JOE MORGAN'S CHILD.
I don't see anything of your very particular friend, Joe Morgan,this evening," said Harvey Green, leaning on the bar and speakingto Slade. It was the night succeeding that on which the painfuland exciting scene with the child had occurred.
"No," was answered--and to the word was added a profaneimprecation. "No; and if he'll just keep away from here, he may goto--on a hard-trotting horse and a porcupine saddle as fast as hepleases. He's tried my patience beyond endurance, and my mind ismade up that he gets no more drams at this bar. I've borne hisvile tongue and seen my company annoyed by him just as long as Imean to stand it. Last night decided me. Suppose I'd killed thatchild?"
"You'd have had trouble then, and no mistake."
"Wouldn't I? Blast her little picture! What business has shecreeping in here every night?"
"She must have a nice kind of a mother," remarked Green, with acold sneer.
"I don't know what she is now," said Slade, a slight touch offeeling in his voice--"heart-broken, I suppose. I couldn't look ather last night; it made me sick. But there was a time when FannyMorgan was the loveliest and best woman in Cedarville. I'll saythat for her. Oh, dear! What a life her miserable husband hascaused her to lead."
"Better that he were dead and out of the way."
"Better a thousand times," answered Slade. "If he'd only fall downsome night and break his neck, it would be a blessing to hisfamily."
"And to you in particular," laughed Green.
"You may be sure it wouldn't cost me a large sum for mourning,"was the unfeeling response.
Let us leave the bar-room of the "Sickle and Sheaf," and its cold-hearted inmates, and look in upon the family of Joe Morgan, andsee how it is in the home of the poor inebriate. We will pass by aquick transition.
"Joe!" The thin white hand of Mrs. Morgan clasps the arm of herhusband, who has arisen up suddenly, and now stands by the partlyopened door. "Don't go out to-night, Joe. Please, don't go out."
"Father!" A feeble voice calls from the corner of an old settee,where little Mary lies with her head bandaged.
"Well, I won't then!" is replied--not angrily, nor even fretfully--but in a kind voice.
"Come and sit by me, father." How tenderly, yet how full ofconcern is that low, sweet voice. "Come, won't you?"
"Yes, dear."
"Now hold my hand, father."
Joe takes the hand of little Mary, that instantly tightens uponhis.
"You won't go away and leave me to-night, will you, father? Sayyou won't."
"How very hot your hand is, dear. Does your head ache?"
"A little; but it will soon feel better."
Up into the swollen and disfigured face of the fallen father, thelarge, earnest blue eyes of the child are raised. She does not seethe marred lineaments; but only the beloved countenance of herparent.
"Dear father!"
"What, love?"
"I wish you'd promise me something."
"What, dear?"
"Will you promise?"
"I can't say until I hear your request. If I can promise, I will."
"Oh, you can promise--you can, father!"
How the large blue eyes dance and sparkle!
"What is it, love?"
"That you will never go into Simon Slade's bar any more."
The child raises herself, evidently with a painful effort; andleans nearer to her father.
Joe shakes his head, and poor Mary drops back upon her pillow witha sigh. Her lids fall, and the long lashes lie strongly relievedon her colorless cheeks.
"I won't go there to-night, dear. So let your heart be at rest."
Mary's lids unclose, and two round drops, released from theirclasp, glide slowly over her face.
"Thank you, father--thank you. Mother will be so glad."
The eyes closed again; and the father moved uneasily. His heart istouched. There is a struggle within him. It is on his lips to saythat he will never drink at the "Sickle and Sheaf" again; butresolution just lacks the force of utterance.
"Father!"
"Well, dear?"
"I don't, think I'll be well enough to go out in two or threedays. You know the doctor said that I would have to keep verystill, for I had a great deal of fever."
"Yes, poor child."
"Now, won't you promise me one thing?"
"What is it, dear?"
"Not to go out in the evening until I get well."
Joe Morgan hesitated.
"Just promise me that, father. It won't be long; I shall be upagain in a little while."
How well the father knows what is in the heart of his child. Herfears are all for him. Who is to go up after her poor father, andlead him home when the darkness of inebriety is on his spirit, andexternal perception so dulled that not skill enough remains toshun the harm that lies in his path?
"Do promise just that, father, dear."
He cannot resist the pleading voice and look. "I promise it, Mary;so shut your eyes now and go to sleep. I'm afraid this fever willincrease."
