Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1880-01-23

For moment she sat dunn b, almost
paralyzed by the shock of that idea.
Then she sprang from her chair and
rushed to the door. She would call him
back, and ask him to forgive that care
less, cruel parting.
She was too late. He was already in
the street. A moment later she heard
the shrill whistle of the train. He was
gone.
The day passed on sadly enough.
Thought after thought came crowding
into her mind to unsettle and reprove
her. They bore their fruit.
In less than an hour after Charles
Archers departure his home wore a
very different aspect. By nightfall the
one room was trim and clean as willing
hands could make it,. Before the clean
windows pair of snowy muslin cur
toins were Drawn. The stove shone like
a mirror, and from its open front a
bright welcome to the absent master
flashed out, flooding the very walls
with warmth and light.
And summer evening though it was,
both light and warmth were needed.
At sunset angry clouds rose in the south,
and the rain came sharply down, with
an accompanying wind that knew little
OF its own mind, and veered sharply
round continually from south to east.
Amid the wailing wind and dropping
rain Helen Archer worked steadily on.
At nine O'Clock the train which was
to bring her husband home was due.
Her last task was finished, when she
dished up his favorite viands ard set
them, covered over with basin, upon
the hearth to keep warm.
| She leaned from the window loOkino
out, through wind and rain, for some
sign OF his homecoming. She wore the
dress he liked best. Her hair was ar
ranged in his favorite fashion of braids
and curls. She had kissed him coldly
as he left her, but now, with her heart
upon her lips, she waited to welcome
him back, even if he returned as unsuc-
cessful as he went. What did that mat
ter, she thought, as she glanced at the
window of her opposite neigh Dor. who
had been left widow only one short
month ago,
"Only let him return to me safely,
and | will make amends for ALL" she
half thought, half prayed, as memory
recalled the countless times in which
she had grieved him during the past
half year.
Nine o'clock came and passed, yet she
did not hear the usual whistle of the in
coming train. Halfpast nine and yet
no footstep on the stairs!
Her heart lay like leaden weight in
| her bosom. The color faded from her
lips and cheeks, and her blue eyes grew
wild with silent dread. At ten O'Clock
she could bear the suspense no longer.
She left her room and ran down the
stairs, with half-formed purpose in
her mind of inquiring at the neighbor
ing station about the Iaggard train.
Dmly, in the darkness, she saw a
crowd OF people gathered at the outer
door of the tenement-house. They were
then some words broke pla My through
the medley of sound.
His poor wife!" said one voice,
chow is she going to bear it, wonder.
1t is well for her that she has no little
ones to look after She is nothing more
than child herself, anyway"
"Make way there!" said some one
outside. "We must carry the body up
stairs. Which room is it! And some
woman ought to go up before us and
tell the wife"
The crowd surged and parted. Be
tween the ranks, six men came steadily
onward, following policeman. Helen
knew him well, and when he looked up
the staircase, and saw the slignt figure
bending forward. and the pale face full
of fixed and settled horror, lie turned
again TO the crowd, and called out:
Zone Cf you women come up here
to break the news. And take her away"
he added, in a lower voice; it is no
sight for her."
Good -natured Bridget Mccarthy came
forward, and ran up the'stairs to where
| Helen stood.
You'll come back in.o your room
wild me, my darlint," she said, putting
her strong arms around Helen's slender
waist. "Sure it'll destroy you intirely
to look on at the likes of that!"
Bridget, is he dead?" asked the pale
lips, pititully.
"Sorry am to say that he is! 1t was
the train. my dear. On the track, they
say, and ten strong men killed outright
beside him that they are bringing up
from below.
Helen fell senselcss at the Irish
woman'S feet.
Haitian hour later she struggled slowly
back to life and loneliness again. She
opened her eyes to find herself lying on
her own bed, with the kind old doctor
Of the neighborhood bending over her
with rather an anxious face.
owe shall do nicely now," he said,
making warning gesture to some one in
the background.
Helen gave great sigh as he took her
hand.
"Oh. why did you bring me back,
doctor? | have driven my husband
away to his death, and l hoped / could
die. too. [ blamed him because we
were so poor, doctor, and / would
scarcely kiss him when he went away
this morning to look for another place.
Oh, have been so cruel to him And
now, just when | was sorry for it, and
when / had resolved to try to be bet
ter wife, God has taken him away from
me, and he will never know how bit
terly repented."
''How do you know that he is dead,
my dearP" asked the doctor.
"Oh, / saw them bringing him up the
stairs. And heard them talking about
me-"
"Not about you, my dear, but about
poor little Mrs. Gray. who lives in the
room at the back. Her husband was
badly hurt on the train when it ran of
the track this evening. We thought he
was dead at first. But since then he has
, revived, and / feel sure that, by Gods
mercy, he will recover before long"
"But where is my husband, then?
cried Helen, starting up.
! "God has been very good to you, too
my DEAR" said the old physician.
"Is healivep Where is he? Oh, tel
, me" her every gesture struggling be
tween hope and fear.
t "Herep'
The doctor stepped back. From
dark corner of the room tall figure
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