Reporter and farmer. [volume] (Webster, Day County, Dakota [S.D.]) 188?-1946, 1896-04-30

so ill.," she said, looking with sym
pathy upon his haggard face.
us 1t credible that you can have
room in your heart for any other sor-
row than your own great one:" IN
quired the clergyman, looking up in
compassion at the a of the speaker.
And then, for tEs first time. he no.
ticed the perfect serenity and almost
ch%eerfulness Of her countenance.
She perceived his surprise, and an
swered both his looks and words by
saying:
Il do not know how it is, but ! can
not grieve for myself now. l seem
changed since yesterday; all the evil
spirits Of despair and terror that have
been tormenting me for so many
weeks past have vanished, and left
my soul in a peace that passeth un-
derstanding,' a sunshine of h breast
that l cannot comprehend. but only
receive in awe and gratitude"
AS Mr.. Goodall did not Immediately
answer, but only watched her in silent
wonder, she continued:
II feel as If | were on the eve OF a
journey, going home to my father and
mother, and friends, and above all.
to that Heavenly Father who knows
my innocence of this imputed guilt,
and in whose Divine Mercy l nave
never ceased to trust through the lark
est days of my despair and terror
Mr.. Goodhall was reading her very
soul, and, therefore, he would not re-
ply rs yet.
Suddenly she held her hand out 10
him, and said:
"Mr. Goodall, hitherto you have sup
posed that l only protested my inno-
cence because / hoped, through such
protestations, to be believed and saved.
But now you must know that not a
shadow of hope remains to me"
Il do know it," said the minister,
earnestly.
"And, therefore, now that l have
lost all hope Of mans mercy. and
know that l must certainly die to-mor-
row morning you will believe me when
l repeat, as / hope for Gods mercy
/ am guiltless of the crimes for which
/ am to suffer- said Eudora, solemnly.
II do believe you; | am constrained
to have faith in your innocence; dear
Eudora, forgive me that | ever doubted
you"
There is nothing to forgive, since
1t was inevitable that you should ut
first think as all the world did; but
there is much to be grateful for, now
that you have confidence in me And
now that we understand each other,
you can indeed give me much com
fort" said Eudora, holding out her
hand, which he took and held, while
he said:
Il will attend you to the last, dear,
unhappy girl"
But you are i'll, and must not IA
tigue yourself"
II will be with you to the last" re-
peated the minister. 1T will be time
enough for me to rest when you are
in Heaven"
Meanwhile, what had become Of An
nella Wilder, since her daily visits TO
the prison had been prohibited, and
her eccentric inroads into Malcolm
MontroSe's lodgings had ceased?
Amelia, for the last few days, had
restricted herself to the Anchorage
and its immediate environs, where her
burning cheeks and blazing eyes, and
feyerish manner, excited the serious
alarm of her relatives.
THAT dear baby is going to be Ill,
and she ought to be looked after"
said Mrs. Stilton, who Immediately
ordered a foot-bath and certain herb
teas to be taken by the patient at
night.
And with unusual docility Amelia
obeyed saying to herself:
Il have need Of a cool head, and
would drink a pint Of bitterest worm
wood, and plunge my limbs into boil
ing water, If 1 thought that would
take away the burning pain IN my
head that prevents me from thinking
clearly"
And so she took-not her own des-
perate prescription, but the milder one
of Grandmother Stilton. And she
arose the next morning like an expir-
ing fire. and processing herself much
better .
But, on this last day. no one took
notice OF Amelia. All the inmates of
the house seemed to be possessed OF a
sort Of half-restrained frenzy, in view
of the tragedy to be enacted the next
m~orning-that dread tragedy, in which
the life of a young girl was to be
publicly offered up in expiation of an
%atrocious crime.
They had all known Eudora, and
even those who believed her guilty
felt overshadowed and oppressed by
the horror of her coming doom, now
that it drew so near
The two ancient dames-they were
both so old that a trif1ing difference of
eighteen years between the ages of
the mother and daughter was Of no
sort of account-sat lovingly side by
side, in their easy-chairs near the
drawing room chimney corner, where,
summer and winter, a little fire was
always kept burning for cheerfulness.
II have lived too long, Abby, my
dear-I have lived too long, now that
l see little girls as should be innocent
as cherubs, and never come to nc more
harm than the soiling of their bibs,
and getting smacked by their nurse,
actually dipping their hands In hui
man blood, and being hanged. Yes,
Abby, my dear, l have lived clear
away into an age Of the world as l
wasn't born and brought up In. and
don't know nothing about. And if the
good Lord hasn't forgot to send for
me, l don't know the reason why I'm
left. And I think ! had better CO."
said Mrs. Stilton, despondingly.
Don't say that, mother. You are
the head of the family, which / don't