The true Democrat. [volume] (Bayou Sara [La.]) 1892-1928, 1897-07-03
CHAPTER XX!!T.
THE SHADOW OF DEATH

perlumed the summer air, and the I'M
equal battle between life and death still
went on in the darkened room.
Bertie sometimes sat up to relieve
Wilson and the nurse, but Margaret
gave way to none.
1T is only the beginning" she said.
in answer to Wilson's expostulations.
Let me stay now. After awhile I will
sleep" And Wilson, yielding, she
spent three nights in weary vigil, but
when the fourth came nature would
stand no more.
She could no longer endure the raw
ings Of a delrium which brought the
past SO sharply and wildly before her.
She could not listen to the eloquent
pleadings for love in such weak and
broken sentences, nor hear her own re-
proach, SO doubly cruel, repeated by his
unthinking lips.
"Oh, for the power to live it over
again, she cried in the anguish of her
heart. "Oh, for one moment Of con-
sciousness in which he might UNDER
stand"
The sleep induced by bodily WEAKNESS
was deep and long, and it was quite late
the next morning VIII Margaret reach
ed Brian room.
Wilson met her with an encouraging
smile
He has teen very quiet" he said,
noting the question in her eyes. Il
managed to snatch several hours
sleep"
The hours passed slowly. The silence
was unbroken except by the humming of
the bees outside the window, for even
Brian's complainings were stilled for
the time. Once he murmured Margaret's
name and she felt his eyes upon her
face, but there was no intelligence in
them, only the dizziness of delirium
After little while he began once more
! to give expressions 70 his fevered fan
cies.
1t was always Margaret and the shad-
ow between them, Margaret reproaching
or repulsing him, or Margaret helpful
and encouraging. Ill
And Margaret could only sit and
listen; though when his sharp cry rang
through the silence Of the room, Mar
garet, I can't see you; where are you,
Margaret?" sh, placed her head beside
him, and answered in low, wretched &C.
cents:
Here, Brian; close beside you. Cant
you feel my hands? They are holding
yours.
Did her voice penetrate that dull
brain? For one second she thought So.
But no. The heavy eyes turned from
her face
HAMS! Who said hands? Oh, yes; I
remember now. You said it, Margaret.
Don't you know you said it? Your hand
would be in mine DO you-think Of
the night? And l said-ah, I-said-
what did I-say?"
His voice sank away in an unintel-
iigib.e muttering. A few seconds OF
silence and his mind wandered again.
He was fighting his old battles now
and calling upon Margaret for sympathy
and help.
And in an anguish that could find no
other expression, she buried her face
in the pillow beside him.
Il can't bear it, I can't bear It'll" she
cred, passionately.
Bear it, repeated the weak voice.
Bear it? All, no; I can't bear your
contempt. You are-so hard; so hard
upon ne. No right to -reproach you.
| No right-at-ali." Her head sank
lower. She could find no answer to
these bitter complainings.
Suddenly she felt O hand upon her
shoulder, and raising her miserable face
she saw Wilson standing over her:
VIII you come out in the air tor
few moments?" no said, with quiet au-
thority. "The. weather is pleasant
Thomas will take care Of Brian.
With sort of mechanical obedience
she followed him to the broad piazza
where the pure air, warm sun and odol
of sweet flowers seemed doubly crate
full after the close atmosphere OF the
sick room. =
He was silent for some seconds. Evl
IDENTIFY he found it difficult to put MS
thoughts in suitable language.
She saw and understood his heslta
ton.
; Il know what you would say" sh'
broke in, covering her face with ne'
hands. Il know so we'll. You have
heard Brian. You understand. Ane
YOU must realize now what hard, un
kind, undutiful wife I've peen
| What o."
Hush" he interrupted, in strang'
voice. II must not allow even your llps
to say such unkind words about your
self They are not deserved. You Ia.
too much stress upon what he says
forgetting that it is only the .avlns o
delir;um. Brian has made me his con
! fidant and feel that can Judge.
"You cannot know all, she answe cree
t pressing her hands together: io
cannot know of the hundred little thlng =,
t the motions, expressions, words-al
, meaning so much. You cannot know .
. them, but I do. They are always o oe
fore me, and the last day-the very las
: day-I spoke unk1ndly. I shall neve
a forget it-never. I saw thaE IL hul
him. I intended to tell him | was solr .
2 I had no chance. They brought Ill