Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1889-05-20

could not take her head, and lay 1t on bis
shoulder, and stroke the golden hair, and kiss
the tears from her eyes-but then ne did not
ask OF heaven to pet and mollyc0ddle him, only
to forgive him, and he did forgive Salome.
He saw that his wife's heart ached for her
mother; that she felt keenly the loss OF her
who had been to her the representative Of AL
maternal tenderness and consideration. Tnat
was natural and inevitable. But everyone mas
10 undergo some such partings; 1t IS the lot Oh
humanity, and Salome must accommodate
herself to her bereavement. He saw that she
mad not an intimate friend in the place to
whom she could pour out heart, and Of whom
take counsel; but then, he also had been
friendless, till he came not to require friend
aud value human sympathy. What he did not
appreciate, she must learn, TO do without.
He saw that she was distressed and in agony
of mind because he was offended with her; but
this afforded him no regret. She had sinned
against him and must accept the consequences.
1t was law OF nature that Gin should meet
with punishment, and the sinner must accept
his chastisement as his due. What were the
consequences in comparison with the weight Of
her transgression2
Procrustes had bed on which he tied
travellers, and If their length exceeded that of
the bed he cut of their exrremities; but if they
were shorter. he had them stretched to equal
it Philip had his iron bed Of principle, on
which he extended himself. and to this he
would fit his poor, tender, suffering wife.
As he and Salome returned together from the
funeral they hardly spoke to each other on the
way Her hand was on his arm, trembling with
grief and mute, disregarded appeal He knew
that she was crying, because she continually
put her kerchief to her eyes. Tears are mat
ter of course at funerals, as orange blossoms
are a concomitant of weddings. Mrs. Gus
worth. though not Salome's mother. had stood
to her for Is years in the relation of one; tears
therefore, thought Philip, were proper on this
he did not blame her for crying-God for
bid
For his own part, Philip had regarded Mrs.
ellsworth with dislike; he had seen how COM
monplace, unintellectual a woman she was; but
it was OF course right, quite right and proper,
that Salome should see the good side OF the de-
ceased.
Philip wore his stereotyped business face at
the funeral, the face he wore when going
through his accounts, hearing sermon, repri-
manding clerk, paying his rates. He was
somewhat paler than usual, but the most at
tentive observer could not say that this was
caused by feeling and was not the effect OF con-
trast to his new suit of glossy black mourning.
Not once did he draw the l1rtle hand on his arm
close to his side and press it. He let it rest
there with as much indifference as if it were
his paletot.
On reaching the house he opened the door
with his latchkey and stood aside to allow Sa-
lome to enter. Then he followed, hung his hat
on the stand, and blew his nose. He had
avoided blowing his nose at the grave or in the
street, lest it should give occasion to his being
supposed to affect grief he did not feel: and
real and afraid to be thought to pretend.
He followed Salome upstairs.
On reaching the landing, where was his study
door, Salome turned to look at him before as
cending further. Her face was white, her eyes
red with weeping Wondrously beautiful in
color and reflected light was her ruddy gold
hair bursting out from under the Grape bonnet
above her pallid face.
She said nothing, but waited expectantly
with her brown eyes on his face. He received
the look with imperturbable self-restraint,
opened his door, and without word went into
his study.
Salome's bosom heaved, great sob broke
from it: and then she hastily continued her as
cent. She had made her final appeal, and it
had been rejected.
Mrs Cusworth had died worth an inconsider-
able sum, and that she had left to Janet, as
more likely to need it than salome.
And now that the last rites had been paid to
the kindhearted, if stupid and iliterate old
woman who had loved Salome as her own
child, Salome turned to her baby to pour forth
upon it. undivided. the rich torrent of her love-
gushing, tinged with blood, from a wounded
heart.
There exists a sympathetic tie In nature and
IN human relations of which Philip had never
thought-that between the mother and the
babe. And now the wrong done to the mother
reacted, revenged itself on her child. The lit
tie one had been ailing for awhile, now it be-
came seriously ill. The strain to which Salome
had been put made itself felt in the weak frame
OF the infant that clung to her breast. Salome
would allow no one to nurse her darling but
herself while its precious life was in danger,
and the child would, on its part, allow no one
else to touch it. 1t sobbed and cried and de-
manded of its mother infinite patience and
pity, unwearied rocking in her arms and hug
ging to her heart, thousand kisses. and many
tears, words Of infinite love and soothing ad-
dressed to it, soft sighs breathed over 1t from
an utterly weary bosom, and earnest prayers,
voiceless often, but ever ascending, as the
steam Of the earth to heaven.
For whIle care for the babe excluded all
other thoughts, devoured all other cares.