"Oh! I'm so glad--so glad!"
Mary does not clasp her hands, nor show strong external signs ofpleasure; but how full of a pure, unselfish joy is that low-murmured ejaculation, spoken in the depths of her spirit, as wellas syllabled by her tongue!
Mrs. Morgan has been no unconcerned witness of all this; butknowing the child's influence over her father, she has notventured a word. More was to be gained, she was sure, by silenceon her part; and so she kept silent. Now she comes nearer to them,and says, as she lets a hand rest on the shoulder of her husband:
"You feel better for that promise already; I know you do."
He looks up to her, and smiles faintly. He does feel better, butis hardly willing to acknowledge it.
Soon after Mary is sleeping. It does not escape the observation ofMrs. Morgan that her husband grows restless; for he gets upsuddenly, every now and then, and walks quickly across the room,as if in search of something. Then sits down, listlessly--sighs--stretches himself, and says, "Oh dear!" What shall she do for him?How is the want of his accustomed evening stimulus to be met? Shethinks, and questions, and grieves inwardly. Poor Joe Morgan! Hiswife understands his case, and pities him from her heart. But whatcan she do? Go out and get him something to drink? "Oh, no! no!no! never!" She answered the thought audibly almost, in theexcitement of her feelings. An hour has passed--Joe's restlessnesshas increased instead of diminishing. What is to be done? Now Mrs.Morgan has left the room. She has resolved upon something, for thecase must be met. Ah! here she comes, after an absence of fiveminutes, bearing in her hand a cup of strong coffee.
"It was kind and thoughtful in you, Fanny," says Morgan, as with agratified look he takes the cup. But his hand trembles, and hespills a portion of the contents as ho tries to raise it to hislips. How dreadfully his nerves are shattered! Unnaturalstimulants have been applied so long, that all true vitality seemslost. And now the hand of his wife is holding the cup to his lips,and he drinks eagerly.
"This is dreadful--dreadful! Where will it end? What is to bedone?"
Fanny suppresses a sob, as she thus gives vent to her troubledfeelings. Twice, already, has her husband been seized with thedrunkard's madness; and, in the nervous prostration consequentupon even a brief withdrawal of his usual strong stimulants, shesees the fearful precursor of another attack of this dreadful anddangerous malady. In the hope of supplying the needed tone she hasgiven him strong coffee; and this for the time, produces theeffect desired. The restlessness is allayed, and a quiet state ofbody and mind succeeds. It needs but a suggestion to induce him toretire for the night. After being a few minutes in bed, sleepsteals over him, and his heavy breathing tells that he is in theworld of dreams.
And now there comes a tap at the door.
"Come in," is answered.
The latch is lifted, the door swings open, and a woman enters.
"Mrs. Slade! "The name is uttered in a tone of surprise.
"Fanny, how are you this evening?" Kindly, yet half sadly, thewords are said.
"Tolerable, I thank you."
The hands of the two women are clasped, and for a few moments theygaze into each other's face. What a world of tender commiserationis in that of Mrs. Slade!
"How is little Mary to-night?"
"Not so well, I'm afraid. She has a good deal of fever."
"Indeed! Oh, I'm sorry! Poor child! what a dreadful thing it was!Oh! Fanny! you don't know how it has troubled me. I've beenintending to come around all day to see how she was, but couldn'tget off until now."
"It came near killing her," said Mrs. Morgan.
"It's in God's mercy she escaped. The thought of it curdles thevery blood in my veins. Poor child! is this her on the settee?"
"Yes."
Mrs. Slade takes a chair, and sitting by the sleeping child, gazeslong upon her pale sweet face. Now the lips of Mary part--wordsare murmured--what is she saying?
"No, no, mother; I can't go to bed yet. Father isn't home. Andit's so dark. There's no one to lead him over the bridge. I'm notafraid. Don't--don't cry so, mother--I'm not afraid! Nothing willhurt me."
The child's face flushes. She moans, and throws her arms aboutuneasily. Hark again.
"I wish Mr. Slade wouldn't look so cross at me. He never did whenI went to the mill. He doesn't take me on his knee now, and strokemy hair. Oh, dear! I wish father wouldn't go there any more.Don't, don't, Mr. Slade. Oh! oh!"--the ejaculation prolonged intoa frightened cry, "My head! my head!"
