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 bowls Of the pack grew
fainter and fainter-voices hailed her
the mother and child were safe.
But, oh heaven! what a safety!
The people Of Kutsk have since told
me how a sleigh containing A woman
and a little child dashed up the village
street in the October moonlight the
woman looking more like corpse than
living being. But the corpse spoke;
1t ordered fresh horses Ghese had
stopped CT them selves q the little post
house, and a guide to the forest He
must driver 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
Ground, the Ccca2iOnal cry Of q bird,
the only thing that breaks the silence.
An Old woman crouches over small
stove; a 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 1nuf1ied the noise Of the run
! ners, and the invalid is still listening,
when the door opens, and a tall figure
cast itself into his arms.
"Prascovia my devoted wife. and
Ottilie, my sweetest darling! Oh! it is
too much happiness! 1 SHALL must
get Well now!
A few moments of rapture, of forget
fulness-and then MOrCscff continued:
But why has my Prascovia that
wild, scared look? And my Ottiliechen
why Goes she not speak to me? Why
does she only press her face to mine.
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 selfishness 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 well,
are you not? Tell me at once of my
Ivanovitch, my Olga, and my poor lit
tie Praschen. Speak. Prascovia has
| anything befallen them?"
''Th=y--they-the wolves! shuddered
Prascovia, as she buried her face in
her hands.
1.-THE wolves!-you do not mean to
say that you started with all four chill
dren! Speak! speak, Prascovta! 1t is
| too dreadful! They are not-lost?"
Prascovia Morosoff was a woman
who had never told a lie in her life.
She could not even at this supreme
| moment deceive her husband. SILVER
| ing, shrdderdng, her face close to his
| her arm grasping their only living child
she told him al.
And he-Ivan4 her husband, who
adored her,swhoGe life was bound UP in
| her. who had never seen fault in her
since the day they had first meta
| look of more than horror-of aversion,
stole over his face, and for one short
moment he turned his head aside
! away from her.
The next instant 1t was gone, and
! only a gaze of the tenderest pity fast
| ened upon her. But it was too late; the
acknowledgements had noted that fleet
| ing expression, and sank fainting on
the floor, with that bitterest of cries:
"Oh, God!s oh Cpd! my punishment is
greater than can bear!'
We all think 30, in moments of dire
trouble, but, as II to prove the falsity
| of our words, 1t may be generally re-
| marked that trouble greater still i'm
| mediately follows.
Ivan Morosoff started from his couch
| in order to clasp his wife in his arms
| and comfort her to the utnost-when q
spasm seized his heart: he fell back
| with q eroan-a dead man
| And the child Ottilie threw herself
| upon him with gestures Of wild at
| fright; but she did MT snaa.k- she did