The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1884-04-10
OLD YEAR SHADOWS.
BY FANNIE ISABELLE sHERwICK.

BY FANNIE ISABELLE sHERWICK.
In the city the long streets were
ablaze with the yellow gaslight, and
the silver glow of the electric lights.
swung outward into the night, drove
the shadows far away. But into the
still white country they crept, and the
tall trees of the forest held ont ghostly
arms to greet them 1t was weird light
"a fitting time for the old year to die
with only the wind to wall his requi-
EN-, and only the stars to watch over
his white grave.
In her fathers lonely country home
the daughter of farmer Matthews is
watching. Her face is pale and worn,
and her dark eyes are heavy. with long
WEAKNESS and watching.
On the bed little child sleeps, one
white hand thrown up restlessly against
the pillow. The flush of fever is upon
her white face, and its hot breath upon
her parted lips. t
Nora Wade presses her lips upon the
tangled mass of golden hair that sweeps
the pillow and cries softly. For fort
night those baby arms have clung to
her neck ceaselessly, the sweet voice
SODDlu2 UAUl1 uCI
heart is almost broken. For days she
has fought the cruel fever, but still it
saps up the life-blood of her darling
Into fitful slumber she has fallen, and
for the first time in many weary days
Nora is free from the cares of those
clinging arms.
For long time she sits there motion
less, scarcely breathing lest she should
disturb the child's slumber; and then,
as she sees how quiet the sleep has
grown, her heart gains hope, and she
steals away to the window, where the
curtain half drawn reveals the beauti-
full world without.
No words come from her lips as she
sees that white-robed, silent world; yet
her silence is 4 prayer, voiceless
offering to the white, invisible throne
in the star-jeweled world above.
just then soft footstep is heard up
on the stairs, and Mrs. Matthew en-
ters.
''ls she still sleepingP" she asks,
looking toward the child.
Yes" Nora answered in whisper;
and then, as her mothers arms are
folded about her, she bows her head
and weeps bitterly. .-....s
Don't cry, Nora; be brave woman;
These sorrows come to all OF us, and
we must bear them"
"But cannot. Mine is greater than
can bear, )" she cries, lifting up her
head. ''If Alice must die. then | have
no wish to live.''
mo, Nora, don't say such words as
those. You are tired and worn, When
the morning comes you will have re-
newed hope and strength. Alice is
sleeping the first quiet sleep she has
had for many nights, and her quiet
slumber brings with it fresh hope.
But YOU must rest, dear; lie down here
beside her and will keep watch.
'No, no." Nora shakes her head
slowly. Il could not sleep; it would
be torture. You need it more than
do; go, l entreat you.
After much persuasion her mother
leaves the room, and she sinks once
more into the chair by the bed. She
is tired of the old year, and she has no
sorrow to know that it is dying. 1t has
brought her only shame and misery.
On the small writing desk at her ell
bow two letters are lying. She picks
them up, mechanically crushing them
between her white fingers. Again and
again she has read them, until the
whole world seems centered in theil
burning words. Only few lines mai
the white pages, yet they tell the tale
of her sorrow, and as they have stained
the unsulled pages. SO they have en-
graved upon her sinless heart the dark
bitterness of sorrow and disgrace.
Five years ago no happier bride ere
| left q fathers home than she; but ere
the last year had reached its prime she
| had come home sad and weary, with
| the weight of years upon her young
head. All the beautiful Young life was
a wreck, and the child whose COLDER
head was pillowed on her breast knew
not her mothers sorrow.
In her happy home in the far-of
city the first letter had come, falling
into the depths of her tranquil life hk'
a thunderbolt from heaven. She hat
shivered with terror as she had reat
| it's contents, and she had flung it from
her and trampled it beneath her feet
refusing to believe in her husband
dishonor. And oh, it was cruel hant
indeed that had penned the words
though it was the hand of her owl
uncle.
s.Nora Wade" he had written he
coldly, s'your husband has forged
note in my name. He has fled the city
but if there is law in the land l shal
make him suffer its fullest penalty.
For one mad moment she had almos
cursed the man, although he was he
fathers brother, who had dared to film;
this sudden sorrow upon her. Blu
scarcely had she realized its truth er
another missive followed, more full @
bitter poison than the first. 1t was tn
hardest blow of all and her frail hear
had almost broken under the sudde
burden, for the hand she loved best i
all the world, had penned the crue
words.
"Dear Nora" her husband had said
'God forgive me for the sorrow | hav
brought upon you, but you shall neve
look upon my face again. Tempted,
have fallen, and sorrow-stricken leaV
my home never to enter it again. Ieac
Alice to forget me-and teach you
own heart, Nora, to look on me q
dead"
Is it any wonder that for long week
afterward Nora Wade had lain as on
dead, and that when consciousness ha
, come she had longed to die? Month
afterward she was brought back to tn
home of her childhood, and there the
had nursed her back to life: But I'll
days were to her but meaningless shat
ows, and had it not been for the littl
that life grew brighter and sweet'
every day in the peace of the old farm
house she would willingly have falle
into the sleep that knows no waking.
e Now she sits in the shadow of tt
. darkened room, living again throug