The Corvallis gazette. [volume] (Corvallis, Or.) 1862-1899, 1894-11-16

s'Mr. Rutherford, is it you? I am
looking for my husband. What do
you think can detain him?"
The man stood still, his face full of
silent, unspeakable pity Something
in his expression caught her quick
eyes, and she sprang forward and
grasped his arm.
''Mr. Rutherford, you bring me It'd
ings. Speak; don't keep me in sus-
pense."
Still the man was silent.
'Oh, SIR" she entreated, "don't trifle
with my feelings. Do you know any
thing concerning my husband? If
you do, for mercy sake speak outH'
Madam, have heard-that is,
there is bad news" he began, his
voice husky and broken.
Her face grew as white as death,
but her eyes were clear and calm and
her hand strong as she grasped his
arm.
'Sir, if you pity me, tell me the
worst at once. 1 can bear il"
"Well madam, your husband and
his party have been waylaid and
murdered by the Indians"
'All? Did none escape!'
"Not one.''
Suc 1Cd'AIS hiAA
without q word, and he saw her enter
the house and close the door after
her. and that was the end. He would
never come back any more, no mat
ter how patiently she might wait and
watch. He would never know that
| he had a son, never lock upon the
| little chubby face, with it's bold, blue
eyes, and sunny curls, so like his
| own. From henceforth her heart and
home were desolate.
| And this was the anniversary of her
wedding day. Six years ago she was
happy bride. Five years she had
been a heart-broken widow. Her
boy slept in his little bed, and she
sat there thinking, thinking, and
gazing out at the low, leaden sky and
| the wind tossed trees. The night
was closing rapidly-a night of storm
and darkness The rain came down
in great smoking sheets, and the
Wild wailing winds rushed around
| the gables and went shrieking over
| the hills like human souls in agony.
Her heart ached with a desolation
that seemed almost insupportable
Life was so hard, yet for the boys
sake she must endure and live on.
She looked down at her sable gar
ments with hot, binding tears. Six
years ago, and she was robed in
gems and blossoms. His face, his
very voice, seemed to come back to
her, and she fancied that his spirit
must be near her. No matter how
high above her, how happy, she knew
that he loved her still, and his glori
fed spirit may have left it's home OF
bliss to keep with her that sacred
anniversary. Tie fancy consoled hel
beyond expression. She glanced ovel
at the sleeping boy with a dim hope
that his father loved and watched
over him. Then a sudden impulse
shot across her mind. She would moi
keep the anniversary of her wedding
day in the garments of widOwhOOd
81 o would put ON the robe he loved
If he knew aught of her poor, sac
life he should see how sacredly she
remembered and observed his sim
plest wishes.
Stealing up to her chamber she tool
out the mauve silk and the dainty
laces, growing yellow and time-worn
and a pretty jet and gold ornamen
and arrayed herself as in days gone
by, and the old bloom came back tt
her. cheeks and the brightness to hel
| eyes, anu SiiC SCth.tu " uIOp lie
years and her widowhood and tt
spring out afresh into the rare beauty
of her early maidenhood Thus ar
rayed size went down softly and seat
ed herself before the blazing fire, he
face fearful and expectant. If his
soul was near-she clung to the hop,
that It was as she clung to life-h,
should see how tenderly she remem
bered him.
| The anniversary night wore on
wild and dark with storm, and still
the poor wife, half dazed with hel
terrible sorrow, sat by her lonely
hearthstone, robed in her festive gar
ments. At last there came a steI
without, a sharp, impatient step Oh
the gravel, but she did not hear it
A weary, travel-worn man, bronzet
by exposure and pale with long-en
dured grief, came up to the front en-
trance and paused beneath the low
window. ThroI Ugh the parted cur
tains shone the -ruddy freight, reveal
ing the warm, attractive room-tht
old, familiar room, with his hat upor
the wall and his books and meer
schaum on the mantle, unmoved, as
he had left them; revealed the kitter
purring on the rug, and the little
curtained bed in the distance, and
the dear, sweet face, wet with tears
and the dress he loved in happy days
that seemed too far back to the pool
| Wanderer to be real.
Was it all dream? Was that the
| wife from whom he had so long been
| parted, whose face had been present
with him through all his lonely hours
of peril and imprisonment? Was
she waiting and watching and keep
ing his home bright for his return?
He left the window, stole softly to
the porch and approached the side
door. He raised the latch. 1t opened
and he stood upon the threshold.
Intent upon her musings, her own
sweet memories and sad reflections
| Maud heard no sound. Her heart was
far back with the husband she loved
so well. The old dress had revived
| old associations and his very presence
| seemed around and about her. She
| looked up with clasped hands and
streaming eyes.
"Oh, Harry! Oh, my husbandr' she
| murmured, 'If you knew how I love
you, how I mourn your loss, surely
your soul might speak to mine and
tell me that you are near mer'
Maud, my wife, my darlingr'
She started to her feet, with a Won
dering, startled face. There he stood,
worn and weary, changed from the
man he had been, but the wife recog-
Dized him in an instant. For a mo-
ment solemn awe filled her eyes,
tod md two