A few choking sobs are followed by low moans; and then the childbreathes easily again. But the flush does not leave her cheek; andwhen Mrs. Slade, from whose eyes the tears come forth drop bydrop, and roll down her face, touches it lightly, she finds it hotwith fever.
"Has the doctor seen her to-day, Fanny?"
"No, ma'am."
"He should see her at once. I will go for him"; and Mrs. Sladestarts up and goes quickly from the room. In a little while shereturns with Doctor Green, who sits down and looks at the childfor some moments with a sober, thoughtful face. Then he lays hisfingers on her pulse and times its beat by his watch--shakes hishead, and looks graver still.
"How long has she had fever?" he asks.
"All day."
"You should have sent for me earlier."
"Oh, doctor! She is not dangerous, I hope?" Mrs. Morgan looksfrightened.
"She's a sick child, madam."
"You've promised, father."--The dreamer is speaking again.--"I'mnot well enough yet. Oh, don't go, father; don't! There! He'sgone! Well, well! I'll try and walk there--I can sit down and restby the way. Oh, dear! How tired I am! Father! Father!"
The child starts up and looks about her wildly.
"Oh, mother, is it you?" And she sinks back upon her pillow,looking now inquiringly from face to face.
"Father--where is father?" she asks.
"Asleep, dear."
"Oh! Is he? I'm glad."
Her eyes close wearily.
"Do you feel any pain, Mary?" inquired the doctor.
"Yes, sir--in my head. It aches and beats so."
The cry of "Father" had reached the ears of Morgan, who issleeping in the next room, and roused him into consciousness. Heknows the doctor's voice. Why is he here at this late hour? "Doyou feel any pain, Mary?" The question he hears distinctly, andthe faintly uttered reply also. He is sober enough to have all hisfears instantly excited. There is nothing in the world that heloves as he loves that child. And so he gets up and dresseshimself as quickly as possible; the stimulus of anxiety givingtension to his relaxed nerves.
"Oh, father!" The quick ears of Mary detect his entrance first,and a pleasant smile welcomes him.
"Is she very sick, doctor?" he asks, in a voice full of anxiety.
"She's a sick child, sir; you should have sent for me earlier."The doctor speaks rather sternly, and with a purpose to rebuke.
The reply stirs Morgan, and he seems to cower half timidly underthe words, as if they were blows. Mary has already grasped herfather's hand, and holds on to it tightly.
After examining the case a little more closely, the doctorprepares some medicine, and, promising to call early in themorning, goes away. Mrs. Slade follows soon after; but, in partingwith Mrs. Morgan, leaves something in her hand, which, to thesurprise of the latter, proves to be a ten-dollar bill. The tearsstart to her eyes; and she conceals the money in her bosom--murmuring a fervent "God bless her!"
A simple act of restitution is this on the part of Mrs. Slade,prompted as well by humanity as a sense of justice. With one handher husband has taken the bread from the family of his old friend,and thus with the other she restores it.
And now Morgan and his wife are alone with their sick child.Higher the fever rises, and partial delirium seizes upon her over-excited brain. She talks for a time almost incessantly. All hertrouble is about her father; and she is constantly referring tohis promise not to go out in the evening until she gets well. Howtenderly and touchingly she appeals to him; now looking up intohis face in partial recognition; and now calling anxiously afterhim, as if he had left her and was going away.
"You'll not forget your promise, will you, father?" she says,speaking so calmly, that he thinks her mind has ceased to wander.
"No, dear; I will not forget it," he answers, smoothing her hairgently with his hand.
"You'll not go out in the evening again, until I get well?"
"No, dear."
"Father!"
"What, love?"
"Stoop down closer; I don't want mother to hear; it will make herfeel so bad."
The father bends his ear close to the lips of Mary. How he startsand shudders! What has she said?--only these brief words:
"I shall not get well, father; I'm going to die."
The groans, impossible to repress, that issued through the lips ofJoe Morgan, startled the ears of his wife, and she came quickly tothe bedside.
"What is it? What is the matter, Joe?" she inquired, with a lookof anxiety.
"Hush, father. Don't tell her. I only said it to you." And Maryput a finger on her lips, and looked mysterious. "There, mother--you go away; you've got trouble enough, any how. Don't tell her,father."
But the words, which came to him like a prophecy, awoke such pangsof fear and remorse in the heart of Joe Morgan, that it wasimpossible for him to repress the signs of pain. For some momentshe gazed at his wife--then stooping forward, suddenly, he buriedhis face in the bed-clothes, and sobbed bitterly.
