Waterbury evening Democrat., 1893-10-17
WATERBURY EVENING TUESDAY. OCTOBER T. 1893
CHAPTER VI.


 heat and suffocation. The bedclothes had
 been drawn over my shoulders, and my
 head, sinking from the pillow, had buried | my face beneath them. But before this
 unusual condition was discovered another
 explanation presented itself to my half | awakened imagination. was at the bot
 tom of burning pit. Drigo and Putty i were there, struggling with each other and
 trampling me beneath them in their frantic
 efforts to escape, and Taras was looking | down at me with that stern severity which
 I had seen but once in his face. He would not stretch out his hand to save me, but
 with the same unbending expression turned
 his head and slowly walked away.
 l started up, looking about me wildly
 The fire had burned down. Only few en- l bers glowed in the grate. The lamp was spread upon the table.
 Then realized my position.
 My face and hands were wet and clammy | with heat and terror. That terrible, warn l ing dream haunted me. What should dos The thought of lying down again to sleep was repugnant to me, with the dread of dreaming again. It must be nearly morn ing for the fire to have burned so low. In a little while that fair haired woman and her husband would come with friendly greet ings. He would press my hands and she kiss my cheeks again. 1 was not uncon- scious of the kindness and generosity that animated them, and yet the prospect of meeting them was, knew not why, as re- pugnant to me as the idea of sleeping again in their bed.
 Walking across the room, my eve fell upon some Children's toys and doll upon a shelf They perpleXcd me with n new and unaccountable fear. Turning to the mantelpiece l saw a photograph in a frame hanging on the wall. It was a child the owner of the doll and playthings on the shelf-perhaps the fair haired woman's child. At that supposition the cause of my repugnant fear was revealed to me and remembering the word of Taras I said to myself: This is the honest woman and the good man who would shrink from me
 This is the child whose lips l may not kiss
 What then? l asked. Let them shun me
 Who wants their kindness or friendships? Not l. The world is good enough without them while Taras smiles. But how long will he smile? By this time the fire1nen have found the charred bodies, and every one is talking of the tragedy at the Mar iner's Joy. Soon enough, in few hours the news will reach Taras, and he will know what have done-know that am a mur- derer. Then he, too, like the Tarav in my prophetic vision, will turn his back on me without one gleam of pity and go away. Should l stay and suffer that? My spirit EOSS III NlLNl HlbNtSN. SQOulu not be realized; that pitiless look should not forever haunt my life.
 With these thoughts running through my fevcred imagination, 1 hunted about the room for the soddcn rags had taken off. They were gone. The woman had re moved them with the determination that l should not wear them again. We'll 1 would take those she had given me to wear. It mattered little whether they NN-pr rrff or | greatly to their loathing to know that the murderess was thief as well. put on the shoes she had left and took a woolen shawl as well to wrap about my head then opening the door cautiously that no noise might awaken the sleeping household l found my way down stairs by the glim- mer of light that came from below
 The sEop was before me, but on the right of the stairs was half open door. The light was in that room, and glanciDg in saw Taras stretched on couch asleep. could go no farther. The thought that should look upon his face no more seemed to take away all power from my mind and body, and stood there dazed with that sense of utter bereavement, until impelled by a wild desire passed into the room and drew quite close to him.
 l sank upon my knees and put my face so close to his that l felt his breath upon my cheek, but could not see him for the tears that blinded me. My fingers hung Luivering over him, for yearned to touch him, yet dared not. My tears ran down my cheeks and fell upon the floor. Then l eould see him. The same sweet kindness was on his face that had wakened my soul from its lethargy.
 That is what will remember all my life" said to myself as 1 rose. His watch lay on the table, and beside it ring had ,T,g, the cord that bound his hands. took it, feeling that he would not bcgrudge me this for keepsake.
 There was fog in the street, but the cop pery back ground to the line of housetops and the quick, heavy tread of men going to work showed that it Tas morning. 1 had no knowledge of the neighborhood, but that did not trouble me. My only object was to get away from Taras and hide my self where he could never come to kill my happy memories with a reproachful look
 After awhile knew by the long lines of carts and barrows, the voices of porters and cOsters and the smell of fish that I must be near Billingsgate market and soon after saw the monument looming in the yellow fog. crossed the bridge and went down the steps into Toolcy street, not with any definite object, but because the thick dark ness down there seemed to offer oblivion. Finding myself alone at the foot of the steps, tore off piece of trimming from my dress, and passing it through Taras' ring l tied it round my neck, hiding the ring in my bosom.
 1 have but the faintest recollection of what happened during the day, my mind being too scared by previous events to be sensitive to slight impressions l remem- Der feeling wretched and hungry and sick with the fatigue of walking l wandered on because found no place to rest until hazard led me into Greenwich park about dusk. There l fell asleep on a bench
 It was raining when aWoke, but it was too dark to distinguish anything, even the trees, and l could not sleep again for shiv- cring with cold and the aching of my body So l s;lt there in dull resignation, watching the daylight come and marking one by one the heavy drops as they plashed on the bench beside me, falling from the boughs | above, until goaded by hunger 1 threw off | my lethargy and went down into the town
 It was still early, but the coffee shops were open, their windows clouded by the l warmth within. The first one I entered was full of customers, and the man serving them was so busy that he scarcely glanced at me in replying to my humble appeal for food.
 "Oh, ain't got the time to attend to beggars-out you goy' said he, bustling along with his hands full of empty cups
 The next one was less crowded, and a woman was in the kitchen before the fam ing fire. She turned round, setting her hands on her hips, and looked me down from head to foot as asked her to give me something to eat and drink.
 II ain't got no money, but I'll do job of work for it." said
 Had worn my old rags she would cer. tainly have given me something, for thesa people are never wanting in charity of that