New Ulm weekly review. [volume] (New Ulm, Minn.) 1878-1892, 1891-02-18

and proud triumph, Megn ornled home
4 his pale bride to Deepgang. The house
had been put in trim array within, a
a considerable quantity Of new furnlii-
ture added, and young maid hired
in place Of old Dorcas, who was pen
stoned of, wisely. Bachelors house
keepers are scarcely advisable retain
ers in married establishment.
May | sim, mover?" was the re-
quest Of the child, full of JOY at the
i novelties around her.
Not now, dear pet, not now" said
the mother, as they crossed hand in
hand the threshold of Saul Meghorn's
dwelling
CHAPTER XII.
] THE CARDS DEALT.
l wish I could assert the truth that
no envy mingled with the very decided
manifestations of opinion, relative to
the widows marriage, among her
rustic neighbors.
Good Dame Rullocks certainly
formed an exception, as did kind
hearted Meg, her-daughter-in-l law:
though naturally they felt the implied
slight to their own relative.
FAY, we'll! maybe she's done the
best for the child that could be,'' said
the dame; "God help 'em both! I do
hope she'll be happy" ..:|..-. s,e
'She does not look it," said Meg,
compassionate y; "Imet her and little
Idea down by the Chine last even
ing, and think she looked more worn
and spoke fainter like, than ever
Little Ida took wonderfully to the
huge man, and would sit on his shout
der, play with his massey beard, or
fondle the shaggy head much as she
did with faithful Humid, who was her
shadow whenever she strolled out into
the Chine, or down the winding paths of
rocky Deepgang. The mother scarcely
accepted these demonstrations OF the
child as might have been expected
letting them do duty, as it were, for
her own inveterate Indifference.
But the birth of a son promised
some change in the prospects of the
ill-starred couple. 49,
| The babe, strong and hearty to all
appearance, fell sick suddenly; and de-
| spite all possible care and assistance,
died the same day it was but five weeks
DID,
Nelly grieved over the poor little
corpse, but she shed no tears. One
might have thought the agony OF the
strong man, so terrible to see, would
have moved her; but, no.
Little Ida wept more for the pretty,
live doll she would insist on singing
to, whenever she was permitted.
AS for Saul, his grief was overwheln-
| o,,fN ~ lo
uosity of all he did.
He absented himself from the house
the whole of the day on which the boys
funeral took place, and night was far
| spent when he returned.
His wife was up-she always await
| ed him. He came in, advanced to the
hearth, and sat down facing her, in
moody silence, without even removing
his hat, or taking the slightest notice
Of the supper which was spread for
| him.
| Presently he spoke, charging her with
caring more for Ida than she did for
his child
"Wouldn't I have saved him, Saul,
if it had been possible?" she said;
twas he not my child, too?"
eyes," he repeated, loudly; che was
like you; but you-your care is all for
that girl, your own; my son may die
and be buried-you care nothing,
tell you have loved you; but, by all
that's holy, if you make me hate you,
you shall rue the day, and she, too;
you can love her, and are to me like
| hired servant, and no more"
''She has suffered by you, Saul, as
1T is; have never spoken of it to you,
nor any one indeed,'
ZIP" he interrupted, with amaze
ment; ''by me?''
She rose, and led the way to the
bedside of the sleeping child. Lost in
surprise, he followed. With a light
and gentle hand she turned down the
coverlid, and put aside the curling
hair Of the little girl, under which one
arm lay half buried. The long sleeve
OF the night-dress, peculiarly fashioned
hid entirely hand and arm.
This she unbuttoned. ....
:'You never asked the cause OF this"
she said.
He grew ashy pale in the light of the
night-lamp as he said, in faltering
tones
''Ida said it -was-''
"Burnt. Yes, told her so when
she asked herself about it.
'It was a horrible affection for my
girl. Inever named it to you, Saul.
Or would tell you what would vex you
needless]y. But do you remember
that evening when the girl, Nelly Hart
some, told you Of her intended mar
riage, that the folly might be ended it
was shame on her to have begun.
You caught her by the wrist and swore
an awful oath? She tore away from
you with great wrench and sprain.
cit was the last time we met, Meg
horn, then; but the scene was often
present i'll my mind. I thought of it.
| with, oh! such dread. Heaven for,
give me!
s'Ycu will understand. It is worse.
tonight horrible; for tomorrow is.
| her birthday, you know-ten days
since herfather was lost.
| 7 L 7