The Globe-republican., 1893-03-17
CHAPTER Y.
DEAD CIR ALIVE.

DEAD CIR ALIVE:
Ghostly fell the snow.
Like curtain, shroud, il had close,
about the devoted form OF Edna Dean'
that wild. tempestuous night, when thu
Door child OF destiny had sunk ex
hausteC Ind despairing at the Yer,
threshold O. safety.
The siren-hearted Beatrice M.rce
had sped 20 sunshine, luxury and gold
with no thought of the real fate of thu
girl whose name she had assumed
whose loval lover she had determined tt
win.
More merciful than she. the soft snow
had drifteG gently over the inanimatt
wanderer. striving to shut out from the
Tigor of storm and tempest the frail
form tia: had succumbed to the chill OF
winter like tender lily.
Upon that same eventful night another
figure braved the storm, and, breaSting
its ferceness, took his way along the
same road, down which Edna Deane's
dumb guide had so nearly led her to
shelter
a night 20 get housed l pity the
putting John Blake, as he struggled
through the deep drifts. All. nearly
home. There's the dear old wife wait
ing to welcome me with a warm sup
per, I'll warrant
Farmer John neared the unpreten-
tiOus cottage that resembled Lapland-
er's hut with its caves hung deep with
snow testoons. 4 doleful neigh from
the wagon shed aroused his humane
heart, however, TO turn from his path
He founc there the exhausted animal
that haG led Edna hither, bestowed the
wandering brute in its stall, and started
again for the house.
~HO, there. my dear!" sang out the
bluff. great-hearted old fellow, as he
made UP a huge SNOWFALL and sent it six
feet away dashing against the door of
the cottage.
1t opened. An eager, mOtherly face
showed IL the lamplight
Dear. dear, Is it you, John? I've
been so worried. Always boy, throw
ing snowballs and singing out like pi-
rate. Will you never mend:"
Never while this jolly snow reminds
me of our schoolday sleighrides, and
your pretty, blooming face. you dear old
girl. retorted happy John Come,
throw me broom to beat a path. so l
won't be dragging the snow all over that
rag carpet yol think more of than YOU
do of me.
Did you ever,"
Been lonesome?' sang out John. in
dustriously sweeping path to the door.
Terrible, Did you just come. John:"
Did l just come: You wager haven't
been promenading around for fun, with
snow chuck two feet down my neck. and
that nice warm supper on the table,"
Because thought I heard some one
cry out a bit ago"
Pigeons, maybe.
No. K was human cry for help"
~Pshaw, Fancies. The wind toOts
like an engine whistle to- night-lawsy
met"
Farmer John uttered sharp cry, |
stumbled, recOiled. The broom fell |
from his hand, and there he stood star
ing blanklt down at the ground at his |
feet
What now, john" calculated his |
wife, peer!ng. too.
Something in III path. Bag of oats |
"a sheep-no, Jane. look"
He had leaned over to examine the |
object az his feet.
His great, soulful eyes glowed like
two stars.
Into view ne had dragged human
hand, limp and nerveless
A soGGy dress-sleeve followed and
then terrible cry rang from his wife's
lips.
Out MO the snow she dashed Down
beside the inanimate form. disenshroud-
Ell from its snowy mound, she knelt
John John she walled, peering in
to the white, cold face of the insensibie
Edna Deane-"it's wOman-a young
girl, oh. John! look at the bonny face" |
and the quick tears rained down in wild,
motheriy pity. oh, John, dead or alive
CHAPTER NI