Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1880-12-10

nurse is at supper. must be back before
the creature misses me. She is my hus
, band 3 tool. He is to marry her when
r am dead. Helen Manson! SO surely as the
: Judge of us all lives and sees us, if yor
are not back here in five minutes witt
!. that ticket, will throw myself under the
first train that passes! My darling, my
little Nell, putting both arms around me-
and laying her cheek to mine. ''you will
not refuse me?"
Her face was clay-cold, and so thin and
white! Her hands were like hot Goals
upon mine. SHE shook as in an ague-fit.
: The railroad crossing was in full sight, and
while fingered, an express train rushed
up the line, strewing red cinders, Shrek
ing like mad, living monster. Mrs. Eliot
pointed to it, in putting me out of her
embrace looked menacingly into my eyes.
4 Without stopping to think, I walked,
almost ran, down the bill to the station;
waited a moment to get my breath, then
went in and asked for through-ticket to
New York. The ticket-agent was not in.
His deputy, stupid boy, did not know me
was congratulating myself upon the ease
with which had discharged my commits
sion, when, as was coming out Of the
door, my father and Mr.. Eliot passed
within arms length of me. I shrank back
into the Office just in time to avoid col
lision. They were walking slowly, talking
earnestly together, with bowed heads and
very grave faces, too much engrossed in
one another to see me, near as was. I
was still shudderlng at the narrowness of
the escape when rejoined Mrs. Eliot
She bad retreated into the garden; was
watching for ME over the hedge. AS I
showed the ticket, she clasped her hands
above her head and looked upward.
Father of mercies ! am not quite for
saken 70
Such pale, strained face such wild
eyes, full of hungry eagerness the CULVER
ing lips could not syllable, have never
seen elsewhere, except in dreams of the
scene. She wore water proof cloak, the
hood drawn over her head, and remarked
that the wasted arms were bare. Unkempt
locks were blown across her face by the
March wind. was actually afraid of her
as she seized the bit of pasteboard with one
hand, my wrist with the other.
Remember, girl, your life is not worth
this - thrusting it before my eyes, ''shonld
you lisp this before nine O'Clock to-mor-
'row ~
She turned when she had gone few
yards up the walk, leading to the house,
came back to the gate. beckoned me to her
and kissed me tenderly.
"You are good child. I shall tell Reu-
ben who saved his life-and mine. Heaven
bless you Goodnight, love ~
Her smile and voice were mournfully
sweet. Embrace and farewell brought
tears to my eyes, through which saw her
glide between the bare vines of the trellis-
es enclosing the alley, and vanish in the
gloom of the farther end.
1t was dull evening. The clouded west
behind the Eliots' house was stained lividly
along the horizon. The wind moaned in
the tree-tops, sighed hissingly through
the stiff hedge. stood alone in the quiet
back street, bordered by gardens. Had I
dreamed what had passed since entering it
a quarter of an hour ago, light-hearted
child, thinking of nothing more important
than to-morrow's lessons, or more tragic
than the composition had begun that
day upon the ''Heroines of History p Be-
ing unlearned and untried, I had no fear
of attacking great subjects at that date. l
| stood still to think and to find my normal
I self
The Ellots were our neighbors and close
friends. Pauline, the eldest daughter, was
seventeen-a year my senlor-but we were
classmates and intimate associates. Reu-
ben was twenty-five. and law-student in
New York, There were two younger chill
dren. Two others-twln sisters-three
years old, had died of dlptheria four months
ago, and Mrs. Eliot had never been well
since.
For six weeks she had not left the house.
1t was reported that she was confined to
her bed with nervous debility, and cough
that gave her husband and physician much
anxiety. Yet had seen and talked with
her ! The one-dollar bill had not time to
restore to my pocket-book, was crumpled
in my hand. l smoothed it out and folded
it away in the else empty valve of the port
monnaie. It belonged to my mother. l
must give an account OF that intrusted to
my charge.
am sure that, until then, I had not had
a misgiving as to the righteousness Of my
conduct I seemed to have had no more
power of volltion than hurled stone or
a shot arrow. Now, that the impulsive
force was spent. the gravitation of con-
science asserted itself, I had purloined my
mother s property. been unfaithful in my
duty to her To this I must add the de-
ception of purchasing upon trust, thing
strictly forbidden by my father, the arti-
cles she had ordered, or run the risk of
premature discovery.
Dishonesty! Falsehood ! rebelled at
the suggestion. had done a merciful,
blessed deed ! I recalled the agony of
the mothers eyes +; the impassioned appeal
to my regard for the dying boy, my love
for my own mother. What else could l
have done
Conscience stood firm with Common
Sense for her ally. ''You should have re-
vealed the whole affair to your father. 1t
would have been easy to Withdraw him
from Mr.. Eliot long enough to tell the
story. He is as merciful, as tender-heart-
ed, as yourself, and sciser ~
The last word cut to the quick,
II would die before I would hetray a
prosecuted woman into the hands Of her
enemies ~ said aloud.
With the audible soliloquy came the con-