The New Bloomfield, Pa. times. (New Bloomfield, Pa.) 1877-188?, 1881-12-27
NO. 50.

that don't care to be reminded OF just
now"
Was 1t strange that during the success
sive incidents Of that day, no thought of
the implication of George in the hidden
deed 1t had brought to1ight, should have
entered the mind Of the widow? She
aOds his mother, and what mother, with
out proofs palpable as her own sense of
existence, could suspect of so foul crime
the child of her own bosom But for
several minutes after his departure she
stood in earnest and sad reflection, for in
the acknowledgment of his irregular life
afforded by his recent alarm, there was
sufficient to make her heart still heavier.
When she returned to Jane, she saw
in her startling change. Her body
seemed to have sunk as we'll as her
mind, and she lay in state Of suspend
ed animation that fearfully resembled
death. She hurriedly resorted to such
restoratives as were at hand, and when
her efforts had partially succeeded, she
remembered bottle of perfumed essence,
then too rare for common use, which had
long been kept boarded among the little
trinkets and other valued ornaments Of
the invalid. She opened drawer to
search for it, and, among its various
contents, she moved aside the scarf
which she had, herself, thrown into it
the night before. AS she did so her eye
was caught by large, dark red stain on
the snowy silk, so peculiarly defined,
that in an irresistible impulse she drew
it to the light. 1t was the impress, dis
tinct even to the minute lines in the
skin, of human hand-the hand, with
its shrunken and mutilated fore-finger,
of George Slade.
Vain would be the use of words to de-
scribe the feelings of the heart-struck
mother. The different circumstances Of
which she had been cognizant, tending
to support the horrible evidence before
her, flashed across her memory with the
rapidity and vividness of lightning-her
conversation with George on his visit of
the evening before, his importantly for
money, his abrupt departure, his unex-
planned absence and stealthy return. She
could now comprehend the state of poor
Jane, who must have been witness Of
the fatal rencoDtre, and amidst her ago
nizing conviction, she could appreciate
the forbearance of the devoted girl in
smothering the natural expression of
her own horror and woe to conceal from
her the guilt of her son. But her life
long habit OF seeking relief in religious
communion did not fail her now, and
throwing herself on her knees, she re-
mained in silent supplication, it might
have been for hours, for she took no note
of time. When she arose, she laid her.
self by the side of Jane, whose insensi-
bility seemed to have termi mated In that
of heavy sleep, and the next morning
she was found, by the harvesters of her
little demesne, in low fever, from
which there seemed much to apprehen
The sleep of Jane lasted until late in
the morning, and when she awoke from
it, her mind seemed to be recovering its
tone. She, indeed, spoke to no one, but
she was partially conscious of what was
passing around her. This was apparent
Immediately on her waking, for she
gazed intently on the haggard face pill
lowed beside her own, passed her hands
over it, and laying her head on the ach-
ing heart of her foster mother, wept
with the abandonment of little child.
Widow SHADES illness increased, and
as she rapidly sank, the governing at
fection of James being resumed its as
cendancy. Though able in a day or two
to move about the cottage, she seldom
left the bedside of her mother, but, with
her watchful eyes fixed upon her face,
sat holding her hands in dropping and
speechless melancholy, which seemed to
evince that her filial anxiety had alb
straeted her from any other source of
sorrow.
But the hours of the widow were mum
bered. No efforts could subdue her dis
ease, and In answer to her own direct
and solemn demand, she was told that
human skill was no longer of avail. She
requested to be left alone with Jane, and
broke the communication to her with
gentle caImness. ''Yes, Jane" said she,
ST must die, and let me go without the
pain of seeing you grieve. Think, dear
child, where is there mercy like that
which promises to the weary and heavy
laden soul rest in the bosom of Its Re-
deemer Jane, Jane, look Ina my face
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