The Somerset reporter. [volume] (Skowhegan, Me.) 1868-1909, 1897-12-23

suddenly and his brain was so heavy
with the drug that the men were gone
before he fully realized the horror Of
his position. AS it dawned on him he
could not believe 1t was true; it VAS
some terrible nightmare. He str0ye II
shake himself, hut the tightening of the
strings ON his wrists and half jar i'll
the tones Of that ceaseless tick tack
brought him back to his senses with a
chill of horror. He glared terror striek
en- at the little clock that was ticking
off the moments of his lite--a second
each time. \ few minutes and then
he broke cut into "A cold sweat an I'M
manning fear Of this unknown, cruel
thing crept over him, and for awhile
he sat, huddlod in ahject terror then
slowly the soul Of the man steadied
itself. lie CLOSED his eyes to pray and
the word that came was Dorothy. j
With fierce mental effort he pulled
together his shaken faculties for her
sake For her he would die like man.
Perhaps she would know he had been
no coward.
Tick tack, tick tack, 20 minutes past
10. All. 1t was time to sit and talk to
"Dorrie. " Well, he would do it-would
give to her those last 20 minutes. And
so he sat on, his face drawn and ghast.
ly, but his courage firm-sat and bade
"a long goodby to tho girl he loved,
thought strong, manly thoughts Of her
that kept fear from his heart. But
while his utmost self talked " it'll Dorrie
his flesh grew gray and pinched, the
lonely silence broken only by the steady
ticking of his clock of doom.
Dorothy that night sat reading then
later fell To wondering Of Arthur alone
i'll that great building, and at The
thought of his loneliness all her heart
went out 10 him, and perhaps some Of
her soul, for her body fell asleep Then
she, too, woke with a start--a start Of
perpleXity and fear; fear for Arthur.
What WIS it? She passed her hand oyel
her forehead, bcwildered. What was il
why could she not remember? Then
the ticking Of the clock on the mantel
caught her ear-caught it strangely,
and She listened, breathless, trembling.
Tick tack, tick tack What did it mean
Then slowly and softly solemn voice
fell on her inner car: "Goodby, Dorrie
Goodby, darling"
"Ah - She rose to her full height
was rigid there for an instant; thel
quietly: Yes, know. l understand.
She walked quietly to her father 5 room,
took his keys and, taking her hat an6
coat slipped unseen out into the night
Tick tack, tick tack-eight minute,
more.
Eight minutcs-eight years. God
Can | Wait: One brave spring now
wCdld end the torture, nd- No, no
Tor Dorrie 5 sake, for the honor Of love
III live my life out to the last bite
second. - ShotWell closed his eyes Il few
moments; then, opening them, he saw {
face i'll the doorway gazing at him. It
him it seemed the soul of Dorrie, CONT
to say "Goodby."
He was not afraid, hardly awed. i
was not real. Dying mems eyes ART
sometimes strangely clear. He notice.
the hat, the coat, the face drawn Will
fearful anguish. Souls did not lock likt
that. 1t was Dorrie herself A momenr
of wild joy was swallowed up in still
greater horror orrie p'-here, Will
that thing o Cod This was woIs
of all. But her quick hands toueht {
him, deftly untying the handkerchief
that gagged him, then delicately slip
ping those fearful strings from hi
wrists.
'How long, Arthur she whispered
He glanced desperately at the clock
1.-TWO minutes. Don't stop to UNITE
me. Water, quick There's bucket
Fill it at the tap. 1t our only chance. ,
She comprehended instantly. Oh
how slow the water ran! She walkot
| swiftly to the desk, took the Lox III hel
hands and carried it, ticking, to th'
bucket, placed it i'll and held it, trem
bling, as tit water swallowed it, unit
there was Il llttle rasping jar i'll the tick
ing. Shotwell drew one deep, lonl
breath as he stopped over the girl arc
waited for what never came. One, two
three minutes passed Then, with t
breath OF half fearful relief, he locke
down ut Dorrie She was fast aslet p
nestled in his arms and breathing peace
fully.
He walked her with IA kiss. She starcC
at him in sleepy surprise. why, Ar
thur, where am l? What is it, dear
How white you look, and see, the wa
er's running all over the floor! Aol
careless boy-I-oh, Arthur l-taf,
me home. 3-Aquila Kempstor i'll Iroy
idonce Telegram.