Towanda daily review. [volume] (Towanda, Pa.) 1879-1921, 1880-03-16
Two Cross Words.
T Concluded,

myself and looked at Tom. At that in
stant the officer uncovered his lantern,
and, oh, my God! there was blood on my
husbands hands.
All the rest is q blank. When came
to myself | was in my room, and kind
compassionate faces were around me. l
asked for Tom. He was in prison, await
iug his trial. There had been aquarrel at
the tavern, whittier my cruel words had
driven Tom; and Tom had struck his an
taSonist. The man wasn't dead, though
they thought he was at tirSt-but he was
lady hurt about the head. But if he re-
cove :ed-well, it would not go so hard
with Tom.
I arose and went to the sprison; but
they would not admit me. No one was
to see my husband till after the trial.
Anotl er day crept by; night; and when
NOR ling came, l went down to the door
and opened it, with vague feeling OF ex-
Pee asion which always accompanies
severe Rictions, and looked out. The
sn was rising-Gods sun-rising grand
ly and rightly 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 mp idly as We catch at straw or
twig, sometimes, without any motive or
power OF volitiOr. The superScrptiOn
clught my eye; it was my own name, and
my hns band's hand writing. l tore it
open and read:
"DEAR LUCY have broken out of Jail,
and am going-Wel, no matter where. |
didn't strike. Hastings with an intention
to kill him. was intoxicated and it was
more his fault than mine; but he may die.
an | then-lt any rate it is better for yOn,
Lucy, for me to 60. never was worthy
of your love. Now you can go back to
you father, and forget me and be happy.
You will find the bonds for that money |
have i'll the bank in the desk; it is enough
10 make you and the Child comfortable! !!
Forgive and forget me, Lucy. God bless
you--yOu and the baby. Tom"
This was the end That was the reward
that my cross word had purchased for
me! Truly, truly the wages Of sin is
death. We shall not need one pang Of
c)rporeal punishment. Que spark OF real
fire, to perfect our torment if we are lost.
Conscience is all SGalcient--remorsc, that
worm that never dies. It is not for me
to attempt to talk about what suffered
in the days that followed that morning
Words could not express it save to
thai one who has passed through the same
furnace Of aflliction. But lived, for sor-
row and death rarely walk in each others
steps, and nursed my baby, and did the
work with my hands hard to do. did
not go back TO my father. / remained ut
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 n public statement. He was
more in fault than Tom was. Then he
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 remorse, aud ten
der rccolectionS of the dear husband
whose strong arms had once been my
stay and support. The spring came
the summer 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 never
weared Of it's childish prattling. All day
long xsfssat on the doorstep, where the
evening sunbeams slanted in, lisping to
her doll and liStonino while told her of