Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1877-09-12

burning mead and passed on TO the window.
where she took her stand TO watch-for
what Alas poor young wife, not for her
husband. She fen no doubt about his fate.
From the moment that she heard her fathers
words deadly certainty that she should
see him no more alive took possession of her.
They had parted in anger for the first time,
and she felt sure that. by one of those strange
fatalities, they would never meet again.
The sun shone as brightly as ever, a bird
sang gaily in a neighboring tres, and her
kitten was playing with a floating feather.
But life was over for her Edmund was
dead-those kind, dark eyes closed forever
that loving heart cold and still The
clock-a wedding present from her father
licked gaily on and chimed the quarters
three times unheeded by her before the gar.
d,i gate creaked, and her father, with slow,
Trluetant step passed up the gravel path
she stood still, merely turning her pale face
aud dreamy eyes on him as he entered the
room. The tears stood in his eyes as he
| put his arm gently round her, and the hand
that took her cold one trembled violently.
Agnes, my poor child" he said in bro
ken tones, I" ] can give you no hope. The
bodies are not all recovered yet, but he is
not among the wounded or safe, and he was
seen to enter the train some minutes before
it started Heaven help you, my child It
is fearful, fearful blow %
Agnes spoke not--a shudder ran through
her whole frame, and she raised her head and
shook 1T, as If trying to shake off some be-
wildering weight. Her eyes were dry,
though the tears fell fast from her fathers,
and she turned her gaze once more on the
gate, as If expecting somebody else to come.
Alas, poor young wife was she looking for
that nj thaN
the shutter, with its ghastly burden, so still
beneath sheet or cloak that hid it from the
public gaze
1t was long before her father could get
her to quit her dreadful post of silent watch
ing, but when she at length threw herself
on the sofa with wild cries of agony, it was
still more terrible to see that white despair
ing face, as she raised it, tear-stained and
CO vulsed to her fathers, saying, through
the choking sobs
" Aud we parted iu anger p
Oh, careless words, so lightly spoken
what agonizing fruit were they bearing now
Poor Agnes they could not induce her to 20
to bed through that long, weary night.
"Oh, no. no !" she sobbed. " / must still
stay up till-oh, Edmund Edmund p and
the shuddering pause spoke more plainly
than any words could speak.
But few such nights come to any woman,
and, thank God, in his mercy such agony
can last but one night in lifetime The
arrow may remain in the wounded heart
year after year, but the fearful thrill of its
entrance can come but once.
The dull, gray light broke at last. The
rising sun tinged the soft gray clouds with
rose and amber; the little birds twittered
gaily and blithely once more among the dew.
spangled trees, and life proceeded on in its
accustomed way, taking no heed of that
weary, widowed young heart-that future
robbed of every hope
Agnes threw up the window, that the fresh
morning breeze might cool her aching, burn
ing brow, and leaned out to gaze with heavy,
swollen eyes on the lovely scene before her,
though all unconscious of its loveliness
Her father, worn out with sitting up hour
after hour, in vain endeavors to soothe her
wild agony of grief, lay sleeping heavily on
the sofa, his wrinkled face looking more
wrinkled, and his gray hair grayer in the
clear light of the early morning.
Oppressed by the duh stupor that follows
excessive weeping Agnes stood leaning
against the window listening to the whistle
of the passing laborer, or the clang-clang of
the gardeners sharpening scythe, as he
moved the lawn, unconscious that his mas
ter was mangled corpse, and his mistress
widow, for he had left his work before the
sad report had reached the servants ears.
The distant roar of an approaching train
struck on her ears, and Agnes shivered at
the terrible sound, and covering down on
the stone step of the window-sill, buried her
face in her hands to shut out sight and
sound, and all that reminded her of the ter
rble grief that had come on her young life.
She so far succeeded, that she heard moth.
ing of the approaching step on the gravel.
but sat on, buried in her bitter thoughts, till
the sound of her name in well-known voice
made her spring to her feet with wild cry,
and in another moment she was in her hus-
bands arms
"My own Agnes-my darling what does
this mean 2" he asked, in bewildered sur
prise, which was certainly not diminished
by her excited answer:
"Oh, Edmund, Edmund she cried,
"they said you were killed Edmund-my
husband
WHO did when ?" asked the aston
ished young man; but he could gain no
answer, till Mr.. Wyniard, reused from his
sleep by his daughters cry, came forward,
and asked how he had escaped the smash-up
OF yesterdays express.
!" Because | never was in it," he replied.
"Did not Agnes get my note Z"
NO, Agnes got no note" replied her
father, :" and one of the passengers told me
he had seen you enter the train some minutes
before it started. You were in one OF the first
carriages, he said, aud they were smashed
and nearly all the passengers killed"
4" That is quite true" replied Edmund,
with a grave face I" but before the train
started | received telegram saying my
father was worse, and begging Inc to come TO
him Immediately. | wrote line on the
leaf of my pocketbook, to tell Agnes what
had happened, and gave it to poor Southey
who was sitting by my side. begging him to
let Agnes have it at once but suppose the
poor fellow was killed. then went to my
father, who died at two O'Clock this morning,
aud as soon as | could get away came
home. So my poor little wife has passed
night of widowhood and misery Agnes,
have you no word for me now have re-
turned ?"
Agnes raised her pale, tear-staned face
to his with look of tremulous Joy, too deep
for words, whispering
"Oh. Edmund it made itso trebly dread
full to think we parted in anger P'-Seiected