Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1907-07-11
CHAPTER XIV.

I Doubt whether, If I tried, I could
describe at length the weeks and
months that followed. Like one who
was dead, but possessing still the power
of motion, pursued my lonely way.
All through the first night Of my de.
parture I walked till the first faint
streak of light heralded the coming
day. l must have walked fast and
mechanically in a direction in which
l should not be recognized, for when
I looked about me knew not where
Twas. 1t suited me that had reached
O place I did not know. An humble
wayside inn was near; entered 1t, and
asked for q room. There I remarked
during the day, and when night fell
l went out again, and walked on and
on, through fields and villages, taking
any track that promised to lead me
farther and farther away from familiar
scenes. I must have adopted some
cunning method of concealment that
no one accosted me and inquired
whittier I was going. When day
dawned l was in q wood, and there l
lay unobserved, and pretended to be
asleep when heard footsteps ap-
preaching. AT night again l continued
my flight, and so, day after day, night
after night passed, until l felt that
I was lost-and safe. kept no count
of the days, and only knew when it
was Sunday by the ringing of the
church bells. l entered no church;
did not pray; l strove not to think;
all that l wished was that time would
pass swiftly. I spoke to no man unless
I was spoken to; never laid my hand
with tenderness upon the form Of child
or animal My heart was turning into
stone, and l set myself steadfastly to
the task of banishing from my mind
every gentle sentiment that strove to
find lodgment there. OF my wife and
daughter I would not think-I would
not, would not! There was between
them and me barrier which believed
to be eternal. l never looked at news
paper or printed page; the worlds do
ings interested me no longer.
Not only was my heart turning into
stone, but began to regard with aver
sion all living things.
One Sabbath 1 was sitting in a
churchyard; I was tired and faint, and
my feet were blistered with walking
over rough roads. 1t belonged to my
mood to choose ever the stony paths.
They We're singing in the church-a
quaint old church covered with ivy, in
what part or England l know not. I
derived a savage pleasure in keeping
myself purposely ignorant Of the places
through which I travelled Worn with
fatigue, my eyelids closed, and light
slumber overlook me. 1t could have
lasted but short time, for when I
opened my eyes heard the singing still
within the church. What specially
aroused me was the voice of one of
. the singers. My wife had just such q
voice; Its note of familiar sweetness
startled me. I listened in wonder.
The singing ceased, and soon after
ward the congregation issued from
the church. scanned them eagerly as
they came forth; for brief space my
sterner spirit did not assert itself.
had no fear that. should be recog-
nized, supposlng that voice which had
impressed me was that Of my wife.
I had seen my face and form OCCASION
ally in clear water when l stopped to
drink, and l knew that / had grown
out Of all likeness of myself. From the
night left my home had not shaved;
my matted hair, my wild eyes, my
ragged garments, placed me beyond the
pale of recognition. So, without fear,
/ gazed at the faces of the worshipers.
My wife was not among them. In a
little while the church was emptied
Of the throng, and l was, thought,
alone again in the churchyard. But I
was mistaken. A man stood by my
side.
He was of middle age; his face was
benignant, his voice was gentle. As
he moved and spoke, he seemed to be
attended by spirit of charity.
"You seem to be In trouble" he said.
Scan help You in any way"
rose. cast wrathful glance at himI