Butler citizen. [volume] (Butler, Pa.) 1877-1922, 1895-05-30

desire of doing some special good that
may follow them into the eternal world.
The prospect of a Judgment where
every idle word is to be counted makes
dying woman, more often than q dy-
ing man, feel like forgetting or exten-
uating all evil doings except her own.
Things in her husband which used to
distress her to evaporation did so no
longer. If she had loved him more,
rather if the love indulged for brief
period had not been insulted and driv-
en- out of her being, the coming of this
condition might have been moro diff
cult. AS 1t was, the only concern for
him she felt was that he might be saved
from the ruin which she foresaw in the
path he was following. Towards Han
nah she did not indulge feeling Of
personal resentment, nor would II she
had been in robust health. Dissociated
in every fiber of her heart from Wiley
Amerson, she only pitied Hannah as
she pitied other poor women who were
in the habit of selling themselves to
him. The compassion begun at the de-
lection of Hannah's weakness had
deepened more and more, and now,
since Cullen's death, she hoped she saw
a way by which Hannah and Wiley
might atone for all past wrongdoings
When she could no longer rise from
her bed, her husband spent most of the
time in the house, and, with her broth
I er and her widowed sister, rendered
every possible service. Occasional
| words of comforting came from his
mouth, which were answered with
calm thanks. Selfish, earthly of tho
earth as he was, he pitied her for whom
he was obliged to feel much respect
and the thought that soon he must see
her face no more touched him with
some feelings of sincere sympathy. He
+ was not wicked enough to admit great
] Joy at the going away of one between
whom and himself what affection had
/; been was long gone, and in that pres
ence of death his conscience, that new
er had been sensitive, troubled him NO
little while thinking of disappoint-
ments now past remedy which he had
wrought His changed attitude com
forted her much, and she began to in
dulge hope of good to him to come,
after her own death, from his more
satisfactory home conditions. One day,
whispering to the others around her
that she wished to speak with him 10
private, when these had withdrawnshe
said:
''Mr Amerson, 7 want to have some
talk with you. It is about Hannah,
and l hope you will understand my
feelings in what am going to say. My
belief sinea- -Callen,s death has -heen
that after my own, and after what will
seem q becoming lapse of time, you
and she will marry each other; and
what I've been wanting to say about it
is this: 1t is not only my wish for 1t to
be so, but it is my solemn belief that 1t
will be the only means Of reconciling
the troubles over your brothers estate.
l have thought much, very much about
it, and felt it my duty to let you both
know my views and my feelings And
I want them made known in the COM
munity, so that people will have no
cause to remark on any impropriety of
it or its taking place, as l earnestly
counsel, with little delay. That's what
had to say to you"
She looked at him with as much
calmness as if never a tie of any sort
had been between them. The shame
which so long had been dormant in his
being came forth, making him shrink
before those dying eyes. When he had
somewhat recovered he said:
"Why, Julia! why, how can you talk
to me in that way? I didn't couldn't
believe yoa thought SO poorly of me.
Hannah? Why, Lord help me! can't
talk, and can't bear to hear you talk,
about my marrying with Hannah or
anybody else"
"Why not, Mr.. Amerson?" she asked,
In tone cold as her cold hand.
''Because-because it's a thing l
can't even think about; and I've no
idea that such thought was ever In
Hannah's mind. Good Lord, Julia!"
She looked for several minutes at his
evident embarrassment, and then, in
tone almost masculine, said:
1--WE been supposing that at least
you had been SO expecting, and /
wanted both to know that my wish
was for the speedy fulfillment of your
expectations. If in this | was mis-
taken, the case is indeed an unhappy
one. l don't think you can doubt that
Hannah would marry you il you were
to ask her II you do not, she is to be
ruined Oh, Mr.. Amerson! you put
wrong, more than one wrong, upon
your brother which will have to be
atoned for in some way. The dear boy
died not knowing the kind and extent
of some of it, and without suspicion Of
What would have seemed to his gener-
Gus nature far the greatest. During
his life, playing upon the weakness OF
his wife, whose loyalty he was too pure
himself to suspect, you-to what ex-
tent you corrupted it, only you two
and the Creator know. l did hope
that the feeling you had for her might,
after my death, be made honorable by
legitimate sanction. AS it is-oh,
Hannah! poor Hannahl That's all I
have to say now: please ask them to
come back"
He knew then that either she had
witnessed the garden scene or that it
had been reported to her by one of the
servants. He could not but feel the
shame, yet he was thankful that his
apprehensions we've groundless that
she had asked for the interview for
the purpose of threatening exposure
OF what bne knew inc
destruction of the will. Without ask
ing his leave, she sent a messenger to
Hannah begging to see her once more.
1t was a blessing she did so. In
brief conversation they came to un-
derstand each other fully. When told
how Cullen had died. the invalid said:
BLESSED be Godl Oh, Hannah, you
have taken out Of my heart the thorn
that panied the deepest; and, my dear
child, I have prayed earnestly that
Glllen's family may recover what has
been taken from them. trust 1t will
be so; I cannot foresee how, but
know that God regards with peculiar
watchfulness the things done to widow
hood and orphanage. That's all can
say. l am thankful that you and Mr..
Amerson will never marry; but, Han
nah dear, hope that when the doings
in all that unhappy affair are brought
to light, you will try to see that he has
some chance to avoid absolute ruin in
this world and In the next"
At her death her husband shed some
real tears The brother and sister
went away in continued ignorance of
the greatest miseries which he had in
ficted upon her who now was beyond
their sympathy and help.
CHAPTER XII
The two plantations, the large tract
adjoining Cullen's and another on the