The times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1882-1897, 1884-06-13
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 out 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.
Nora Wade presses her lips upon the
tangled mass of golden hair that sweeps
the pillow and cries softly. For a fort
night those baby arms have chung to
her neck ceaselessly, the sweet voice
sobbing mamma! mammal" until her
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 slumbcr; 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 a prayer, a 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-
tiers.
.Is she still sleepingP" she asks,
looking toward the child. tt
yes" Nora answered in whisper;
and then, as her mothers arms are
folded about her, she bows her head
and weeps bitterly.
Don't cry, Nora; be brave womanj
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 AZ
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 a fresh hope.
But you must rest, dear; lie down here
beside her and will keep watch"
mo, no." Nora shakes her head
slowly. II could not sleep; it would
be torture. You need it more than l
do; 60. 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 mp, mechanically crushing them
between her white fingers. Again and
again she has read them, until the
whole world seems centered in their
burning words. Only few lines mar
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 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
wreck, and the child whose golden
head was pillowed on her breast knew
not her mothers sorrow.
In her happy home in the far-off
city the first letter had come, falling
into the depths of her tranquil life like
thunderbolt from heaven. She had
shivered with terror as she had read
its contents, and she had flung 1t from
her and trampled 1t beneath her feet,
refusing to believe in her husband s
dishonor And oh, 1t was cruel hand
indeed that had penned the words,
though it was the hand OF her own
uncle.
Mora Wade" he had written her
coldly, "your husband has forged n
note in my name. He has fled tho city;
but If there is law in the land shall
make him suffer its fullest penalty"
For one mad moment she had almost
cursed the man, although he was her
fathers brother, who had dared to fling
this sudden sorrow upon her. But
scarcely had she realized its truth ere
another missive followed, more full of
bitter poison than the first 1t was the
hardest blow of all and her frail heart
had almost broken under the sudden
burden. for the hand she loved best in