The Montgomery advertiser., 1901-07-07

or two. "'Yes-she is wiIling-I am | quite strong enough-no, 1t would be l . little comfort if there gan be such c
 thing--yes. there is one comfort, the way you have behaved - darling, my brave brother"
 The young fellow faltered: "I will
 not accept such thing - 1t is too | cruel: can't let you"
 But you cannot help it," she -xn-
 swered and then they began to talk in a language which was strange to the guard. He did not tell them to
 talk English; he did not look at them; I he stared at his books and had his | own dim arraignment of the irony of life. while he turned his back on their pitiful parting,
 That evening the chaplain made his last attack on the condemned mans reticsnce. Our poor human natures motives are 70 mixed that he may have felt an obscure but effective spur in the warden's conviction that he would not be able "to get anything
 out of the boy" The warden said: He means to die game, guess.'' T shah do my best to make him die
 like a penitent, Christian man," re- torted the chaplain. with some warmth. He was not encouraged by the young | mans attitude. He had wrapped him. self in a manner of cold reserve, he listeued with dull and perfunctory civility to the chaplain's eloQuence. l Only the plain marks of weeping on the worn young face kept down the elersyman's sense of irritation. Yet he persevered. with an earnestness | which affected himself first, then the
 guard. and at last sent a little quiver ] through the listeners bent shoulders. | dHhthfno paehtnOn p1noAnA hn ha
 lain. will weigh with you tomorrow, I at this time. save repentance. The | emotions. the little prejudices of pride and vanity which cling to us here will All be gone; you will be guilty man
 before your judge or saved and pen- itent soul--" = "f do repent" said the young man, | with a shudder. "I repent my whole
 wasted, wicked. damfool life: God
 knows do."
 Then free your soul of any false
 hood" said the chaplain, solempJy;
 "do not die with a lie on your lips" |" The young man lifted his head; he | turned a strange. intent look on the chaplain as he said: T want to tell you something about myself not | that'-there was almost an impatient accent in his tone - something else.
 I want to speak to you alone" When | the guard had gone out of earshot he began to talk. The chaplain was &C., | customed to the rambling thoughts of
 men in his unhappy case, and he lis-
 tened sympathetically while the boy
 told of his home and his mother.
 His heart Is softening." he thought;
 ''often they begin that way" He en- long - the story of 6 reckless. selfish, ! hoa dl0n1 y,,,ratyif If ,lAaanrA fnrtfxnn n l squandered, fine old name smirch-
 ed. a home desolate. and two wo- mems hearts broken God knows how often the chaplain had heard va
 riations of the miserable drama. But what affected him. in . new way, was
 the boys portrait of his mother and
 sister. He seemed to see the proud
 delicate gentlewoman. who had not
 left her bed for five years. who could
 not come to bid her only son farewell;
 who had made her last sacrifice when
 she sent her daughter to his help, and
 remained alone with mothers bit-
 terest anguish.
 l "The only comfort that she has,
 said the condemned man, lis that
 am innocent. She has said all along
 that she wouldn't be sure if 1t had
 been Q man. but IT couldn't have haev murdered Q woman that horrible
 wayI She-she says. if she believed
 that. 1t would drive her crazy; but she
 doesn't and she never will; and she
 says that the-the name-Fhe thinks
 a lot of the name. poor mother - the
 name is not disgraced by punishment,
 miserable eyes sought the chaplain.
 You are a gentleman" said he. Even
 If were guilty. would I not be Q cad
 and q coward as well as a murderer, to save my soul and crush the last,
 poor. feeble little hope out of hers? Good God! a gentleman can't kick 6 woman's broken heart like that!" The chaplain flushed up to his eyes; he forgot that he was a clergyman; he only remembered that he was a
 gentleman; he held out his hand
 No. he can't" said he.
 Tt would be the only atonement in
 steadily. were I guilty. But I am not guilty"
 ''The thoughts of God are not our thoughts" said the chaplain. May
 He forgive us both; let us pray" As the chaplain looked about him | he had c trivial intrusion of irrelevant l fancies. such as always drift around
 horror He was conscious of the | golden dust in the sunlight, of the hair o4 one of the doctors being rum
 pied. of boyish young reporter writ | ing with his glove on hlB hAnd-it was | outrage to send such an infant on
 such a sickening errand - of the war
 den chewing his mustache. of the pal
 Tor of every face except the composed | one beside him. and through 1t all
 he was conscious of a quiet, steady ! voice saying its last words to the
 world. maintaining the same assertion
 of innocence to the end. He was hard
 ly listening; his mind was wandering into the shadows of those darkest problems that assail the soul, when suddenly his attention fixed on a sem tence with a shock.
 There is a reporter here." said the condemned man-and there was an in- defihable change in the quality of his tone. a human vibration in the firm,
 monotonous words there Is a re-
 porter here, who has been a good friend of mine. the-the best friend I
 have ever had. next to my mother and
 my-fny sister. want to give him my last words to the world"
 The other -eporters looked enviously at the slim young fellow whose clothes seemed too loose for him. who walked
 up to the speaker. The warden took a |