As years went by our sorrows were softened. We had become accustomed to Arthur's manner of life. At times he seemed changing for the better, and again he would go back to his old habits.
It was in early summer time, when everything on our little farm was at its best. The solitary womanly habits that had come so early upon me were still very strong with me. I was not yet old, only twenty-two; and on this lovely summer night I was planning our quiet future, when a carriage stopped before the door, and Arthur came in, leading, or rather carrying, a delicate young girl.
'Mother," said he, "this is my wife! Grace, this is my mother and sister."
"Your wife!" we repeated.
"Oh! yes," he replied. "We have been married nearly a year, and I hoped to better my circumstances before I should make the fact known to you." We saw that the poor child, for such she seemed, was sadly in want of woman's kindly care. So pale, so sorrow-stricken, so young, yet so bowed down and disappointed! I knew nothing of her story, but she was my brother's wife, and I gave her a sister's love. That night I watched by her bed; and, as the pale moonlight fell upon her rippling hair, I wondered what art, what witchery or power my brother had used to bring this delicate creature to be a sharer of his misery and shame. She waked with a sudden start, and called in a wild, frightened way for help. She was really ill, now, and before morning the doctor laid a feeble baby in my mother's arms.
My new-found sister and her wailing infant had all our tenderest care. We were glad that she had come to us that we might, in the love we gave her, make up in some degree for the sorry life the poor unfortunate child had taken upon herself. She staid with us; our home was hers. Arthur returned to New York.
Her history was soon told. She was an orphan, entirely dependent upon the bounty of an aunt who had daughters of her own to be settled in life. She met Arthur. The fascination of his manners and the interest he took in her friendless condition won her heart. The misfortune of his life was well known to her, but she trusted to her love, feeling sure that a life's devotion must redeem him. A dangerous experiment, this; too often tried, and too often found a hopeless failure. For her sake, he did try to be firm and strong, and manfully combated his besetting sin; but an hour of weakness came; old associates returned, and old habits with them. In a moment of hilarity and pleasure all his firmness gave way; his delicate young wife was forgotten, and she awakened all too soon to the knowledge that her husband's love for liquor was greater than his love for her. The dear, sweet girl and her pretty infant had lived with us nearly a year, when, one cold, drizzly night like this, Arthur came home. He had grown so reckless of late, that we were not surprised when he came reeling into our presence. He began by demanding a small amount of money which Grace had been husbanding with care. She made no reply to any of his angry threats, nor did she give him the money. Dead to all sense of manhood, he rose to strike her. Her infant was sleeping on her breast. She leaped to flee from him, but before we could save her, he struck her. She fell heavily; the sleeping babe was thrown against the iron fender. It uttered one feeble cry, and closed its eyes for ever.
The mother rose, and with a desperate effort snatched her dead child from my arms, pressed it to her breast, rocked it to and fro, and tried to give it nourishment. My mother and I spent that terrible night with a dead infant, a frenzied mother, and a father lost in hopeless despair. Every rustle in the trees, every sound in the air, brought the horror of death upon us, for each murmur seemed fraught with vengeance. Was my brother a murderer? His own tender infant had fallen dead at his feet. The act must pass without a name, for in our woe we had none to give it.