The Abilene reflector. [volume] (Abilene, Kan.) 1883-1888, 1886-05-06

| your hearth
Again he saw his home and farm,
but, ah, how changed Neglected lay
! the rich fields around his homestead:
and in his garden Overrm with weeds,
stood Laura, looking out upon the
! landscape. Could this be the Laura
whom he loved? Although the familiar
features were there. the expression of
accustomed unhappiness upon them
| struck him with fear. Presently his
second self came toward her; but she
| was not, as before, taken to her hus-
| band's embrace, and he made no re-
| Spouse to the yearning look with which
ever and anon she raised her ewes 10
his. In silence they walked side b.
side to their house.
" Who mas been here, Laura?"
" No person, William"
You are sure of thatr'
d" Indeed. indeed" she replied, with
heavy sigh, there has been no per-
son here"
He received her assurance with
snCer.
% We men are not a match for you
fair womcnr
William recognized that IN unhappy
home was here before him, darkened
by doubt, gloomed by mistrust Love
did not illumine it; faith did not sane
THY it.
In the evening. the wife crept hum
bly,, beSeechingly, to her husband
side
William" she said, timidly, sis
this TO 90 on forevcr?'
% II is for you to decide" he replied,
morOsely.
What can I do?'' she cried "oh.
what can do? Why do you still con-
tinue to doubt me?'
Why do you give me cause?"
Z" Heaven knows l do not! You
have an evil spirit in your heart, and l
an weak and powerless against it. BY
the memory of our dead child | have
been true and faithful to you in deed
and thought. o William, our past life
has been very very miserable. Let it
go, and ell our misery with it. Do not
darlien the days TO come, there is no
cause-indecd. indeed, there is no
causei Cast from your heart the doubts
that beset You, and do not entirely
wreck our future | love you still, de-
spite your unkinGnesS.
'Of course" he said bitterly; "my
NEUTRALITY-SUSPICIOUS. il all upor me!
Like all You women. But | am moi
yet quite blind. Stephen Winkw orth
was right-you are ali false alike"
William, William"' she cried, tears
of anguish in her eyes, "you have
broken my heartn'
But he left her abruptly, without re-
ply-left her tS weep over the cold
ashes of her love.
Thus passed the years. Thinner and
paicr grew the wife-mOrc mOrose and
h8ggnrd grew the husband-until the
hour arrived when she lay upon her
bed of death. her wan face looking up
to his, while the angel of love and the
demon of doubt still fought their battle
within his soul.
Kiss me, William" she said, slowly
and painfully. Il am sorry, yet glad,
TO leave you. Our life has not been
what hoped it would be. How hap
py we were before we were married
in the dear old days! How bright tho
future was. But all my dreams died
years, long years ago. 1t is too late
now to endeavOr to bring them to life;
but we shall meet again--in the Here
after, when all doubt is cleared away.
In that good time YOU will know me
better, and will love me again, as in
the old days, will you not?"
He choked back the spasms that rose
TO his throat, and, in a sudden agony
of remOrse, knelt by the bed and laid
his hand in hers.
Thank Godw she said. with glad
light in her voice rs she held his hand
TO her wasted breast, and then raised
it feebly TO her lips. ut is all over
life was very hard TO bear without Your
love. gave you all ny heart, William;
but you took yours from me-and it
was my life, my life. When l am gone.
think of me sometimes, with love in
your thoughts. Look, William, look
she rose in her bed, and pointed ont
of the window-''there is fathers
house! The snow is falling-iS it
Christmas, then? Beautiful shadows
are moving all around. Kiss me. Will
lam, for the last, last time. All, my
love! my lover'
With that last kiss spiritual beauty
passed into her face, and her soul
winged its way to the bosom of our
Heavenly Father.
Such lives as these" said the In
visible Spirit ''are the fruits of Doubt.
Behold Remorser'
For the third time the aspect of his
home changed. All now was drear
and desolate. A deathly stiffness
reigned throughout the house, and, sit
ting by himself. with eyes that sought
the ground, William beheld prema-
turely old, gray-headed man. Un-
friended, uncared for. he mourned in
silence, surrounded by the sad evil
denceS of a wrecked and wasted life.
Brooding over what might have been,
listening for what he shall never hear
for the tender voice Of the woman
whose heart he had broken, for the
pretty prattle of children, and the joy
Gus scrambling of their pretty little
feet; searching for the home-lights
which he himself extinguished, and
which shall never shine again, stretch
ing forth his trembling hands to the
years that were gone, and gazing
despairingly at the dead flowers which
might have bloomed for him until he
closed his eyes upon the world.
And for the last time the spirit
spoke:
1.-The story you have heard this night