Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1877-02-16
NO. 4l.
Calls aud Sketfhes.
THE SHADOW OF THE DOOR.
Continued from yesterday

|
1t would have allowed, had there not been
an unusual reaction from the scene
through which she had Just passed. The
subdued air with which she usually an.
peared would not, to a close observer.
have had the effect of weakness. 1t was
that of one who submitted rather than was
crushed. But now an utterly broken spir
it was evident in her countenance and
every movement. She had made her last
effort-with what results
Somewhat later than usual the prepara-
tons for their evening meal were COM
pleted. Dempton had once come in, but
finding the delay, had gone out again
among the outhouses. When he returned
the table was ready, the candle shedding
| its dim light; but no other sign of life ap-
peared. He called her name there was
no answer. He opened the door, calling
again and peering round in the last glim-
mering of the twilight. He waited few
moments and called once more. He look
ed for her bonnet and shawl; they hung
upon the nail as usual. He took the can
die and went up to the story above the
whole unfinished space was bare and emp
ty. His eye glanced round upon the arti-
cles in ordinary use. Where was the
water-pail? He caught up the lantern
and there was an unwonted tremulous-
| ness in his manner as he fastened to light
the candle within. Going round to the
| rear of the house, the outline OF the foot
| path that led down to the river was dimlv
visible. After taking few steps, he
opened the door OF the lantern, and let
its light fall full on the path. 1t was soft
and sloppy with the rain that had fallen
during the day, so that the latest foot
prints wereiwel defred. There could be
but two sorts-he.s and his; and there
could be no doubt whose was the fresh
mark OF the narrower sole and smaller
heel.
Striding quickly onward till he reached
| the bank, he paused at the top of the
| steep descent, and, supporting himself by
tree as he leaned forward, he said in
tone that, unconsciously to himself was
low and hushed, "Jane, are you there ?"
Unconsciously TO himself, alJo, the idea
that was growing more solemnly distinct
before his mind gave gentleness to his
voice which, if her ear had caught, would
it not have brought her back from the very
gates of death AS he listened intently.
the rush of the river swollen by the rains
was all that he heard. 1t needed all the
courage of that resolute man to descend
| the bank, trying to distinguish the forms
| of objects amid the darkness, and at last
to stand upon the log that was put there
for convenience in dipping up the water.
The stream was higher, the current strong
er than he expected, and swept close up
to the log with bitter force. He turned
the light on either side. He raised it
above his head to cast its rays far out upon
the stream--as if there could be any use
in that If anything had happened there
only moment before, no trace of it re-
mained. 1t happened in the utter loneli-
ness and darkness, and vanished into the
night.
lie needed no evidence in sight or
sound. Only in this way could her al.
sence be explained. While waiting for
his return she had noticed that water
would be needed, and as she was accus.
toned, went for it herself. 1t came to
him, now, that of late she had never asked
him to do this for her, and he had never
once offered
His bosom heaved-wretched as he was
there was something OF manhood's best in
him still--as he thought of her in her fee
bleness going out into the dark, for be had
taken the lantern with him. Still, per-
haps. somewhat light-headed, she had
| bent over the stream, and the first grasp
OF the pail by the current had drawn her
in. Once oil her feet. the curve of the
bank would project her into the full force
of the river, which would bear her far
down before any thing could arrest her
course till life was extinct.
So it proved to be. The next day her
remains were found amid some driftwood
on the opposite side of the river, and a
long way down, her hand clutching the
pail. Her countenance, scarce more pal
id than before, had placid expression it
had not worn for years.
Ill.
How William Dempton met his neigh
bors, and went through the scenes that
followed the death of his wife, need not
be told. Though, as | have said, not sur
ly. he was repellant in manner. SO that as
few words were exchanged as circum-
stances permitted. Whether or not the
idea crossed his mind that he was the OBJ
ject of suspicion. it made no perceptible
difference in his conduct. He had stated
the facts as they bad occurred. in imme-
diate connection with the accident, and
left them to make their impression, appar-
emily careless of the result.
| CT uC lclt Nidl uhu dS HlS
sturdy frame might have felt blow
dealt him by some powerful hand. Not
overthrown, nor even staggered, he was
intensely conscious that it was a blow and
hard one.
The reader will have gathered from the
conversation detailed above the principal
facts with which we are concerned. His
wife had truely read his heart, and it was
this disclosure of the keen discernment of
the woman who, Notwithstanding her oc.
casional expostulations, had gone along in
the main so quietly by his side, that pro-
voked his unusual outburst of passion.
The emotion it expressed still stirred his
inmost soul. He well knew her meekness
was not weakness; that she was resolute
to do whatever she thought was her duty,
and that her conduct toward him had
been governed by this principle. Though
not prepared to learn, as he did, from her
own lips. how soon she had detected the
purpose which he kept In the background
of his own mind, he had counted on her
knowledge OF his character as one means
- ,rbinh ha xvnuid toat, hos ..to~.. 4