A suggestion of the truth now flashed through the mind of Mrs.Morgan, sending a thrill of pain along every nerve. Ere she hadtime to recover herself, the low, sweet voice of Mary broke uponthe hushed air of the room, and she sung:
"Jesus can make a dying bed Feel soft as downy pillows are, While on His breast I lean my head, And breathe my life out, sweetly, there."
It was impossible for Mrs. Morgan longer to repress her feelings.As the softly breathed strain died away, her sobs broke forth, andfor a time she wept violently.
"There," said the child,--"I didn't mean to tell you. I only toldfather, because--because he promised not to go to the tavern anymore until I got well; and I'm not going to get well. So, you see,mother, he'll never go again--never--never--never. Oh, dear! howmy head pains. Mr. Slade threw it so hard. But it didn't strikefather; and I'm so glad. How it would have hurt him--poor father!But he'll never go there any more; and that will be so good, won'tit, mother?"
A light broke over her face; but seeing that her mother stillwept, she said:
"Don't cry. Maybe I'll be better."
And then her eyes closed heavily, and she slept again.
"Joe," said Mrs. Morgan, after she had in a measure recoveredherself--she spoke firmly--"Joe, did you hear what she said?"
Morgan only answered with a groan.
"Her mind wanders; and yet she may have spoken only the truth."
He groaned again.
"If she should die, Joe--"
"Don't; oh, don't talk so, Fanny. She's not going to die. It'sonly because she's a little light-headed."
"Why is she light-headed, Joe?"
"It's the fever--only the fever, Fanny."
"It was the blow, and the wound on her head, that caused thefever. How do we know the extent of injury on the brain? DoctorGreen looked very serious. I'm afraid, husband, that the worst isbefore us. I've borne and suffered a great deal--only God knowshow much--I pray that I may have strength to bear this trial also.Dear child! She is better fitted for heaven than for earth, and itmay be that God is about to take her to Himself. She's been agreat comfort to me--and to you, Joe, more like a guardian angelthan a child."
Mrs. Morgan had tried to speak very firmly; but as sentencefollowed sentence, her voice lost more and more of its even tone.With the closing words all self-control vanished; and she weptbitterly. What could her feeble, erring husband do, but weep withher?
"Joe,"--Mrs. Morgan aroused herself as quickly as possible, forshe had that to say which she feared she might not have the heartto utter--"Joe, if Mary dies, you cannot forget the cause of herdeath."
"Oh, Fanny! Fanny!"
"Nor the hand that struck the cruel blow." "Forget it? Never! Andif I forgive Simon Slade--"
"Nor the place where the blow was dealt," said Mrs. Morgan,interrupting him.
"Poor--poor child!" moaned the conscience-stricken man.
"Nor your promise, Joe--nor your promise given to our dyingchild."
"Father! Father! Dear father!" Mary's eyes suddenly unclosed, asshe called her father eagerly.
"Here I am, love. What is it?" And Joe Morgan pressed up to thebedside.
"Oh! it's you, father! I dreamed that you had gone out, and--and--but you won't will you, dear father?"
"No, love--no."
"Never any more until I get well?"
"I must go out to work, you know, Mary."
"At night, father. That's what I mean. You won't, will you?"
"No, dear, no."
A soft smile trembled over the child's face; her eyelids droopedwearily, and she fell off into slumber again. She seemed not sorestless as before--did not moan, nor throw herself about in hersleep.
"She's better, I think," said Morgan, as he bent over her, andlistened to her softer breathing.
"It seems so," replied his wife. "And now, Joe, you must go to bedagain. I will lie down here with Mary, and be ready to do anything for her that she may want."
"I don't feel sleepy. I'm sure I couldn't close my eyes. So let mesit up with Mary. You are tired and worn out."
Mrs. Morgan looked earnestly into her husband's face. His eyeswere unusually bright, and she noticed a slight nervousrestlessness about his lips. She laid one of her hands on his, andperceived a slight tremor.
"You must go to bed," she spoke firmly. "I shall not let you situp with Mary. So go at once." And she drew him almost by forceinto the next room.
"It's no use, Fanny. There's not a wink of sleep in my eyes. Ishall lie awake anyhow. So do you get a little rest." Even as hespoke there were nervous twitchings of his arms and shoulders; andas he entered the chamber, impelled by his wife, he stoppedsuddenly and said:
"What is that?"
