The Pickens sentinel. (Pickens, S.C.) 1911-2016, 1914-03-12
CHAPTER II.
The Passing of a Night.

The sheriff was right. Sara Wran-
dali was an extraordinary woman, If
may be permitted to modify his rath-
er crude estimate of her. 1t is difficult
to understand, much less describe a
nature like hers. Fine-minded, gently
bred women who can go through an
ordeal such as she experienced with
out breaking under the strain are rare
;; indeed. They must be wonderful. 1t
is hard to imagine more heart-break-
ing crisis in life than the one which
confronted her on this dreadful night,
and yet she faced it with a fortitude
that seems almost unholy.
She had loved her handsome, way
ward husband. He had hurt her deep.
ly more times than she chose to re-
member during the six years of their
married life, but she had loved him
in spite of the wounds up to the in
slant when she stood beside his dead
body in the cold little room at Bur-
toms inn. She went there loving him
as he had lived, yet prepared, almost
foresworn, to loathe him as he had
died, and she left him lying there
alone in that dreary room without a
spark Of the old affection in her soul.
Her love for him died in giving birth
to the hatred that now possessed her
While he lived it was not in her pow
er to control the unreasoning, resist
less thing that stands for love in wom'
an; he was her lover, the master OF
her impulses. Dead, he was an un-
wholesome, unlovely clod, pallid
thing to be scorned, hulk of worth
less clay, His blood was cold. He
could no longer warm her with it; 1t
could no longer kill the chill that his
nisdeeds cast about her tender sensi,
tiveness; his lips and eyes never more
could smile and conquer. He was a
dead thing. Her love was dead
thing. They lay separate and apart.
The tie was broken. With love died
the final spark of respect she had left
for him in her tired, loyal, betrayed
heart. He was at last a thing to be
despised, even by her. She despised
him.
She sent the car down the slope and
across the moonless valley with small
regard for her own or her compan-
ions safety. 1t swerved from side to
side, skidded and leaped with terri,
flying suddenness, but held it's way as
straight as the bird that flies, driven
by steady hand and mind that had
no thought for peril A sober man at
her side would have been afraid; this
man swayed mildly to and fro and
chuckled with drunken glee.
Her bitter thoughts were not of the
dead man back there, but Of the live
years that she was to bury with hinE
years that would never pass beyond
her ken, that would never die. He
mad loved her in his wild, ruthless
way. He had left her times without
number in the years gone by, but he
had always come back, gaily unchas
tened, to remold the love that waited
with dog-like fidelity for the touch OF
his cunning hand. But he had taken
mis- last fight. He would not come
back again. It was all over. Once toe
often he had tried his reckless wings
She would not have to forgive him
again. Uppermost in her mind was
the cpriously restful thought that his
| troubles were over, and with them hel
own. A hand less forgiving than hers
had struck him dead.
Somehow, she envied the woman tt
whom that hand belonged. 1t hae
been her divine right to kill, and YET
another took it from her.
Back there at the inn she had saie
to the astonished sheriff:
Poor thing, if she can escape pun
ishnlent for this, let it be so. l shall
not help the law to kill her simply
because she took it in her own hands
to pay that man what she owed him
l shall not be the one to say that he
did not deserve death at her hands
whoever she may be. No, shall offe1
no rewar1. If you catch her, shall
be sorry for her, Mr.. Sheriff. Believe
me, I bear her no grudge."
"But she robbed him." the sheriff
had cried.
From my point Of view, Mr.. Sher
if, that hasn't anything to do with the
case" was her significant reply.
"Of course, I am not defending
him"
"Nor am I defending her. she hat
retorted. at would appear that she Ii
able to defend herself"
Now, on the cold, trackless road, she
was saying to herself that she die
have grudge against the woman
who had destroyed the life that be
longed to her, who had killed the
thing that was hers to kill. She could