Daily Republican. [volume] ([Wilmington, Del.]) 1874-1890, 1889-04-29
STRONG AS DEATH.
BY VILLA LLOYD JACKSON.

tho sick woman lay with shut eyes, as il
asleep.
"she's been looking night and day for
her 500. l don't believe she can de
without him." sad the Aurse.
You have sent for hint" asked the
young man.
He was the nephew of the dying
woman, and the nurse was her house.
keeper.
end had come, that she would even let us
mention his name"
II never heard the real story OF their
quarrel, Mrs. Smith. Aunt was always SO
uncommunlcative. The family only knew
that there was breach which had never
been healed"
"Well, as she is dying suppose there
is no harm in telling 1t to you. You know
your suut was always so determined and
well, some called 1t hard, but 1t was
only love OF her own way. Pm sure she
was as fond mother as ever lived. Mr..
Henry was like the apple of her eye, but
he, like every one else. had to yield to her
will She had temper, too, ung0verna-
BILE, wild, when 1t broke loose. Her hus-
band during his life never dared to oppose
her, but Henry was her own child, and
even when a mere baby, would struggle
against her with her own terrible temper.
Often and often have seen those two
faces confront each other, hers SD hand
some and passionate, and his q living
draw itself together like hers, and his
brow puckering until you would haye
laughed, only that you would have read
SO plainly what was coming.
"At last, when Henry had just turned
nineteen, the end came. 1t was wild
night in January, ten years ago now, and
the snow lay inches deep on the ground,
and such wind was blowing that IL
shook the house. We were sitting about
the hall fire, your aunt and busy with
the housekeeping books, and Henry read
ing by the table. His mother was put
out by some little thing,a missing receipt,
l remember, and when shutter was
blown rudely back by the wind, without
Henry rising to iasten it again, she called
| out sharply:
"'Why don't you close that shutterP
"The boy never raised his eyes from
the page before him, but saw his mouth
harden. His mothers eyes flashed, and
rising, she crossed the room and tore the
book from his hand, flinging it toward
the fireplace.
=" Close that shutter Instantly she
said. as II she spoke to the stable boy.
Then saw the stubborn, angry look
on her face come into Ills own.
"'I won'tp he answered, and knew
the end had come. She or the child that
had come into the world with all her
strong, passionate nature for a heritage
must yield.
"'For The last time, Henry, will you
obey meP
"Her voice, like steel, rang clear
through the silent house. The wind itself
seemed to hold its breath to hear the
answer that came without fear or hesita-
tIon.
" 4 am neither child nor a slave, tc
. be 90 hidden. will not
'sHer face changed ther, and grew sC
still and rigid that l nearly sc. canned
fearing, could not have told what bu
she merely laid her hand upon his shoul
der, ard said 80 quietly that you wouldn't
have known her,
"'Get up, boy
"I think, for all his spirit, he was
frightened, too, for he rose at once, and
she led him to the hall door. followed,
and saw her throw open the door and
point out into the night.
"'Gop she said. you are no child oil
mime
"He looked up into her stern face as II
he scarcely believed her, and then he
went. And from that hour none OF us
have ever laid eyes on the poor boy who
went away on that wild, dreadful winter
night"
81 suppose my aunt was sorry when
her snger cooled.
She never said so, cir. Until she bade
us send for him three days ago, she never
mentioned his name, nor let any one else
IN her presence. But ] know how she
sorrowed for him. At nights | would
hear her 60 wandering about the house,
TO and from the room that had been his,
and when the wind blew she was like q
mad creature. Often would wake to
tind her at my bedside, and she would
say:
a. Pray, pray for me, Jane, for all
homeless wanderers to night l can't
pray myself My hearts too hard-I
can't break my pride.'"
" And 80 would kneel in the cold and
dark and pray, as she told me, for all
homeless wanderers rs-never for him by
name-while she etood groaning by iu her
grief and dreadful pride that would not
let her send for her son."
The young mans eyes were moist at the
picture of the kneeling old woman who
prayed In the dead hours of night, with
the bowling wind about the house, and
the other, the obstinate old mother whose
pride fought so hard with her love.
''5he never ceased to expect him, sir,
for abe could not realize that it was her
own stubborn spirit in her son, and she
hoped to the last that he would come
back, humble and pentent. l don't
doubt that he's longed to, many and
many time, for he was never taught to
work, and he's only common soldier In
the army now, out on the frontier"
"Do you think he will come now?"
''0h, yes! The captain Of his company
is the son of a nsighbor; that is how we
ever heard of his whereabouts Oh, there
will be no difficulty about his leave of
absence"
"But his prIdel"
"You forget. She sent for him."
The voices OF the whisperers died away.
A log In the spacious fireplace burnt
through and fell with sharp noise, and
the rising wind began to moan about the
house. Nothing else then broke the
silence, SAKE the heavy breathing OF the
sleeper, until the clock struck midnight,
when the door OF the led chamber was
flung open, and a chill wind swept past
the watchers.
The sufferer, aroused by the noise,
languidly opened her eyes, and then she
rose in her bed, cry OF joy ringing
through the room.
"My soul My sonn"
Her arms were clasped to her breast,
of peace and rapture transfgured her
face as they laid her gently back upon
the pillows-dead
| {n 10 InH,E naI