Savannah morning news. [volume] (Savannah) 1868-1887, 1884-03-16
THE SAVANNAH MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY. MARCH Is, 1884,

but he has gone away almost angry with
me; he thinks me so childish and migrate
ful.'
''Tell me ali about it, poor little NAM
ma. "
81 ought not. Albert won't like it. He
told me not to speak OF it, but, Charlie,
am dying, and it is so hard TO diel"
Her words so shocked her listener, that
for short moment she did not speak;
then steadying her voice she said:
'What can you mean, mamma? We
all see that you are not quite strong, and
that you have lost q little flesh, but you
are in no present danger; you will soon be
well. What seems to be the trouble?
Where is the pain?''
''There is no pain, no pain at all. only
grow more weak every day; but that is
not all. I'm afraid I've offended Al
bert. :"
Glow could that be? You never Of
fend anybody, and he is always gentle
with YOU"
'He is always good and kind; but to-
day I felt so very badly that | told him [
was afraid the medicine he gives me
didn't just suit me. You see, 1 had heard
mother tell him so-and he was very
much hurt and sent for DR.. Varras, and
he said l was only suffering from debility,
needed change, ETC., etc. So Albert was
right after all"
"Did Mr.. Beltham tell him what he had
givenY'
''Yes; think he called it quin1ne."
"Did DR.. Narras approve of that?'
''Perfectly."
did DIR. Narras examine the medicine?
You know it might not be a good article of
its kind"
eyes; saw Albert get it out of his
bureau drawer and show it to him; but,
Charlie, isn't it little strange that when
ever / take the powder l feel so faint and
siek?'
'DIedieine often has that effect. 1t is
very bitter, isn't itr'
"Ohi no; and l should not be childish
enough to mind it if was; but it does me
no good. The faults not in the medicine;
it is in me. On! Charlie, | know am dy-
ing" she cried, with sudden energy. 81
cannot live long, and it seems so hard to
leave him when he loves me so well and
we are so happy. Sometimes l think
God is going to take me away because l
am an idOlatOr and love my husband too
well. Fye been so~happy Ive even for
gotten to pray. Amt it hard to die 50
young, Charlie? Amt it hard to goodwin
in the cold, dark grave, out of the sun
light and away from himY
Mamma, you have sat up too long, and
you are nervous and tired; you are not
very i'll; you will soon be better. Don't
give up so; don't brood over your feelings
so. Come, l Will 90 upstairs with you and
help you get to bed"
"DO stay all night with me, Charlie.
You can comfort me so much"
"Where is your husbandT
Gle has gone on the midnight train to
B, but he will return day after to-
morrow"
every we'll; I viii stay and sleep with
you. Come now; it is very late. You
will get chilled through in this cold
room"
Upstairs Charlie exerted herself to
cheer her unhappy mother, and. after a
long talk, had the qualification Of seeing
her fall peacefully asleep. But sleep
came not to the excited girl. Out of her
hate and mistrust Of Albert Beltham had
grown a misgiving too horrible to cOntem-
plate. Could it be possible that he, even
he, would be so daring and so wicked as
to injure--as to attempt to kill-his sweet
and innocent wife. Could it be possible
that her rapid decline was in any measure
owing to the medical treatment in which
be so obstinately persisted? Charlie grew
so anxious and excited that, feeling sleep
impossible, she got up, and putting on q
warm wrapper of her mothers, sat down
| by the dying fire to look at the situation
as closely as possible.
''In the first place." she thought, 81
! hate and desplse MIR. Beltham. This l
must consider in my judgment of his ac-
tiOns, and try to be as little moved by 1t as
possible. But what are the facts of the
case as l know them? On my fathers
death, declaring that he does not care to
do it, he hurries a marriage with Annie,
and why? Is he so generous, so unself-
ish that, finding her still devoted to him.
| he sacrifices his own happiness for hers?
Nothing in his life or character makes
such an idea admissible. He was never
| known to consult anybOdy's good but mis-
own. Then why desire this marriageW
| Charlie looked around her at the elegance
and comfort of her mothers home, and a
bitter smile curled her full-red lips. cit
was for this, for these, Mr.. Beltham. 1t was
for the comforts my poor father provided
for his young wife that you sold your
truth and deceived loving, helpless wo-
man. Well, these being attained, what
follows? He grows soon weary of bis
childish wife, and, OIL horror of horrors
now he will relieve himself of her. Yes,
it is so; he is cOolly, quietly, deliberately
| killing her He is giving her some drug
which is slowly and surely doing its work.
Gracious heavens! and what can | do to
save her? To whom shall l 90? What
shall l say? What proof can bring?
| can only say that | hate him, and hating
him, believe him capable of anything.
NOthingi This is nothing without proof"
In a sort of despairing energy, sOrelY
wanting to do something, and yet too
young and inexperienced to move in the
matter, Charlie went to the bedside and
looked closely at her sleeping mother, as
If her placid face and motiOnless figure
could suggest anything.
Mrs. Beltham was lying with one hand
under her cheek fast alseep. Her face, in
its white repOSe, looked WaX-like and
bloodless. Her eyelids closed lightly
| looked a little heavy and swollen, and I'M
der the long, brown lashes a dark line
| showed itself, bespeaking extreme debili-
| ty. She breathed so lightly that Charlie,
| in a sort of terror, bent down over her to
| hear better the faint respiration.
She neither moved nor stirred, and the
| girl took one of her little hands into her
| own and chated it gently. 1t was very
! cold. After she had warmed it little,
! she drew the cover up closely around her
mother and went back to the fire. A little
while she stood musing; then, suddenly
reaching some sort of conclusion, she said
| half aloud:
eyes, l will search everywhere; it
seems a mean thing to do, but God, who
knows all things, knows that do it for
/ her sweet sakep'
With this she began her search for the
mysterious medicine. In the bureau, con-
/ splcuOusly opened, she found qulnlne and
other drugs with which she was familiar
but, though she ransacked every drawer,
trunk, box, and even the flower vases in
! the room, she found nothing, absolutely
nothing.
"Ahp' she sighed, she is a sharp,
adroit villain. He acts but leaves no
signs. In a little while his wife will be in
her grave, and l alone of all the world
will know his crime and guilt"
1t was a fearful responsibility, this i'm
perfect knowledge of so fearful a crime !;
and the girl lay wide awake half of the
winters night striving to find where her
duty led. In the morning Mrs. Beltham
declared she felt better than usual, and
so she resolved to wait other develop
ments.
TO BE CONTINUED
WATTERSON a SWEET SINGER.