Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1880-02-05

| For murderF
The floor seemed sliding from beneath
my feet, but l caught at the door 70
steady myself and looked at Tom. At
that instant the official uncovered his
lantern, and, oh, my Godl There was
blood on my husbands hands.
All the rest is blank. When / came
to myself again, / was in my own room,
and kind, compassionate faces were
around me. asked for Tom. He was
IN prison awaiting his trial. There had
been quarrel at the tavern, whittier
my cruel words had driven Tom; and
Tom had struck his antagonist. The
man wasn't dead, though they thought
he was at first-but he was badly hurt
about the head. But if he recovered
well, it would not go so hard with Tom.
arose and went to the prison; but
they would not admit me. No one was
to see my husband until after the trial.
Another day crept by: a night; and
when the morning came, went down to
the door and opened it, with vague feel
ing of expectation which always accom-
panies severe Affections, and looked out.
The sun was rising; Gods sun; rising
grandly and brightly over the black
stone jail. The frost hung thick and
sparkling over everything, even on the
scrap of folded paper that lay at my
feet. stopped and picked it up idly as
we catch straw or twig, sometimes,
without any motive or power of voli-
tiOn. The superscription caught my eye;
it was my own name, and my husbands s
handwriting. tore it open and read:
DEAR LUCY-I have broken out of
jail, and am going no matter
where. l didn't strike Hastings with
an intention to kill him. l was intoXi-
Gated, and it was more his fault than
mine; but he may die, and then; at any
rate it is better for you, Lucy, for me to
go. IneVer was worthy of your love.
Now you can go back to your father,
and forget me and be happy. You will
find the bonds for what money / have
in bank in the desk; it is enough to
make you and the child comfortable !
Forgive and forget me, Lucy. God bless
you-you and the baby. Tom"
This was the endl That was the re-
ward that my cross word had purchased
for mel Truly, truly, the wages of sin
are death. We shall not need one pang
of corporeal punishment, one spark of
real fire, to perfect our torment if we
are lost. Conscience is all-sufIicient-
remorse, that worm that never dies. 1t
is not for me to attempt to talk about
whatI suffered in the days that follow
ed that morningl Words could not ex-
press it save to one that has passed
through the same furnace of affection,
could begin to understand it. But /
lived, for sorrow and death rarely walk
in eaca others steps, and nursed my
babe, and did the work my hands had to
do. l did not go back to my father. l
remained at Toms home, and kept his
things about me, even his cap hanging
on the wall. Forget him? Does love
ever forget?
Hastings did not die. He recovered,
and made public statement. He was
more in fault than Tom was. Then lie
put notice in all the papers, telling
Tom to come back; but he did not come.
The winter passed away with long,
long nights of bitter remolse, and tender
recollectiOns of the dear husband, whose
strong arms had once been my stay and
support. The spring came-the sum-
mer-another winter. Three years
went by-crept by.
My child, Toms little baby, grew to
be fairy little thing, with blue eyes
and golden hair, and tongue that nev-
er wearied of its childish prattling. All
day long she sat on the doorstep, where
the evening sunbeams slanted in, lisping
to her doll and listening, while 1 told
her of the father who would come back
70 A0x lxr L. Ii
come. Surely Gods mercy would vouch-
safe some compensation. some pardon
for such repentance as my soul had
poured forth.
That third spring was peculiar, some
how, the far-off sky seemed to drop
down in nearer. bluer folds; the sun
wore softer radiance; the trees, the
grass, the flowers, diviner, tenderer
beauty. ! rose every morning and look
ed out of my little window at the kind
ling glories of the morn, with feeling
of strange, tremulOus expectation. l
seemed to feel the shadow of some great
event that winged its fight above me
the one prayer of my heart seemed about
to be answered.
One evening-oh, that evening! A
May sky, soft and blue, hung over a
green, blossoming earth. The turtle
eoOed in the distant wood, and the robin
twittered to her young brood amid the
milky bloom of the orchard. Gods love
shone in the golden brightness of the
westward-going sun. My child, little
Ellie, sat on the doorstep talking to her
doll and watching the birds. All at once,
she clapped her dimpled hands and
bounded to her feet.
Nanny" she cried gleefully, "pappy
comin'-pappy comm; Efie go meet
himr
The words stirred my heart to its ut
most depths, and dropping my work, l
followed her out of the door. A man
was coming up the garden path-his
garments tattered-his step slow and
uncertain. A beggar, no doubt. 1 cali
ed to Etfie to come back, but she ran on
needless of my command. Toms little
spaniel, that l had petted and taken
care of for his sake, darted from his ken
mel with peculiar cry, such as | had
never heard from it before. What did
it all mean? My heart throbbed, and
my knees trembled. Little Ellie ran
on, holding out both dimpled hands, her
golden curls blown about her rosy face,
Ho-de-do, pappy? rs your Effie," she
lisped, as she reached the mans feet.
He stopped and raised her in his arms
and then his glance rested on me. And
such glance a facet Pale, hag-
gard, worn by sorrow and suffering to
mere shadow. Toms ghost come back
from the grave. Not that, for my arms
grasped some tangible form.
"0h, Tom," cried, is it you? Speak.
speak and tell me-"
"Yes, Lucy, it's me. L could bear it
no longer. I'm dying, believe-and |
couldn't go without seeing you and the
little one again.
My arms held him fast, tattered gar
ments and all my kisses fell ON his poor.
pale face, like rain. | would never let
him go again.
"TOm, TOm."I sObbed. r-ttin0 dovn