Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-05-31
Vengeance is mine. will repay saith the
Lord
How often and how often in the time past she
must have repeated that solemn text.

She received a letter from her husband the
same evening, but it could tell her nothing
| which the paper had not told her already. ex-
cept that he intended to remain in Paris for a
| rev days to see If there were any likelihood of
| reprieve, or Communication of the sentence.
| Five days afterward my step-father walked
into the drawing room at O'Clock in the even
ing. unannounced and unexpected. He had
come from Paris by the morning mail.
| Il waited till the eve of the execution
CARA, he said, when my mother had welcomed
hlm-Oilbert and l were sitting at chess in a
nook near the fireplace. and stood up to greet
him, but aloof, as if he had been stranger
1T is decided. then. There will be no re-
prieye, said my mother.
Then there will be at least one villain less
| in the world" said l.
He looked at me. Never to my dying day can
forget the agonized Representatives, of that
| look. 1t was a look that made me feel as if
were the migrate and the traitor, and he only
| the injured. l saw the picture of my happy
| cnildhood-as they say drowning man sees all
| MS past life in the moment before death. cav
| myself with my arms around that mans neck and
| my cheek against his breast; saw myself soothed
and watched over in hours of childish illness:
| taught and counseled. and amused and trained
| by that keen intellect; loved and petted with
! an lnexhaustble patience and uuvarying
| tenderness by that grave student for whom all
! the world of thought was an open book.
| How often, how continually. day after day.
| had he Land aside his dearest occupation to de-
vote himself to the education and the amuse-
| ment OF child. Yes, he had done all this, he
had sacrificed his inclinatons, he had made
himself slave for my mothers sake. and to
win her he had plotted my fathers murder
My eyelids fell and my heart beat fast be-
meath that mute reproach, but for me his crime
was an objectionable crime. l dared not pity
! him, even in his agony of remorse, for such
pity would have been treachery to my dead
father.
My mother urged him to take some refresh
! ment after his journey. and gave her orders to
the butler 70 that end, but he declared that he
| had dined in London.
You must have had some time in town be-
tween the arrival of the Paris train and the de-
parture of the ESQ from Paddington?" said my
| mother.
.'Yes; had nearly two hours; time enough
to dine and to transact little business in the
city"
I'm the city? But all the offices would be
| closed at that timer
''Not the office wanted"
He was looking very i'll, and had grown
thinner In the few weeks of absence / saw
my mother observing him anxiously as he sat
III front of the fire warming his wasted hands
above the blaze. He talked with some show Of
cheerfulness, asked about the preparations for
the marriage, and for Christmas. Was it to be
gay Christmas at River Lawn?
Gay! echoed mother; how could think
| OF gayety at such time? My thoughts have
been liked upon one subject. Every effort of
my mind has been not to think too perpetually
of the man who is TO die tomorrow"
'Of the man who is to die tomorrow" he
repeated solemnly. death cancels all wrong
doing-at least the Law thinks So The worst
nat can do to a murderer is to kill him."
He rose slowly and moved about the room
| IN his Old restless way and then came over to
my mother and bent over her and kissed her.
Don't sit up for me, Clara" he said; Il
| have letters to write, proofs to look over, the
accumulatlons of a month. / have sent Ames
over to the cottage with nv dispatch box;~I
| shall sit there very late. most likely"
Not tonight, Ambrose, surely not tonight
| There will be plenty OF time tomorrow" re-
monstrated mother.
No, have left everything to the last.
There Will be no time tomorrow. Goodnight,
dear love"
He nodded to Gilbert and me. a cool curt
nod and was gone before my mother could re-
monstrate further
''How dreadfniy wan and haggard he looks "
she said. Il was wrong to let him go to Paris
upon such painful business III his weak
health What would Sir Andrew say to me if
he knew how his advice had been disregarded?"
sir Andrew recommended rest, L suppose"
said Gilbert
He told my husband that it was essential for
him to take life quietly"
''Ah, doctors tell us that-but will the heart
and brain cease from troubling at ply sician's
biddng?"
My mother sighed and sank into melancholy
silence, and our game went on slowly, quietly.
III the silent room, where there was no sound
but the light fall Of wood ashes on the hearth
My mother came to me at o'clock next
morning and told me that her husband had
been at work all night. She had watched his
lamp from her bed room window, being too agi-
tated to sleep or even TO lie down for more
tnan half an hour at time. The lamp had
been burning till daybreak, when she saw it
eXtInguished.
|, too, had watched that lamp. wondering
what the guilty soul was suffering in that long
night whether he wished himself iii the con-
demucd cell where that vulgar villain was wait
ing the dawn of his last day-whether he would
have welcomed the knife as a short. sharp cure
Tor the pangs of guilty conscience.
Nv step-father had never before spent whole
night at the cottage. and, indeed, had seldom
occupied himself III his library of an evening
This unaccustomed night-watch made NV
mother uneasy, and she asked me to 20 aero SO
the road with her to see If there were anything
amiss.
He may have fallen asleep at his desk, " she
SAID land IN "A cold room; for L daresay he has
not been careful to keep the fire burnt ng all
night"
Tie had dismissed his valet when he went
over to the cottage, and was alone there, ex-
cept for the existence of an elderly woman who
lived IN the back premises, cleaned and aired
the room. and made fires We went across the
road together, mother and |, in the bleak win
ter morning. The sky red over toward
London. but gray and gloomy in every other
direction. The neglected garden and the cot
tage itself looked very dull and dreary in the
chilly atmosphere, the sOdden creepers hang
ing from the walls, the plaster blotted with
damp.
What a dismal house, To think that Am
brose and his son lived in it for ever 80 many
years" murmured my mother.
She had only to turn the handle Of the door
to go i'll; there no bolt or lock to exclude
us. / followed her into the dark passage and
into the room OH the right of the porch, the
room which my step-father called his den a
room lined with books from floor to ceiling
Yes" whispered my mother, .he has fallen
| asleep"
The room felt close and hot and faint with
the odor of lamp oil. A pair of candles had
burned down TO the sockets and the ashes were
gray III the CRATE.
My step-fathers head had fallen upon his
folded arms and upon the table in front of him
there long official envelope directed in
a large firm hand
For my wife"
Tread the words across my mothers shoulder
as she bent down to speak to her husband and
guessed what dreadful thing had happened
and what new horror she would have to bear
Come away, mother, come away" CRIED
s.
~ uzN.sGa