Middletown transcript., 1881-05-13
THE SELF-SACRIFICE.

THE SELF-SACRIFICE.
1t was a Western home, plain and
small, the prairies stretching away from
it on all sides in green pillows. Near
it was little group of naples, their
tender foliage stirring softly in the
evening air. There were a few stars
out, and low in the west a crescent
moon hung, looking for the nonce like
broken ring, one golden half gone.
This thought came to Sarah Vane as
she sat in the porch, with her face rest
ing against her hand.
Everything is divided just so in this
world, " she murmuTed to herself, ris-
ing, the book which had been lying upon
her lap falling to the floor.
She stopped to pick it up, and as she
did so caught the sound Of a step in the
distance. Nearer it came, strong, even
and firm, keeping time to tune melo-
diously whistled. For moment the
wife stood, book in hand, listening at
tentiYely then, look of disappoint-
ment shadowing her eyes and mouth,
she went into the house, closing the
door after her. But the step came for
ward just the same, and the tune, as
clear and beautiful as the notes of the
thrush, filled the air with music.
1t was frank, almost boyish face,
though bronzed and bearded, that came
homeward that night just such a one
as mother would have delighted in
looking upon, because the world had
left no traces of evil upon it.
As he stepped into the porch, still
whistling softly, a slip Of folded paper
lying upon the floor attracted his atten-
tion. He picked it up and read his
wife's name written in well known
hand upon the back. The impulse was
strong upon him to crush it in his hand,
but something restrained him; what
ever the feeling was that flashed up in
his eyes for the moment, he had, or
seemed to have, perfect control of it.
He stood for awhile with his straw hat
in his hands and then went into the
house as quietly as though no fierce pas
sion had been graphing hard at his
heart. His wife was sitting by the
table, and with simple, "That must
be yours, Sarah," he laid the folded
paper beside her.
''Thank you," she replied, without
raising her eyes; and Harry Vane
passed on, something very like a sob
rising in his throat.
The husband sat down to the evening
meal without a word. Somehow, every
thing seemed terribly real to him that
night. Looking about the pretty, taste
full room he saw it as he had never seen
it before. 1t stood before him like
living picture, with its homemade Or
naments, snowy curtains, and neatly
laid table. And the wife, too-how
fair she was to him-how far above
other women, with her neat, house
wifely habits and lady-like ways !! No
matter if she no longer loved him-if
some one else had taken place in her
heart, of all women, she stood to him
the fairest and best. He was but a
common fellow, after all, with little
taste for poetry or books, while
George -
His thoughts startled him with their
intensity, and he sprang forward so
suddenly in his chair that Sarah looked
up wonderingly.
"What is it ?'' she asked.
"I'm afraid l cannot make you hap
py,'' he said, in a choked voice, CT
what shall do, Sarah ?''
"You can do nothing, - she answered,
in a low tone. II am as happy as l de-
serve to be-"
He arose from the table and held out
his hand to her. She did not place hers
in it. She was too honest to play a
double game, and she could not show
love she did not feel. He read it all in
her white face and startled eyes, and
turned away without another word.
The next moment he was out of doors,
walking rapidly toward a little enclo-
sure which lay a few yards from the
house. 1t seemed all the place in the
world for him then, and with a great
sob he threw himself down upon the
grass and laid his head upon his baby's
grave. Never child longed for the kisses
and caresses of its mother as Harry
Vane longed for the touch of the baby
hands and lips at that moment. Bro
ken-hearted and alone, a wanderer, as
it were, and oh, so terribly homeless
he pressed the very gates of Heaven to
bring back his child. Above him the
stars looked down cOldly; the wind
soughed through the naples and rushed
along the prairie grass, as if to tell him
how barren life lay before him.
''If she does not love me have no
right to her. My suffering is nothing !
her purity and truth is everything" he
thought. "She shall never look upon
my face again p
He PRESSED his lips and cheeks to the |
dew-wet sod, smoothed it tenderly with |
his hands and then went from it for
ever. The light was shining brightly |
from the cottage windows, but he
turned from it resolutely and walked
with long, rapid strides forward into
the darkness.
1t was ten miles to the nearest lake
town, but he was accustomed to walk
ing and the distance was nothing to
him. He only prayed that he might
find boat ready for sailing at the
landing for, now that he had resolved
to go, he could not brook an instant OF
delay.
As he walked on he took his hat from
his head and let the cool wind play over
his forehead. 1t was hot and feverish
with pain. Once in a while a night
bird screamed above him, flying on
through space. Occasionally dog
howled in the distance, and the crow
ing of barnyard fowls smote his ear
with lonesome sound.
As he neared town he noticed a
black, low-lying cloud in the south, and
thought how frightened his wife would
4 H. IL |