The news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1877-1900, 1883-08-04
TRI-WEEKLY EDITION.

Will Illo ages, bringing strange changes
to the lonely mother in her beautiful
home. Eustace's wild and dissolute
habits were generally known, and only
at intervals did he visit his home; his
many broken promises Of reform could
not be relied upon, and even his dOting
mother felt cold Chill at her heart as
she reflected on her son and wondered
Where it would end.
For years she hoped for better things,
and placed reliance on his SOOTHING
words and caresses; but she had learned
OF late, with a sick cold heart, how much
they could be believed. She dotted on
him still, and month after month hoped
on. She always greeted him with a
smile OF welcome, and stroye to make
his home as attractive as she could. At
one time he had narrowly escaped dis
grace; but things had been tided over.
The end was yet to come.
1t was gloomy winter evening; snow
was beginning to fall, and the lady turn
cd from the window where she had been
standing with an aching heart, and drew
Il chair close to the fire, that, cracking
and dancing Enthusiastically, seemed to
cast Wierd reflections over a desolate
past.
Fifty years might have passed instead
OF twenty to judge from the difference
between the young mother who sent I'D
agonized prayers for her baby's life and
the careworn, old-looking woman who
bent over the fire in the CRATE. Yet
everything about her was dainty and
beautiful as of old, and her dress was
tasteful and elegant. 1t was all for her
boy, poor soul!-that he should not find
his mother aught but what he could
admire, never reckoning how little he
cared for any one but himself.
NEustacc's birthday to-morrowu' she
said aloud, ''IIe will remember to see
me! . God!" she cried, rising and clasp
ing her hands. "JuSt twenty years
since prayed for my darling's life. Can
1T be it was for naught but suffering?
1ou were beautiful and good once; will
you ever come back to me?' And she
ma her face in her hands, and the tears
fell through her thin fingers,
Just then the portiere was drawn aside
and Eustace stood before her. But oh,
what contrast to the fair, sweet baby
and the tall STRIPPING of ten years agol
His dress was disordered, his face ashy
pale, his blue eyes wild and sunken.
"Motherl" lie came up to her and
seized her hand. "You must hide me!
They are after me!' And he looked
around the room III nervous agony. at
is a horrible tale for your ears, poor
mother! There was Il Quarrel-we were
all mad with drink and excitement-and
l have blood-blood on my soul, besides
It's other sinS!' And the miserable man
sank at the feet Of his wretched mother.
She dropped beside him in wild par
oxySm of grief, and tried to raise his
hnOI n lnn. Inf fr1l r
We're dead: She rang for assistance and
had him placed upon couch, and mcdi-
cal aid summoned; he awoke from his
stupor only to break into wild rawlings
and agoniZed cries. The doctor shook
his head, said dissipation had done it's
work, and he was doomed. The myrm-
dons Of the law shrank from his wild
raving and ghastly face, and took their
station i'll room down stairs; but a
higher tribunal awaited him.
Again the agonizcd mother bent over
her child. lie had sunk into Il death
like siupor, exhausted by his wild raw
ings. AS in dim vision the past glided
slowly before her, and the baby of twenty
years ago was lying in his pretty crib,
and she seemed to hear the echo of her
OWN wild prayer, "Spare me my childr'
Still she watched on. Eustace never
stirred, and the shaded light made the
pale face and sunken eyes look yet more
weird. The calm, sweet Madonna
seemed almost to bend pityng look
from the wall, and the rounded outline
OF the yelled Psyche and her boy lover
glistened in the shadow. How unchanged
these dumb things, yet how different the
aching living heartsl
Suddenly the sufferer stirred, and the
mother would have called for the doctor,
who was waiting outside; but with ali
his failing strength he clutched convul-
sively her hand.
"Mother!'
She bent over him.
81 am sorry-forgive! Our Father"
And trying to grasp the long uns;il
prayer, the sin-stained soul passed from
earth.
The heart-broken mother made no
moan, but fell upon her knees and bur
led her face in the pillows. She knew
how her wild and selfish prayer for her
child had been answered. Too late had
come the awakening-her child had lived
to he murderer, and she could only
hope now that perchance out Of the in
finite mercy of the Savior, his dying ef-
fort to pray his childhood s prayer was q
token of forgiveness. Sad, sad, is too
often the reality, but too true is the
awakening.