The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1897-10-14

than could bear, and for months tLav
thought would not live; hut as health
ana strength crept slowly back a won
dertal softness had taken possession Of
my heart, and l mourned him with a
tender pity, burying his faults in his
far-otf grave.
AS soon as was able to bear the iour-
ney closed my house and turned INV
race 10 the old home with great con-
tent nesting in my spirit, that the quiet
L had once despised again was to he
mine. My dear old father met me with
open arms, and l felt when pressed to
MS breast as though 1 had gained y
haven indeed after my long and stormy
voyaging on the sea of life. Two neoce.
1ul years passed away and my fathers
hair grew white and his form bent T
began to think of the time when !
should be left alone in the world-olone
and desolate
had kissed him good night one even
ing as passed out and wended nv wav
to the little village church. Sad
thoughts had brooded in my memory
all day, and l thought thus to drivc
them away, and. entering the sacred
spot whose altar | had stood before as
a bride, fell upon my knees and ut-
tered prayer for all that sinful, foolish
past.
An earnest, musical voice reused me
and, glancing up, saw that a stranper
occupied the pulpit.
l shall never forget the impression
Edward Fearing made on me that
night. had listened heretofore to SER
mons from sense of duty, but of his
every word fell straight upon my soul
and planted there seed It was as
though he were talking to me. and
listened spellbound. He was not in the
strict sense handsome man, but when
carried away by his eloquence his ewes
would light up with Il wonderful bright
ness and his face almost grow radiant:
he seemed possessed of beauty scarce
ly earthlike.
The noise of the people rising from
their seats rs his voice died away re-
called me to the present. but it was with
an effort l reused myself. / reached
home feeling that while such living
words could reach my ear life could not
be barren.
l entered my fathers study, treading
softly lest l should disturb the slumber
into which he seemed to have fallen.
Drawing near, softly laid my hand on
his. 1t was icy cold. | stopped to kiss
his brow, but its marble vhiteness re-
vealed to me the awful truth. The desc
latlon which had lowered DER my spirit
all day had been no idle precursor of i'll.
Death had entered my home ard
snatched from me the one being left
Inc to love. An awful calm fell upon
me. No tears came to relieve my burn
ing lids-not even when l heard the
dull thud which gave back to mother
earth it's own.
1t was then that Edward Fearing
came to comfort me. 1t was long ere
even his words penetrated the outer
crust Of rebellous discomfort; but he
probed his way so skillfully, so tender
y, that ere l knew it the healing waters
of comfort rushed in, and found their
vent ID outward tears.
l do not know when learned to love
my teacher. Does one ever measure
the hour, the moment, when love en-
ters their lives? l could see by this pas
sion which awakened in me the mean
ing of true love and false. No world
ly glitter, no tickle allurements We're
here. The life we must lead together
would Zoe one devoted to the Masters
service, but l felt nothing could be
sacrifice shared with him. | had told
him all my past one afternoon, when he
had just left me, and the echo of his
words still was ringing in my ear, when
an impatient tread across the hall, a
shadow darkened the door of the room
III which l sat.
l looked up, wondering if Edward
had returned, with some forgotten word
of fondness on his lips, when, stand
ing with pale face l saw what in that
first agonized moment l believed my
husbands ghost.
l started with wild cry, and would
have fallen but that his arms caught
dIu utlu Inc, anu tHCH hLe" TIA IL
was no spirit, but living flesh which
bound me.
Oh, the agony of that awakening, the
torture of the thought which slowly
burned itself upon my brain, that my
love for Edward now was sin, that |
who had SO lightly talked of sacrifice
shared with him must meet greater
sacrifice than any he had pictured, and
meet it alone!
All this 1 endured while lay SEEM
ingly in outward calm, and listened to
my husbands story, how he had been
left, as his friends supposed, dead upon
the field; but how the Indians, strange
ly moved to pity, bound up the wounds
they themselves had caused, and held
him for six months captive. Then, pro-
curing his release, and learning |
thought him dead, he determined to
leave me in that belief, but how his life
had grown purposeless, and he grew
to feel a vain yearning for home and
wife.
Had 1 found you married, Madge,"
he ended, Il would have gone away and