Rock Island Argus. (Rock Island, Ill.) 1893-1920, 1907-06-22

1OrWlft ms.
When? After his death? Fate had
forwarded it before. Should she read
or destroy or return this letter to its
writer-to the criminal who had con
fesscd to her his crime? Some min
utes after Claire Harding asked her-
self this question she turned up the
lamp and cut the oiled silk open with
a pair Of scissors. She now saw that
the letter had been written some time,
yet 1t was with Il strange thrill Il won-
derment beginning at the heart. that
she read the heading within. 1t was
NewGate and the date May % 1897,
the blaCkcst day of all her life, the eve
of that on which they would have
hanged him.
Agitdt2d IS she was, however by
these dreadful memories and touched
by the mere fact of his having written
to her on that awful Monday, it was
the first sentence of his letter that ran
into her heart like molten lead. He
called himself an innocent man! From
the brink of the grave came that lie
that blaSphemy, which he had lived to
N'iiAtfH ~ III ~ All AAiH NAAsiAt. NHIIC
read on mechanically. and all ut once
her pain ceased. She was lost and
absorbed IL the plain, straightforward,
circumstantial story into which he
plunged without preliminary. He told
hcr everything from the moment they
parted at the garden gate. Nothing
was left out, nothing eXtenuated, moth
ing enlarged or even commented upon
by the writer. Her heart was beating
wildly long before she reached the end
of this plain statement She had for
gotten all about his confession. This
rang true; this rang true.
''Sweetheart," he went on--"for l
must call you 50 once more-I cannot
tell you how l feel, for l vary from
hour to hour. Now and then l feel the
murderer they say | am. now and then
an abjeCt coward (without the pluck
to show it,, now aud then a sort of
Christian martyr. But with Gods
help | hope to finish up n man. Do
not Grieve for the ugly way of It.
There's no disgrace in that since it's a
mistake and if there is God never
fear Out he will make il up to me one
day. oh, but it is sweet to talk to you
again. l used TO tell you everything,
and 50 l must until the end.
The turkeys are looking through
my grating now. They are telling each
other what 1 am at and coming back
and back again to have a peep. My
Christianity isn't proof against that. l
say nothing. but l could do the thing
l am going to die for-GOd help me,
may do it yet, You see how l change.
There is only one thing in which | can
never Change-my grateful love and
reverence for the great girl soul that
fOrgave me and would have given me
another chance if this had not hap
pcncd. Sweetheart my love for you
has grown in Poison; 1t has been my
only comfort in THO vile place, and it
will go with me where l 20 tomorrow
it will stay with my poor soul
through all eternity. Only do not
griCye for me, Claire. for | never was
worthy of your sweet love. l would
not leave this behind for you, l would
not have you reminded of me for d
single day, but for one selfish thing
Sweetheart, it is to make you believe
in me. You have not done so yet
Why should you? Nobody knows what
YOU know ana have so nobly hidden,
but, for all | said to you, l am limo
cent lie was alive when | left him
| did give him the receipt. and we
shook hands at the end. That is God s
truth. l tell it YOU with the last words
my hand will ever write. | meant to
write TO the kind fanatic who paid for
, my defense ana is working still Ghcy
tell me- for reprieve. but now can.
not. If you could find him out and
thank him for me, l should be CRATE
full, but my last words in this life
must be to you. God bless you, dear
and give you somebody much better
| than l ever could have been. Only &c
| know that l never did this thing, and
when you realize that think no more
of me. my dear love, but pray tomor
row for the soul of your unworthy
| boy
His signature followed, better wit
| ten than the rest. n touching effort t.
finish up a man." All the last pages
were blurred with the condemned
mans tears. and now after seventeen
months her tears were raining raining
on the same paper, on the same words
that bore the blots of his.
This postscript remained:
"Rcprieved at the last moment!
shall not send this now, but l hop
that it may reach you when 1 an
gone"
Claire went to the window, and tn
rings ratified along the rod as she fun
the curtains back.
The hotel garden lay very still be
low. 1t was the back OF the house. an,
now the hour was late. Suddenly Their
was a movement on the gravel under
meath.
"Claire, is it your voice."
He whispered-it was Tom.
Eyes" she said at last. "Come up.
want to speak to you"
"Now?"
Eyes, How is It you are still in til
town.
Il lost something. I have been hun