The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1883-11-29


Ashby, that she absolutely refused to give
! his name, saying that it could do her no
good now and would only bring sorrow and
disgrace upon an honorable family Surely
such thoughtful self-sacrifce deserves the
/ reward OF n pardon especially as it has not
been proved that her child was murdered y
/ Very true, but it is more than likely that
she exaggerated the importance OF keeping
= his name secret"
Il think not. Governor Ashby," said Mar
garet quietly. For long time Christine
would not even tell me his name. When |
implored her to do it, for her own unhappy
sake, she whispered it to me, but only after |
gave my promise that the world should never
/ know It, She showed me his picture, which
! he had given her i'll little ocket, and ring
| which he had slipped upon her hand one day
when she was an innocent girl He was a
/ young civil engineer, making a survey for a
/ railroad near the town where she lived, and
here is the picture which he gave her" Mar
garet slipped the open locket bsfore him ana
sat with folded hands.
! 'Impossiblel'' he cried, angriy. II did
not expect such dramatic trick this from
you. Margaret Dalep'
rs it impOssible? she said coldly "As
him yourself, and see If he will deny it.
Bring him to the prison, and see if he dares
to look upon that sad. white face, which two
little years ago was glad and sweet with love
for him."
Lower and lower sank the proud white
| head, and from the thin lips came the cry;
my son, my son!'' A vision came TO Mar
garet as she heard it, of the good father who
sat centuries ago. in that chamber over the
gate, and gave that cry of human woe: 30,
Absalom, my sonl'
She went back to Waverly, and, in a few
days, the prison doors opened and Christine
came out free. The day before she returned
two ladies called upon Mrs. Dale and told
her with much condescension, that out OF
| their regard for her they had made great
effort, and finally received permission for
Christine to enter the Penitent Magdaiene's
home.
ut is not necessary" said Margaret quietly,
since she has home awaiting her."
Indeed! They had not known that; they
had supposed her to be both homeless and
friendess
"She is neither the one nor the other,
since this will be her home and we her
friends as long as she lives"
They went away Mortified CAS- good as a
red handed mnrderess and yet Margaret
Dale is going to keep her there with her in
| nocent childreni"
Dear Lord" prayed Margaret upon her
knees that night, help me to do the right
part by this. one of Thy unhappy children,
and let me forsake her not, as | would not
be forsaken"
think no one outside of the family ever
saw Christine again except myself Mar
garet knew that she shrank from the cruel
gaze of curious eyes, and shielded her in
every way. She was as faithful. and devoted
to Margaret and the children as ever, and
would have been more SO had it been posi-
bic for her to be.
The night Margaret brought her home and
led her up to her room. Christine hal thrown
herself at her feet and cried, Let me die for
your but she had tenderly lifted her, held
her close to her in a warm, sisterly embrace
and said: Live for me. instead, Christine
that is harder and nobler."
The summer had come and gone, and
| thanksgiving was near at hand.
You must wear your grey silk gown on
| Thanksgiving day and try to be happy with
us. You have something to be thankful
for, haven't you. Christine?"
We've got jolly lot of things to be glad
about" said Phil, but the iolliest thing of
all is that you are back, Christine"
She said yes, and thanked them with her
patient smile.
The day before thanksgiving, Margaret
was busy in the kitchen helping the cook
out with her preparations for the great feast
day. Christine was in the nursery with the
children while the boys were playing in the
| barn with some little friends. All at once
the sharp cry of fire rang through the air,
and almost before Margaret could reach the
door, the flames were bursting from the barn.
in frightened group-all but Philip, Mar
garets oldest and best beloved one.
Where is Philip" she cried.
He went back for Don, who was tied up
stairs in the tool-room and couldn't get out, "
shouted the boys above the roar Of the
flames
Margaret would have rushed into the burn
ing building, but strong arms held her back.
Its no use ma'am You couldn't save him
now. See, the barn is all ablaze."
While they chung to her gray clad figure
flew across the lawn, and before any one
thought to stop it. had disappeared in the
barn. The tool-room was furthest from the
point where the fire had started and had a
narrow window in it. When Christine APP
peared at this window carrying dreadful
something in her arms, strong arms lifted
the ladder, and a fireman mounting up took
her burden from her When he came up
again Christine had disappeared. but he
reached into the fiery place, and pulling her
out by the fragments of her dress carried her
tenderly down. They bore her into the
house and laid her upon her narrow white
bed.
Margaret had been with Philip, but she
came into the hall as the doctor left Chris
tines room. The hoy will be all right in
the morning, Mrs. Dale; but for her, there is
no hope. have dome what could now.
will come again soon"
Margaret watched by Chrstine's bedside
all night, giving her every tender care. She
thought her unconscious, for she never
moved or spoke from the time they brought
her in until toward morning. when she
opened her gray eyes and said, quite calmly:
Don't be grieved about me, dear Mrs
Dale | wanted to live for you, because YOU
asked me to- but am very glad that | am
going to die"
Margaret could not speak for tears. BY and
by she said again:
DO yon think if I am good enough, that
sometime God will let me have my own dear
baby in heaven?'
'He will; indeed He will, Christine. Oh,
my dear, brave girl; you are an angel al
ready"
There was only one picture in the room, a
beautiful engraving of a thorn-crowned
Christ. Christine had asked to have it there.