The Mount Holly news. [volume] (Mount Holly, Burlington Co., N.J.) 1891-1942, 1915-03-09

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parted spirit.
An ugly dent marred the fine out
line of his forehead, brutally sufficient
for its murderous purpose.
The chief dropped onto his knees
and ripped the stiff gloves from the
stir fingers, trying, with something of
hysteria, to chafe life back into the
loved hand. Then he ripped open
overcoat, coat, vest, and shirts-but
beyond the cold flesh the heart was
still forever.
The crunching of heavy footsteps
aroused him, and he turned the agony
of his strong face to the eyes of Tim
O'Curran. the yarlmaster. At the
sight Of it the black vengeance died
from the heart of Tim O'Curran like
a small fire Of hate before a deluge of
pity. The sorrow of the grief-strick-
en- man leaped straight to the sorrow
of O'Curran's own griefstricken heart.
The quickened memory OF his own
anguish wrapped itself around the
anguish of his enemy and bound him
closer than kin or love-
He ran forward, white as the dead
face, and in his heart he wished that
God would end his grief and remorse
with humiliation. Tenderly Clark
son let the stiffening form rest against
the wheel and arose.
1.-THE yeggmen have got him, Tim, "
he said hoarsely, grateful for the pale
sympathy of O'Curran's face. O'Cur-
ran, in desperate hope, bent down to
the lifeless clay, from which he knew
the life had gone six hours before.
"Twas cruel deed" he muttered.
"'Twas a cruel Decd" but his fast
falling tears would not warm back the
life his own hand had taken. Together
they carried him to the freight shed.
The O'Curran and the Clarkson plots
were side by side, and two days later
they laid him beside the man whom he
had sent on the journey so short a
while before him.
But the spirit of tragedy still how
cred over the freightyard of San An
dora, for Tim O'Curran knew that this
was not the end Of the feud.
With bent head he stood by his
brothers grave and fought the matter
out with his soul
At length he found strength for the
resolve he would make.
Twas a cruel vengeance took for
the life of you, Martin" he muttered.
"but It's the grief of the living an not
the ghost of the dead that has haunted
me ever since-the grief of the woman
your true heart loved. an the grief of
the strong man that saw like little
child. can feel the love an the ache
Of his heart, for did / not feel 1t for
yourself. An now his is added to my
own.
"'Twas cruel an senseless feud,
made in my own mind as it is borne
In my own heart, an tits myself only
can end it. So will GO to Jim Clark
son an will say:
My pity has eaten the heart out
of my revenge, but it's by the mercy
Of God. So now, end the feud, but do
1t by the way of the law, an so gain
ease for your grief an rest for my
SOUL"
He knelt for moment by the grave,
then, arising, turned to go, and, bright
er than the moonlight, looking into his
own were the eyes of Jim Clarkson
Snow began to sift through the still
air. For an eternity they stood and
stared into each others eyes. Finally
Clarkson spoke.
$50 1t was you who killed my broth
err" he said.
"Jim," said O'Curran, 'I was crazy
with grief for the poor boy coming
home. AS for the dead, Jim, It's but
little Fastening on the road; but for
yourself my heart has broken itself
over your sorrow, an my spirit has
brooded over yours as mother try
ing to comfort child, and twas the
punishment Of God that / could give
you no comfort. So now, take me, an
end the feud an ease your grief"
Il will end the feud," said Clarkson
quietly. "Pity has eaten the heart out
of my revenge. too, and over these
graves let us end the feud"
With wonderful gentleness he took
the hand of O'Curran. The snow fell
softly, white and clinging, as the
benson of heaven.