Pawtucket tribune. (Pawtucket, R.I.) 1890-189?, 1895-05-24
DREAM OF AN HOUR.

I'm broken sentences, yelled hints that ro
vealed In half concealing. Her husbands
friend, Richards, was there, too, near her
1t was he who had boon In the newspaper
Office when intelligence Of the railway dis
nster was received, with Brently Mallard'i
name leading the list Of killed" He had
only taken the time to 1kuro himself OF
its truth by q second telegram and had
hastened to forestall any less careful, less
tender friend In bearing the sad message
She did not hear the story as many wom-
en- have heard the same, with paralyzed
inability to accept It's significance. She
wcpt at once, with sudden wild abandon.
ment, In her sisters arms. When the storm
Of grief had spent itself, she went away to
her room alone. She would have no one
follow her.
There stood, facing the open window, a
comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this
she sank, pressed down by physical ex-
haustion that haunted her body and
seemed to reach into her soul.
She could see In the open square before
her house the tops of trees that were all
a-quiver with the new spring life The de-
licious breath Of rain was in the air. In
the street below peddler was crying his
wares
The notes Of distant song which some
one was singing reached her family, and
countless sparrows twittered In the caves.
There were patches Of blue sky, showing
here and there through the clouds that had
met and piled one above the other In the
west facing her window.
She sat with her head thrown back upon
the cushion OF the chair, quite m2tionlcss,
exec. Ven !. sob came uD into Der thr6:.ss
and shook her, as child who has cried It.
self to sleep continues to sob in its dreams.
She was young, with a fair, calm face.
whose lines bespoke repression and even
certain strength. But now there was a
dull stare In her eyes, whose gazo was fixed
away off yonder on one of those patches Of
blue sky. 1t was not a glance of reflection,
but rather indicated suspension of intel
ligent thought.
There was something coming to her, and
she was waiting for 1t fearfully. What was
IL? She did not know. 1t was too subtle
.2rd elusive to name, but she felt it, creep
ing out of the sky, reaching toward her.
through the sounds, the scents, the color
that filed the air
How her bosom rose and fell tumultu-
ously. She was beginning to recognize this
thing that was approaching to possess her,
and she was striving to beat it back with
her villas powerless as her two white,
slender hands would have been.
When she abandoned herself, a little
whispered word escaped her slightly part
ed lips. She said 1t over and over under
her breath, Free, free, free!' The vacant
stare and look of terror that had followed
1t went from her eyes. They staid keen
and bright. Her pulses beat fast, and the
coursing blood warmed and relaxed ev-
cry inch of her body.
She did not stop to ask If 1t were or were
not monstroys Joy that held her. A
clear and exalted perception enabled her
to dismiss the suggestion as trivial.
She knew that she would weep again
when she saw the kind, tender hands fold
ed in death; tho face that had never looked
save with love upon her, fixed and gray
and dead But she saw beyond that bitter
moment long procession of years to como
that would belong to her absolutely, and
she opened and spread her arms wide out
to them in hearty welcome
There would be no one to live for during
those coming years. She would live for
herself. There would be no powerful will
bending her in that blind persistence with
which men and women believe that they
have right to impose a private will upon
fellow creature A kind intention or a
cruel intention made the act seem no less
crime as she looked upon it in that brief
moment Of illumination.
And yet she had loved him-sometimes.
Often she had not. What did it matteri
What could love, the unsolved mystery,
count in face Of this possession Of self as
sertion which she suddenly recognized as
the strongest impulse of her being?
EraCf R0dv and cOul frepf' she Ippt
on whispering to herself.
Josephine was kneeling before the closed
door with her lips to the keyhole, implor-
ing for admission. Louise, open the
door! Please open the door-you will
make yourself i'll. What are you doingi
For goodness sake, open the door!"
go away I am not making myself
ILL.," No; she was drinking in very
elixir of life through that open window be.
fore her.
How fancy was running riot along those
days ahead OF her-spring days and sum.
mer days and all sorts of days that would
be her own. She brcathed quick prayer
that life might be long. 1t was only yes.
terday she had thought, with q shudder,
that life might be long.
She arose at length and opened the door
to her sisters opportunities. There was q
feverish triumph In her eyes, and sho car
ried herself unwittingly like a goddess Of
victory. She clasped her sisters waist,
and together they descended the stairs
Richards etood waiting for them at the
bottom.
Some ono was opening the front door
with latchkey. 1t was Brently Mallard
who entered, little travel stained, COM
posedly carrying his bag and umbrella. He
had been far from the scene Of the acci-
dent and did not even know there had
been one. He stood amazed at Josephine's
piercing cry, at Richards quick motion TO
screen him from the view Of his WIFE
But Richards was too late
When the doctors came, they said she
had died Of heart disease.-New York
Journal.
Income OF American Churches.
The Independent has gathered figures to
ii