La Junta tribune., 1899-03-18
CHAPTER I.-tContinued,)


that death claims me: and oh, my son,
were 1t not for you how l should quit
this world rejoicing, l have long been
dying. Philip-and long. long have !
prayed for death"
And why so. mother" replied
Philip, bluntly; I've done my best"
You have. my child. you have; and
may God bless you for 1t. Often have
/ seen you curb your fiery tempe---re-
strain yourself when justified in wrath
to share mothers feelings. 'Tis
now some days that even hunger has
not persuaded you to disobey your
mother. And. Philip. you must have
thought me mad or foolish to insist so
long. and yet to give no reason. I'll
k-again-directly."
The widow turned her head upon
the pillow. and remained quiet for
some minutes; then. as If revived. she
resumed:
II believe l have been mad at times
have | not, Philip? And God knows
i have had a secret in my heart enough
to drive a wife to frenzy. 1t has OPP
pressed me day and night. worn my
mind, impaired my reason. and now, at
last. thank Heaven! it has overcome
this mortal frame: the blow is struck,
Philip-Im sure II Is. | wait but to
tell you all-and yet | would not
twill turn your brain as 1t has turned
mine. Philip"
Mother" replied Philip. earnestly.
II conjure you let me hear this killing
secret. Be Heaven or he'll mixed up
with it-l fear not. Heaven will not
hurt me, and Satan | defy"
Il know thy bold, proud spirit.
Philip-thy strength OF mind. If any
one could bear the load OF such a
dreadful tale, thou couldst. Ny brain,
alas, was far too weak for 1t: and
see it is my duty to tell 1t to thee" A..
The widow paused as her thoughts
reverted to that which she had to cou-
tide; for n few minutes the tears rain
cd down her hollow cheeks; she then
appeared to have summoned resolution
and to have regnined strength.
Phillip, It was of your father | would
speak. 1t is supposed-that he was
drowned-at sea-
And was he not. mother" replied
Philip, with surprise.
"Oh, mol"
But he has long beed dead.
nother?'
"No-yes-and yet-no.' said the
widow. covering her eyes. Her brain
wanders, thought Philip. but he spoke
again.
Then where is he, mother?"
The widow raised herself, and 4
tremor visibly ran through her whole
frame, as she replied:
I'm living judgment"
The poor woman then sank down
again upon the pillow, and covered ner
head with the bed clothes. as II she
would have hid herself from her own
memory. Philip was so much perplex-
ed and astounded, that he could make
no reply. A silence of some minutes
ensued. when, no longer able to bear
the agony OF suspense. Philip family
whispered:
THE secret. mother, the secret;
quick. let me hear it,"
Il can now tell all, Philip" replied
his mother. in a solemn tone of voice.
Hear me, my son. Your fathers dis
position was but too like your ow2
Oh, may his cruel fate be lesson 20
you, my dear, dear child! He was n
bold. daring, and, they say, firBt-
rate seaman. He was not born here.
but in Amsterdam; but he would not
live there because he still adhered to
the Catholic religion. The Dutch, you
know, Philip. are heretics. according to
our creed. 1t is now seventeen years
,r mora cipco ba caiIod for India IN h G
fine ship. the Amsterdammer. with a
valuable cargo. 1t was his third voy-
age to India. Philip. and it was to have
been, II It had so pleased God, his last,
for he had purchased that good ship
with only part Of his earnings. and
one more voyage would have made his
fortune. Oh, how often did we talk
over what we would dc upon his re-
turn, and how these plans for the fu-
ture consoled me at the idea OF his
absence. for l loved him dearly, Philip
he was always good and kind to me
and after he had sailed. how / hoped
for his return! The lot of sailors
wife Is not to be envied. Alone and
solitary for so many months, watch
ing the long wick of the candle, and
listening to the bowling of the wind
forcboding evil and accident-wreck
and widowhood. He had been gone
about six months, Philip. and there
was still long. dreary year to wait
before l could expect him back. One
night you. my child. were fast asleep;
you were my only soiace, my comfort
in my loneliness. / had been watch
ing over you in your slumbers: you
smiled and half pronounced the name
of mother: and at last l kissed your
unconscious lips. and l knelt and
prayed-prayed for Gods blessing on
you, my child, and upon him too
little thinking. at the time. that he was
SO horribly. so fearfully cursed"
The widow paused for breath, and