"Where?" asked Mrs. Morgan.
"Oh, it's nothing--I see. Only one of my old boots. I thought it agreat black cat."
Oh! what a shudder of despair seized upon the heart of thewretched wife. Too well she knew the fearful signs of thatterrible madness from which, twice before, he had suffered. Shecould have looked on calmly and seen him die--but, "Not this--notthis! Oh, Father in heaven!" she murmured, with such a heart-sinking that it seemed as if life itself would go out.
"Get into bed, Joe; get into bed as quickly as possible."
Morgan was now passive in the hands of his wife, and obeyed heralmost like a child. He had turned down the bed-clothes, and wasabout getting in, when he started back, with a look of disgust andalarm.
"There's nothing there, Joe. What's the matter with you?"
"I'm sure I don't know, Fanny," and his teeth rattled together, ashe spoke. "I thought there was a great toad under the clothes."
"How foolish you are!"--yet tears were blinding her eyes as shesaid this. "It's only fancy. Get into bed and shut your eyes. I'llmake you another cup of strong coffee. Perhaps that will do yougood. You're only a little nervous. Mary's sickness has disturbedyou."
Joe looked cautiously under the bedclothes, as he lifted them upstill farther, and peered beneath.
"You know there's nothing in your bed, see!"
And Mrs. Morgan threw with a single jerk all the clothes upon thefloor.
"There now! look for yourself. Now shut your eyes," she continuedas she spread the sheet and quilt over him after his head was onthe pillow. "Shut them tight and keep them so until I boil thewater and make a cup of coffee You know as well as I do that it'snothing but fancy."
Morgan closed his eyes firmly, and drew the clothes over his head.
"I'll be back in a few minutes" said his wife going hurriedly tothe door. Ere leaving, however she partly turned her head andglanced back. There sat her husband upright and staring fearfully.
"Don't Fanny! don't go away!" he cried in a frightened voice.
Joe! Joe! why will you be so foolish? It's nothing butimagination. Now do lie down and shut your eyes. Keep them shut.There now.
And she laid a hand over his eyes and pressed it down tightly.
"I wish Doctor Green was here" said the wretched man. "He couldgive me something"
"Shall I go for him?"
"Go Fanny! Run over right quickly"
"But you won't keep in bed"
"Yes I will. There, now" And he drew the clothes over his face"There I'll lie just so until you come back. Now run Fanny, anddon't stay a minute"
Scarcely stopping to think Mrs. Morgan went hurriedly from theroom and drawing an old shawl over her head started with swiftfeet for the residence of Doctor Green which was not very faraway. The kind doctor understood at a word the sad condition ofher husband and promised to attend him immediately. Back she flewat even a wilder speed her heart throbbing with vagueapprehension. Oh! what a fearful cry was that which smote her earsas she came within a few paces of home. She knew the voice,changed as it was by terror, and a shudder almost palsied herheart. At a single bound she cleared the intervening space and inthe next moment was in the room where she had left her husband.But he was not there! With suspended breath, and feet thatscarcely obeyed her will, she passed into the chamber where littleMary lay. Not here!
"Joe! husband!" she called in a faint voice.
"Here he is, mother." And now she saw that Joe had crept into thebed behind the sick child and that her arm was drawn tightlyaround his neck.
"You won't let them hurt me, will you dear?" said the poolfrightened victim of a terrible mania.
"Nothing will hurt you father," answered Mary, in a voice thatshowed her mind to be clear, and fully conscious of her parent'strue condition.
She had seen him thus before. Ah! what an experience for a child!
"You're an angel--my good angel, Mary," he murmured, in a voiceyet trembling with fear "Pray for me, my child. Oh ask your fatherin heaven to save me from these dreadful creatures. There now!" hecried, rising up suddenly and looking toward the door. "Keep out!Go away! You can't come in here. This is Mary's room, and she's anangel. Ah, ha! I knew you wouldn't dare come in here--
"A single saint can put to flight Ten thousand blustering sons of night"
He added in a half wandering way yet with an assured voice, as helaid himself back upon his pillow and drew the clothes over hishead.
"Poor father!" sighed the child as she gathered both arms abouthis neck! "I will be your good angel. Nothing shall hurt youhere."
