CHAPTER XIX.
A PLAINT OF PAIN.
Cherokee was sad; what wife is not who has a
drunken husband? Drearily broke the winter days,
and drearily fell the winter nights. One by one,
she often watched the neighboring lights go out,
and human sounds grow still. When the phantom-peopled
dark closed around her companionless
hours, then would come the frightful waiting—in
the watches of the night.
Waiting in that awful hush that stifles the breath of hope; then, day after day of longing; can you imagine it? Forever busy at the one unending task of dragging through the weary hours, from the early, painful waking of dawn, alone with sorrow, to the tardy, feverish, midnight sleep—alone with sorrow still.
Like a good woman she sought to hide her husband's faults, and keep the watch alone; but Marrion was like one of the family; he was there at any and all hours, and she could not keep the truth from him; he was sorry for her, and had such a sweet, gentle way of ministering. To the anguish
