The Bottineau pioneer. (Bottineau, N.D.) 1885-1895, 1889-12-21

HE LIFTED THE CHILD'S HEAL AND GAZED
LONG AND ~sEARCHINGLY IN HER FACE"
the ~ascendency. 1t was only by a strong
effort that he controlled himself. When, at
last, he spoke, he was startled by the sound
of his own voice, it was so strange and hol-
low.
"If I am not much deceived" he said, put
ting the tangled curls tenderly back from the
face of the wondering child, II knew your
mother long ago. Let us 60 to her at once,
that I may learn if l am Correct in my sur
misses. II so, she will not, I am sure, question
MY right to assist her and her child. God
grant I may have the powerI"
They passed in silence to the wretched
house mentioned, Grace leading the way.
After climbing several flights of rickety
stairs, they paused before a small, ill-ftting
door, about which the wind walled drear-
i]y ar.,
ment.
Corcoran entered after her. Before him,
on a wretched cot, lay the wasted form of
the once beautiful Ethel Ernscliff.
At the noise made by the opening and clos
ing of the door, she turned her head with a
low m"'n. Their eyes met in a long gaze Of
mutua recognition.
9Th !" "Hughl" were the first words that
broke from their blanched lips.
The next moment Grace uttered a faint
cry. Ethel had raised herself almost to a
sitting posture at sight of Hugh, but now
fell back white and still, and with a tiny
stream Of dark red blood trickling from
between her pallid lips. The faintness soon
passed, however, and the flow Of blood was
likewise of short duration. Much revived
by a cordial which Hugh administered, she
was presently able to look upon him so deep
ly wronged, and hear his passionate excla-
nations of love and grief. He knelt beside
the low couch on which she lay, folding her
cold hands in his, and gazing into her eyes in
an agony Of despair. Grace stood beside
him. Ethel was the first to speak.
~ feared l should die without seeing you,
Hugh" shs murmured, family, "and unfor-
given. But you are come. An angel has
led you to me this day-Christmas day. And
you do not reproach me tor the past. You
love me still. Oh, had I but deserved thisI
May God reward you for your goodness, for
I never can."
IAN angel has, indeed brought me to you,
my Ethel" he replied, "your child. Pray
God l have not come too late to assist you
and her. But your husband, Ethe.s Is h
not with you!"
A spasm OF pain passed over the emaciated
face Of the sufferer
"Talk not OF him." she cried, with the ener-
gy of q terrible remorse. "He is long since
dead. l realized the madness of my folly
when it was too late. Yet I will not revile
his memory. Besides, he was the father Of
my child-my little Grace"
She placed her hand on the bowed head of
the weeping child, and continued:
"a little while, and my darling will be
alone in the wide ~world-alone and penni-
less"
"Never while I live" interrupted Hugh,
solemnly. "Ethel, dearest, you can trust
your child to me. I will love, guard, and
shield her as if she were my own"
"You," she murmured, incredulously. lis
it you who offer my child affection,
home, and protection, after all the past. o,
Hugh, what a noble, generous heart I flung
away ten years ago this day. Yes, it was
Christmas day. But is it not more than ten
years sincea To me it seems much longer.
Yet, not must be so. Grace is but nine
years old"
She half rose as she ceased speaking. Her
face seemed irradiated. Corcoran noted her
strong excitement and feared for it's results,
B calm, m darling" he whispered ten
derby, laying her gently back. "Be com-
forted. The past sleeps in oblivion. It was
no fault of yours you did not love me-and
for the rest, all is forgiven now"
A long sigh of relief was Ethel's only
answer. Some hours later, she awoke from
what seemed a sweet sleep. Hugh still knelt
beside her. Grace, too, was in her former
place. Ethel embraced her child with pas
sionate tenderness, then placing her small
hand ~confidingly i'll Corcoran's, murmured
brokenly:
"Forgive-forgive, dearest Hugh, and try
-try-to-forges".
The silence which succeeded was the awful