I knew I would be safe where you were," he whispered--"I knew it,and so I came. Kiss me, love.
How pure and fervent was the kiss laid instantly upon his lips!There was a power in it to remand the evil influences that weresurrounding and pressing in upon him like a flood. All was quietnow, and Mrs. Morgan neither by word nor movement disturbed thesolemn stillness that reigned in the apartment. In a few minutesthe deepened breathing of her husband gave a blessed intimationthat he was sinking into sleep. Oh, sleep! sleep! How tearfully,in times past, had she prayed that he might sleep; and yet nosleep came for hours and days--even though powerful opiates weregiven--until exhausted nature yielded, and then sleep had a long,long struggle with death. Now the sphere of his loving, innocentchild seemed to have overcome, at least for the time, the evilinfluences that were getting possession even of his externalsenses. Yes, yes, he was sleeping! Oh, what a fervent "Thank God!"went up from the heart of his stricken wife.
Soon the quick ears of Mrs. Morgan detected the doctor'sapproaching footsteps, and she met him at the door with a fingeron her lips. A whispered word or two explained the better aspectof affairs, and the doctor said, encouragingly:
"That's good, if he will only sleep on."
"Do you think he will, doctor?" was asked anxiously.
"He may. But we cannot hope too strongly. It would be somethingvery unusual."
Both passed noiselessly into the chamber. Morgan still slept, andby his deep breathing it was plain that he slept soundly. AndMary, too, was sleeping, her face now laid against her father's,and her arms still about his neck. The sight touched even thedoctor's heart and moistened his eyes. For nearly half an hour heremained; and then, as Morgan continued to sleep, he left medicineto be given immediately, and went home, promising to call early inthe morning.
It is now past midnight, and we leave the lonely, sad-heartedwatcher with her sick ones.
I was sitting, with a newspaper in my hand--not reading, butmusing--at the "Sickle and Sheaf," late in the evening marked bythe incidents just detailed.
"Where's your mother?" I heard Simon Slade inquire. He had justentered an adjoining room.
"She's gone out somewhere," was answered by his daughter Flora.
"Where?"
"I don't know."
"How long has she been away?"
"More than an hour."
"And you don't know where she went to?"
"No, sir."
Nothing more was said, but I heard the landlord's heavy feetmoving backward and forward across the room for some minutes.
"Why, Ann! where have you been?" The door of the next room hadopened and shut.
"Where I wish you had been with me," was answered in a very firmvoice.
"Where?"
"To Joe Morgan's."
"Humph!" Only this ejaculation met my ears. But something was saidin a low voice, to which Mrs. Slade replied with some warmth:
"If you don't have his child's blood clinging for life to yourgarments, you may be thankful."
"What do you mean?" he asked, quickly.
"All that my words indicate. Little Mary is very ill!"
"Well, what of it?"
"Much. The doctor thinks her in great danger. The cut on her headhas thrown her into a violent fever, and she is delirious. Oh,Simon! if you had heard what I heard to-night."
"What?" was asked in a growling tone.
"She is out of her mind, as I said, and talks a great deal. Shetalked about you."
"Of me! Well, what had she to say?"
"She said--so pitifully--'I wish Mr. Slade wouldn't look so crossat me. He never did when I went to the mill. He doesn't take me onhis knee now, and stroke my hair. Oh, dear!' Poor child! She wasalways so good."
"Did she say that?" Slade seemed touched.
"Yes, and a great deal more. Once she screamed out, 'Oh, don't!don't, Mr. Slade! don't! My head! my head!' It made my very heartache. I can never forget her pale, frightened face, nor her cry offear. Simon--if she should die!"
There was a long silence.
"If we were only back to the mill." It was Mrs. Slade's voice.
"There, now! I don't want to hear that again," quickly spoke outthe landlord. "I made a slave of myself long enough."
"You had at least a clear conscience," his wife answered.
"Do hush, will you?" Slade was now angry. "One would think, by theway you talk sometimes, that I had broken every command of theDecalogue."
"You will break hearts as well as commandments, if you keep on fora few years as you have begun--and ruin souls as well asfortunes."
Mrs. Slade spoke calmly, but with marked severity of tone. Herhusband answered with an oath, and then left the room, banging thedoor after him. In the hush that followed I retired to my chamber,and lay for an hour awake, pondering on all I had just heard. Whata revelation was in that brief passage of words between thelandlord and his excited companion!