The Bamberg herald. [volume] (Bamberg, S.C.) 1891-1972, 1905-06-08

heard the street door close with an ON
nous bang. She stood stupidly in the
middle Of the room trying to realize
that there was no future-nothing but
4 dreary waste that belied the name
ahead of her. Then she looked at her
left hand, now so bare, 50 naked, no
! longer hand consecrate, but simply
woman's hand shorn Of all its sweet
significance, its badge Of dear depend
ence gone.
A clock struck the hour In silver
tones, fetching her back to the dull
present Oh, yes, Mrs. Colin Stuart's
tea. She must go to that whatever hap
pened; she must 60 to everything and be
gay, gay, gay! Otherwise people would
say that she cared. He might even
think that she did. The thought made
her cheeks burn. And gay she was, 80
gay indeed that more than one of her
friends turned long, inquiring looks up
on her, looks full Of puzzled questioning.
Once during the week Of respite she
met him, but at his cold, impassive
greeting the little choking gladness that
the sight of him had brought and which
for a f1eet1ng second shook her With its
expectancy fiickered out he had bow
ed with cold courtesy--and passed on.
But one thought stood out clearly tn
the general confusion of her despair.
She must get away. Piteously she real
lied that she must not run the risk Of
constant meetings. The Branhams were
sailing on Saturday. Why not go with
them?
At the thought she started up, her
blood whirling through her veins in
the old fashion. That would be tit for
tat On her last day Of respite he
should see her name on the list Of out
going passengers. Then perhaps he
would regret that be had passed her
with nothing but perfunctory lifting
Of the hat A lively ringing Of tele-
phone bells, a scurrying back and
forth Of passengers, and the thing was
accomplished.
1t was Friday night. Her trunks
had gone to the pier, and In her dis
mantled room she battled with the
lassitude that follows whirl Of feel
ing. She was dull, emotionless, ex-
hausted. The quarrel, her fight, life
itself, had ceased to matter, and she
dropped into chair It was then that
her eyes fell upon the sampler.
The small mottled square Of brown
canvas, with its fading letters, had in
some way escaped her attention until
now and remained pinned against the
wall. For an appreciable time she
stared at its alphabet and figures. its
stiff tree, its astonishingly alert birds,
and at last at the inscription that al
ways held pensive interest for her,
Amy Castle, aged eight years, 1905"
More than once she had dreamed Of
that name. Who was Amy Castle?
The sampler had been found In chest
Of inherited stuff, and no one could
recall the owner. The small hands that
had wrought those bedimmed figures
were now dust, but what had come to
them before the last resigned folding?
Had Amy, too, loved and suffered and
lost? Had her woman's pride smiled
out on the world from a face drawn
with pain? Tragedy or comedy, it
mattered little now. All that remain
ed Of her passing was this small, mot
tied sampler. This was what it all
came to in the end-this-
With a swift, eloquent gesture she
arose and literally flew along the cor
ridor to the telephone. "Quick, Cen
tral, quick" she was urging moment
later. "It's-it's q matter Of life and
deathr'
But all she could say when she got
her number was broken "Oh, Don
aldv'