember--of course you do
THAT about three years ago woman
came TO you, one dark, muddy night, in
the street, and told you that murder
would be committed if you didn't watch
a certain slore--nnmber 80.
"Of course do, as you say !" and the
truth flashed upon me at once. That un-
known woman was my soite, and now
she acknowledged it.
Heavens |" said |, aghast at the in
formation, and looked at her 50 that
she turned pale and nearly tainted.
Don't kill me with your looks" said
she, crying bitterly. - did all for the
best, and you shall know all.'
You can imagine that neither she nor
felt very pleasantly about that time
One thought Of mine was, tor second
that | had married murderess, or at
least an accomplice of guilt /; and then,
even her very beauty-for she is hand
some--seemed loathsome to me. What
If she had been bad characterp for
knew nothing about her relations more
than she had told me; and then the old
proverb rang In my ears, Marry in
haste and repent at leisure !"
" You must know" said she, in that
same musical voice which had first at
tracted my notice on the night of the
murder, that on the day before that
horrid affair, my brother came home
from. New York. He had been to sea,
squandered nearly all his money in that
city, and in some low tavern where he
stopped, had watched by the bedside of
a dying man. That man told him that
he had formerly been a prosperous
tradesman in this city, but that things
had finally gone behindhand, and that he
had been forced to fly from ali examna-
ton of his affairs. What goods he had
left had been seized, but he had conceal
ed thousand dollars in specie in box
buried in the cellar, on the night when
fear Of sudden arrest for fraud had caus-
ed him to decamp. Since then he had
become wanderer, not daring 10 return
and now sickness and deslituion had
| come to avenge his creditors on him. He
described where he had placed the box,
and with his dying breath urged my
brother to secure it and give it to those
he had defrauded, in partial atonement
for the wrong. My brother promised !;
but on coming home, lie told me the sto-
ry, and said that poverty had made the
prize too tempting.
80 You will not use the money your
self, said |. God never prospers the
dishonest
- Yes he does, said John, angrily.
If he didn't there wouldn't be so many
rich people, and the poor would get their
own.'
II told him the money wasn't his
own, but he wouldn't listen to me, and
that very day he brought home with him
two rough-looking men, and he agreed
to give them a share if they would aid
him in getting the money that night.
Then they sent out for drink and carous.
ed and swore, and when John was asleep
heard them, in another room, say how
much better it would be, when he got
the money, to kill him and share it be-
tween them. When John awoke, tried
to persuade him not to go, but he was
furious and would not listen, and so ]
came to you as my only resource. 0, if
! had only waited there and given the
alarm" concluded my wife, moaning
aloud, "what happened wouldn't have
happened. But thought you would be
there to prevent it."
was astonisned at this disclosure, and
now suspected that the man who gave
the false alarm of fire must have been
one of the accomplces
why didn't you appear as witness
against the men?" asked
II didn't know what might happen to
me, and was afraid. The accounts in
the papers frightened me. But | remem-
bered your name in the reports, and
when we became acquainted by chance,
| recognized you, but feared TO tell you,
not knowing what you'd think of me-
But now you know all. 1t has been
sad secret TO keep, and often when you
have spoken of the murder, longed TO
tell you it was my poor brother, John
Hagner. who was murdered.
l comforted her as well as l could,
and ackad If eha knapr tho tnan,s nornoc.