The Washington times., 1906-04-08

on her knees at his side. She asked
no questions, she had no need; she
knew. She only hoped one hope,
with an intensity that was agony
she hoped he would recognize herI
There was a night Of suffering,
and about dawn. after little quiet,
came the whisper, My Helene,"
Covering his face and hands with
tenderest kisses, she breathed low
in his ear, "Oh. my heart, l haTs
been wrong forgive me my SiE,
nv vanity, my selhshness, Oh, for
give me. dear" And all mis- simple,
honest soul shone happily in his
tired eyes as he gasped, painfully,
81 knew it-I-always knew-your
heart-was mine" A little silence.
then his eyes opened quick, wide.
She had his head upon her arm:
THE cordial, deal2" she asked him,
and as the nurse held ii toward her
his eyes seemed glued TO hers
Mother" he gasped. :uquiringly.
Love made her quick Yes" she
answered. yes, my heart, I under
stand" He smiled contentedly-she
bent closer TO kiss him. but he shiv-
cred, stretched out suddenly his
long, long length, and
She laid him down very gently.
drew up the sheet, and, turning
away, walked alone from the room
she had broken, she was about 10
pay
The lamplighter. ike an old
gnome at his work, lit the street
lamp in front Of the house. and its
Pickering light fell upon the long
inky blackness Of hearse. and be-
hind It one single carriage. Then
came the placing Of the coffin. and
all was ready save the coming Of the
sole occupant TO be OF that carriage.
Slowly she came down the steps,
her head bent low upon her breast,
the wind catching her iercely, cruel
". the rain beating upon her-still
she made her way, never paused.
opened the door Of the carriage, en-
tered, closed II and sank upon the
cushions. The hearse moved slowly
away into the rainy darkness. fol-
lowed closely by that lonely mourn
er.
In the cold, wet, early morning
of the next day the lonely mourner
stood before a great old colonial
country house. high upon hill, and
wearily descended from her carriage
and slowly made her way up the
steps, between the big piazza pillars
to the front entrance, and rang. The
door was opened wide by a gray old
colored servant, who, with bows and
smiles, was waving her toward the
drawing room. when his eyes fell
upon the hearse. and ne staggered
haired woman came into the hall
saying: David, what is the matteT7
Why don't you show the lady in?"
and she made a courteous, invit-
ing gesture towarl the stranger
But Helene shook her head-she
would not enter there, but slowly
she lifted her black veil, and while
the pulses beat visibly in either side
OF her throat, she made a movement
Of her hand toward the hearse, and
said simply: Il have brought him
back 10 you"
A kind Of film came over the
mothers eyes. Three times she
swayed heavily forward and back
ward, but at last clutching even
with her very hands at self-control.
she recovered herself, and coldly
said: Il thank you, for that" The
woman in black turned and weakly
made her way down the steps-the
mother advanced and repeated, more
clearly: Il thank you, for that"
At the foot Of the s.eps the wo-
men paused. She looked hard at the
hearse for a moment, then made =
piteous little gesture &C farewell to-
ward it, entered the carriage and
was driven away down the hill-[fcH
she had no claim upon the belovNs..
dead-she could mourn only q
secrecy and shame. AS she passed
through the old iron gates, she broke
into bitter weeping, and with the
brine Of her tears upon her lips.
she repeated: In rery truth, who
breaks pays"