The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1898-08-14

OF horsemen were riding quickly to-
ward them; in another three minutes
they would be among fellow men She
| dashed the horses; they made one more
effort; the -howls of the pack grew
| fainter and fainter-voices hailed her
the mother and child were safe.
But, oh heaven! what safety
The people Of Kutsk have since told
me how a sleigh containing Il woman
and a little child dashed up the village
street in the October moonlight, the
! woman looking more Ike a corpse than
living being. But the corpse spoke;
| 1t ordered fresh horses (these had
stopped of, themselves at the little post
house, and guide to the forest. He
! must drive!" she gasped out, and she
| lay back. rigid; with eyes and mouth
tightly closed, folding the child in her
arms.
Another two hours and the sleigh
| stops at the door of a hut half buried
! In snow, the great forest closing in all
around. the occa-ional cry of a bird,
| the only thing that breaks the silence.
An old woman crouches over a small
| stove; sick man lies on a straw pal
| let in a corner Of the room. He is
| Straining to catch some sound; but the
! deep snow muffled the noise Of the run
! ners, and the invalid is still listening,
| when the door Cpens and a tall figure
| cast itself into his arms.
| "Prascovia! my devoted wife! and
| Ottilie, my sweetest darling! Oh! it is
too much happiness! I shall must
! get we'll noWp
! A few moments of rapture, Of forget
| fulness-and then Morosoff continued:
But why has my Prascovia that
| wild, scared look? And my Ottiliechen
why does she not speak to me? Why
doNe. r,t,o I,
and seem glad, but without the prattle
that I have longed for? Has the jour-
ney been too much for you, my dear
| ones? All! in my selfislness I entreat-
| ed you to come without delay, and you
are both starved with cold: perhaps
have been frightened by hearing wolves
in the distance. But you are all we'll,
Ivanevitch, my Olga, and my poor lit
tie Praschen. Speak, Prascovia has
anything befallen ther?"
sThsy-they-th wolves" shuddered
Prascovia, as she buried her face in
her hands.
'"The wolves!you do not mean to
say that you started with all four chill
| dren! Speak! speak, Prascovba! 1t is
| too dreadful! They are not-lost?"
| Prascovia Morosof was a woman
who had never told a lie in her life.
| She could not even at this supreme
moment deceive her husband. Shiver-
| ing, shudder1ng, her face close to his.
her arm grasping their only living child
She told him adj.
| And he-Ivan, her husband, who
| adored her, whose life was bound up In
her, who had never seen a fault in her
since the 9day they had first meta
look of more than horror-of aversion.
stole overahis face, and for one short
| moment he TUNED his head aside
! away from her.
The next instant 1t was gone, and
J only gaze Of the tenderest pity fast
/! ened upon her. But 1t was too late; the
| miserable woman had noted that fleet
| ing expression, and sank fainting on
| the floor, with that bitterest Of cries:
| ooh, God! oh God! my punishment is
greater than I can bear"
We all think 50, in moments of dire
trouble, but, as If to prove the falstty
| of our words, 1t may be generally re-
| marked that trouble greater still i'm
| mediately follows.
Ivan Morosof started from his couch
| In order to clasp his wife in his arms,
| and comfort her to the utmost-when a
| spasm seized his heart: he fell back
| with a groan-a dead man. Ut
Ard the child Ottilie threw herself
! upon him with gestures of wild at
4 fright. but She did not snaak she did