The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1898-12-27

little baby!''
Perhaps" said the man. and l saw upon
his handsome face sneer of cold con-
tempt; perhaps if you should return your
husband, even if he failed to forgive you,
might. at least allow you to have your
child"
The woman suddenly sat erect. She pushed
the heavy hair from her face and looked the
man squarely in the eyes. You forget"
she said, very quietly, that my husband is
a gentleman; he can never forgive one so
dishonored as l, and he would never for a
moment consider allowing me even to see
the child have deserted. AS for my moth
or, she is already dead--nO one has told me,
but my heart knows it, Return to your
bed. she added with a gesture of command,
L shall not disturb you again. / shall do
very well here until morning"
The mans face softened at her reply.
Drawing closer to her he fell upon his knees
by her side and gathered her into his arms.
| could hear him whispering to her; soon
her head sank upon his shoulder, but /
could see her profile, pale and set, in the
moonlight, and catch a CLEAN from her eyes,
open and staring like those of the dead.
Trembling and sick at heart sank down
on the floor of my chamber Here, then, /
was, in the presence of deadly sorrow and
deadlier sin! With two of earth's vilest
sinners under my roof, and that most alb
In a form so beautiful that l had loved her
and fairly lOnged to clasp my lonesome old
arms around her! And then it suddenly
same to me that though bv her own confes,
sion | knew how great had been her sin.
still had 1t in my heart to love her. l still
upon my own bosom. Indeed, L could have
wept when l recalled the tone in which
had heard her say, My mother! My baby!"
and knelt up suddenly from the floor where
| was lying, and asked the good God to
help her and tell me what to do. Yet the
only guidance l received when morning had
at last daWned was to send Susan for the
blackberries and lay out breakfast and pack
up basket of luncheon for the travellers,
exactly as | had planned the night before.
My guests, when they came down to
breakfast, seemed very much themselves
again The woman was pale, and l noted
the carefully concealed traces of her heavy
weeping, but the speech of both was as
gracious and their bearing as charming
L had found it when they came so uneX-
pectedly into my house from the storm.
But few moments before their departure
came upon the woman standing alone in
the dooryard, gazing back over the road
which the two had travelled the night be-
fore. l went to her side and words were
given me to speak to her. L placed my arm
about her shoulders, and drawing her to me
1 said: My daughter"-I thought she start
ed at the word--"when you find yourself in
strange places remember this old quiet
house. When unfriendly faces are about
you, think then of this queer old woman
with whom you staid the night. If life can
not be borne in your new environment, and
you are seeking place to go, return here,
where there is peace, and will receive
you, for my heart goes out to love you as if
you were my own child"
I looked long and earnestly into her face,
and she returned my look with one as long,
as earnest, and as full of meaning. She I'M
tween us before they drove away
My mind was much disturbed for many
weeks after this strange event L felt con-
tinually that more was to follow, and sent
Susan to the poStoff1ce oftener than she
cared to CO. but no letter came and never
a token to remind me of my unknown Wis
but l seemed suddenly to have grown more
lonely, the house more desolate and deep
dreams and fancy that heard a sound of
woman's weeping. AS months passed away
| / might almost almost have persuaded myself
not been for Susan breaking in upon my
fancy with one of her harangues on the
beauty of that strange young master and
missus who stopped in out of the storm and
the grandeur of the young miSsus'S gown
and the flashing of the rings on her fingers.
autumn tarred late, so that it was Novem-
Der before the first fires were lighted and
chilly day when the wind at twilight blew
dolefully over the hills and sighed about
the great chimpeys. According to my GUS
tom, walked out to the gate as the dusk
gathered. 1t was a fancy of my own to
stand there and in a dreamy mood half look
for those who could not come again, yet
who, it sometimes seemed, must be coming.
How often l had waited here for my dear
husbands return on market day, or Tor
the welcome sound of wheels when my
father and mother were expected from over
the mountain Tonight the sense of some
loved one coming home was strong upon
me, and, as / looked, behold single foot
passenger came YEARLY down the hill,
slender woman in black gown, the wind
pushing her rudely and scattering the
brown leaves all about her Her face was
wan and her eyes were hollow, but in spite
of the change since had seen her last |
knew her, and / stepped out into the road
to meet her. She had remembered and she
had come back.
When led her into my house knew that
I admitted wl,h her guest before, whose
majesty the kings of all the earth must
bow. For death had left his imprint on
her face and she bore about her the dignity
Of his royal insignia. l laid her down upon
my own bed and drew the blankets close
and warm about her, and Susan and wait
ed upon her for many days. | never saw
her weeping, and once or twice she smiled
as I sat and held her. hand. And once
whispered to her Had you not nette hI de5l
beloved?" But no, she only shook her head
and answered, 1T is better So"
body in my own burrying ground, where
lies my husband and one little girl baby
born and lost many years ago. | told the
she was a stranger who had come alone to
my door, and to whose life L could find no
single clew.
Well. then thought that I was done with
strange happenings in my quiet life, and SO
it was until two years later, when once
door and a traveller alighted. He was a
young man in years no doubt but the hair
on his temples was white as snow and ms
shoulders which l fancy had once been
erect and square. dropped as II some weight
of grief or shame had come prematurely
upon them. lie asked me IL WOlIidn hdu
died at my house, and by his description
knew whom he was in quest of. | saw M. ne
was a man to be trusted, and so / told MN
the story just have told It to you. He
listened in silence, and when l had done ne
asked me to show him her grave. HOW
long he stood beside it with barred head
do not know. 1 stole away and left him
there. When he returned he told me he mad
come to take away the body to new rest
ing place; beside her mother, he said. and
where her little girl might come and visit
her grave Then he thanked me again and
again for what I had done, and the next
IA v he took her away. He was fine, quiet
gentleman, but as looked at him and am heard a.1
was true and his life above reproach; he
was lacking in that lordly charm m. and ot bril-
whose name and history had never known
Well. this is the end of the story and an
that remains to remind me- is the tiny marble
slab which 1 have left standing where her
body used to lie. and upon which, in COM
pliance with whispered request OF her own
made in the still twilight of one of those mild
winter days, during which / watched beside
her. I had engraven in the rude lettering
of our country stonecutter, Il was