Shenandoah herald. [volume] (Woodstock, Va.) 1865-1974, 1890-01-10


There was no thought of her
grand. mothers six Thousand dol
lars IN Bertha Thornton's mind as
she thankfully accepted the farm
er's offer to take her home to see
the old lady before she died. just
one word of forgiveness was all
she craved, for she knew she had
been undutiful and ungrateful
when she left her home in secret
to follow her lovers fortunes. She
was not aware that Hannah Graves
had quietly burned, unopened, the
many letters she had written beg
ging forgiveness, but that they
were all unanswered convinced her
that her grandmother was still
angry.
She was a timid little woman,
easily led, easily frightened, ana
Hannah Graves had kept her out
side the door without difficulty,
where the farmer left her to drive
to his own home.
She begged in vain to see her
grandmother, her sweet voice
raised IN her earnestness till it
must have penetrated to the sick
room, from which she was so reso-
lutely shut out.
AS the door closed upon her, and
she heard the heavy bolt drawn, it
flashed upon her for the first time
that she had made no provision
for her nights shelter. 1t was
winter weather, but not intensely
cold, and her dress was warm, but
it was not a pleasant prospect to
think of wandering about all night
till she could take the city train
early in the morning.
She shivered as she drew her
shawl closer and listened to thel
sounds indoors that told her how
carefully every door and window
was barred against her. The porch |
was deep and sheltered from the
wind, and when she wearled of
walking up and down she crouch
ed in a corner to rest. Just over
her head was the window of her
grandmOther's room, and Hannah,
setting this window crack open
for the night, let out the sound OF
her harsh voice. Just a murmur
of her grandmother's faint utter
ance reached Bertha as she listened |
intently, but what Hannah said |
came to her clearly and distinctly.
1t convinced her that the story |
she had told of the old lady's COntin.
ued anger was untrue, andthe threat
that the sight of her would have |
fatal results another fiction.
"She wants me! 1 am sure she
will forgive me" Bertha thought,
as the faint accents reached her,
conveying no words, but pleading
IN every tone. 81 will see her."
Again she listened lntently:
until she was sure by the silence
that the invalid was alone. She
was young and light, and country
bred. 1t was no great feat to
scramble by the twisted vines on
the porch pillars to its roof, and
gain the window. Very cautiously
the sash was raised, the muslin
curtain pushed aside, and by the
dim light Bertha could see that
the only occupant of the room was
the old woman on the bed, who
murmured incessantly:
"Oh, BerthaI 1 was too hard
dear childE Come to your old
grannie before she dies !"
Softly still, for Ham an might
be near, Bertha crept over the
vindow.slll into the room, and to
the door. This she locked, whis-
pering to herself:
81 will speak to grannie, and if
anybody tried to put me out she
must first break the door in."
Bat there was no sound in any
other part OF tho house as she
drew near the invalid, whose large,
eager eyes had by that time dis
!, covered her.
"Bertha You have come, Ber
tbaM 70
"Yes, grannie, dear, dear gran
nie," said Bertha caressiDg her
teDderly, IL am hero"
7 "But you must not stay. Han
nah will kill you. She will thial
you want the money"
# "Oh, grannle, never mind none!
now. Only say you forgive IN
!, for leaying you"
9 with all my heart, dear child
!" God bless you eyer, and bless til
is man you love if he is good to you.
u HE is, grannie, the klndest
@ best husband in the world. Ill
~