The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1884-01-26
tFrom the Pacific Rural Pressl
OLD YEAR SHADOWS.
BY FANNIE ISABELLE sHERwIcK.

outward into the night, drove the shad-
ows far away. But into the still white
country they crept, and the tall trees of
the forest held out ghostly arms ic greet
them. 1t was weird Eght-a fitting
time for the old year to die-with only
the wind to wall his requiem, and only
the stars 10 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 fort
night those baby arms have chung to her
neck ceaselessly, the sweet voice Sob
blDg 50 Mammal mammal until her
heart is almost broken. For days she
has fought the cruel fever, but still it
saps up the fe-blood of her darling.
Into titful slnmber she has fallen, and
for the first time in many weary days
Nora IS free from the cares of those
cIfnging arms.
For long time she sits there motion
less, scarcely breathing lest she should
disturb the child's slumber; and then,
SO 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 beautiful
world without.
No words come from her lips as she
sees that white-robed, silent world; vet
her silence Is prayer, voiceless offer
ing TO the white, invisible throne in the
star world above.
Just then soft footstep is heard upon
the stairs, and Mrs. Matthew enters.
sis she still sleeping ?" she asks.
ooking 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.
Don't cry, Nora; be brave woman;
must bear them"
But / cannot. Mine is greater than
| can bear" sue cries, lifting up her
head. If Alice must die, then i have
no wish to hve."
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 l Will keep watch"
"No, no." Nora shakes her head
slowly. " Icouli not sleep; it would be
torture. You need it more than l do;
go, 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 sor-
row to know that 1t is dying. 1t has
brought her only shame and misery.
% 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 conferred in their burning
words. Only few lines mar the white
pages, yet they tell the tale of her sor-
row, and as they have stained .he unsuI-
lied pages, SO they have engraved upon
her slnlesS heart the dark bitterness OF
sorrow and disgrace.
Five years ago no happier bride ere
LETT 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
piliowed on her breast knew not he,
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 6
thunderbolt from heaven. She had shiv.
cred With terror as she had read it's con.
tents, and she had flung it from her apC
trampled it beneath her feet, refusing to
believe in her husbands dishonor. And
oh, it was cruel hand indeed that haG
penned the words, though it was the
hand of her own uncle.
Mora Wade" he had written hel
coldly, "your husband has forged 6
note IN my name. He has fed the city
but if there is law in the land I shall
make him suffer Its fullest penalty. ,
For one mad moment she had almost
cursed the man, although he was hen
fathers brother, who had dared to fling
this sudden sorrow upon her. Bu1
scarcely bad she realized its truth ere
another missive followed, more full Of
bitter poison than the first. 1t was the
hardest blow OF ell and her frail heart
had almost broken under the sudden
burden, for the hand she loved best in
all the world, had penned the crue
words.
Dear Nora" her husband had said,
God forgive me for the sorrow / have
brought upon you, but you shall never
look upon my face again. Tempted, ]
have fallen, aud SORROW stricken / leave
my home never to enter it again. Teach
Alice to forget me-and teach your own
heart, Nora, TO look upon me as dead. "
Is 1t any wonder that for long weeks
afterward Nora Wade had lain as one
dead, and that when consciousness had
come shehad longed to die? Months
atterward she was brought back to the
home of her childhood, and there they
had nursed her back to life. But the
days were to her but meaningless shad-
ows, and had it not been for the little
that life grew brighter and sweeter ev-
cry day III the peace of the old farm
house she would willingly have fallen
INTO the sleep that knows no waking.
Now she sits In the shadow of the
darkened room, living again through the
scenes of the past year. But all the
fierceness of her old rebellion has died
away, and she feels only weary, weary
pam that knows no sureease.
She looks upon the lovely child face
before her with a great tenderness in
her mother eyes-which is yet half a
terror. What if those baby lips should
never lisp her name again-what if those
dlmpled hands should never press her
face again in the long, lonely years to
comel And the sweet voice! Would
the old home ever be glad again without
Its ringing echoes? Not only her own
heart sLe knows will break, but the old
hearts, 200, thst have grated their hap