WRONGLY CONVICTED

Samoa Times and South Sea Gazette, Issue 41, 13 July 1878, Page 4

WRONGLY CONVICTED

» (San Francisco Chronicle.) When I was young I had a friend whom I loved better than anything but Luoy Green, lie was named Samuel Swain, and we had been schoolmates, and were now together in the great importing house of Green Brothers. He was a dashing, splendid, handsome fellow—l quite n Quaker, and no beauty. But we were seldom apart. I introduced him first to Luoy Green, and I thought that he understood that my highest hope in life was to make her my wifo some day. Perhaps be did" not. My father and Mr. Greet* had been dear friends, and the old gentleman liked me. There was nothing to prevent me from making my way in the world and offering Lucy a home and a portion worthy of her, and I thought Bhe liked me and knew of my love for her. I was glad that she liked* Sam, and never a bit jealous when she spoke of his good look* to mo. I love to seo them talk together, and here him say how sweet she was. I fancied he meant to tell me that he was pleased with my choice. The happiest part of one's life is always that which makes the poorest story. The days passsed on very quietly; we were oiten together—Lucy, Sam, Lucy's cousin Lily'and I. We took walks and went to see plays together. We sang all the new songs in that pretty music-room in the Greens, house; we talked over wonderful plans and built magnificent castles in the air. We were always to be together—all four of us. I believed • that Lily would marry Sam. What the others believed I do not know. It seemed to me that they thought a3 I did. All this went on for a long while. Sara made the first break in it. A cousin of his came from Ireland—a fellow who spent money fast BD d had a way with him that made me shun his society. He thought more of himself than was quite bearable; or, rather, he expressed his egotism more plainly than most people do, and so offended those who had

sense enough to vail theiis more ' closely. Sam was constantly his companion, and so we fell apart; not that I oared less for him, but that I felt that he did not care so- much for me. Soon also I found that Luoy and Lily were in a measure parted from me. I often found them absent from home driving or walking, or at some place of amusement with Sam and his cousin. There was some talk at our place about Sam. Prudont old clerks shook their heads, -and said that he drank too much. Others asked me whother it were truo that Miss Lucy Green had engaged herself to him. I used to reply that I was not Miss Green's confessor: hut the question wounded me as the stab of a knife might. I now believed that she had given Sam her love ; and, though I did not wonder at it, for I knew how superior Sam was in appearance and manner to myself, I had fancied onoe that-Lacy liked me beat. At last I resolved to ask him. the question, and if it were true that he had won her heart, to do my best to forget her, or at least to endeavour to hide my affections from her forever. I never shall forget the moment. I had met him on his way towards her hnise. He was dressed for some evening entertainment, and had a bouquet in his hand that I Buppposedheinlendedto present to her. As I talked to him he looked down upon it, with hisblack lashes sweeping his cheek, and the dimples coming'andjjoing at the corners of his mouth. At last Isaid," Sam,! they say you are going to marry Lucy. Is it true 1" I He looked at me then in a startled sort of way. * | " Mat," he cried, « you—you wouldn't mmd muph if it were so V " It is so, then ?" I asked. "I hope so, said he. She hasn't said Nn''

110. " Bless you both !"' I said, and I meant that from my soul. " You are the best fellow that ever lived," paid Sam. . But I was not. I could not be heartily ' glad that my dearest friend had won the sweetest girl in the world away from ma. I could only promise myself that I would never let either of them know how I suffered. I shook hands with Sam, and j went away. I thought then that I must die soon, but I had not learned how much a man ! can live through. The months passed on -drearily enough, but I was no more likely to die than 1 had been. I worked hard, and was spoken of as " a steady youn» man who would do well" by the 013 clerks of the firm. Of Sam they began to speak doubtfully. He spent too much money, and bad been led into wild ways by bis Irish cousin: they I thought that I should feel no worse for that o»ws, but I did. Tho whole room, desks sad packages and clerks and all began te swim before mo I hoard a noise like die roaring of tho sea, and I knew that JJI did not get away I should have them telling how Mat Mayhew fainted when he beard that Lucy Green bad jiUsd-'binV Kg* to my foot and j walked out of the room pretty steadily. I I went straight up w the loft where; packages were stored, and these Mt| down on one, and know no Ihbro about it. That was at 5 o'clock. An hour after I came to myself and found that I was •Jon*' in the building. Every one had gone for tho night and tho doors were locked, and I might bavo made what noise I choose without being heard out- >

side. It was net pleasant, but, after all, no harm was done. I could make myself comfortable for the night in Mr. Green's office, where, beside the gnat safe and pretentious desk, allpigeo:,-holes and drawers, stood a great arm-c'.i.ur and ! I a very cosy sofa. Thither I went, and on the sofa I' I threw myself downand soon sleptsouudly. ( 1 1 dreamt of Lucy, as I had done every night for a long time. I dreamt that she i came to me in tears and kissed me. The > touch of her lips in my dream seemed to j! awaken me. I startled, to a sitting pos- | ture and listened. . I There was a sound below—a little I' grating sound, stealthy, yet sharp. In a ; moment more I heard a door open and [ shut, and step on the stairs The truth . flashed upon me ; burglars had entered the building. I had no weapons with I me, I did not know how many were ap- .. proaching, and I had never boasted of .' any peculiar strength or prowess. I cer- | tainly would not have admitted myself to be a coward, but I had no thirst for i unequal combat. I determined to conceal mvself until 1 had discovered with whom I had to deal, and drew back into i the shadow of a projecting window looki! ing intently at the door. At this door, in a moment more a figure entered—tall, broad-shouldered, erect, gentlemanly. So much the moonlight told me, as it fell through thu window panes. The next instant the fas was lit, and I saw it was Samuel wain. .My blood curdled in my veins; my heart stood still. In a state of horrible 1 suspense for which 1 have no words, I : noticed his movements. I saw him go to Mr. Greeen's desk and file the lock away. I saw him take thence the safe keys and 1 open the safe. I saw hin take thence ; certain rolls of notes and count with the i trembling fingers and frightened eye of a thief unused to bis trade and then transfer them to his pocket. Just in the act my hand came down upon his shoulder. " Sam!" I said " Oh, Sam can it be that you are such a man as this !"

He turned and grapped me. When he saw who had come upon him he stood quite still. " How did you come here ?" he asked. " I have been locked in," Isaid. Oh Sam. Sam !" " Coine,"said he, trying to laugh, " what does it matter ? I'm going to marry Lucy nest week. The money will be hers. I'm in difficulties, Wat. I owe £looo—debts of honor and other things. Be a good fellow and say nothing. Help yourself to the governor's money, I give yon leave. I've only taken enough for the debt" " Don't insult me," I said I'll not bear that!" " What are you going to do ?" ho asked, hoarsely. "If you expose me, I'll use my pistol. I have one here. Your life will not he safe if you call for help, and I'm more than your match in strength, as you perfectly well know." " You may kill me, Sam," I said, " but you wiil only bring detection on yourself. You deserve that richly ; but you have been my friend for many years' I've loved you as a brother; and Lucy is to he your wife. Restore that money to the safe and I will say nothing of ail this." " By heavens, I can't," ho said. " I must have the money—l must. I'm desperate Mat" " I shall not let you rob Mr. Green," I said " My life is not sucha precious thing. Give me that money ?" " I shall not do anything of the kind," ihe replied. I have committed myself I thus far, and it is too iate now to draw back." " Indeed it is not,"" said I, earnestly. " I I swear by all that is sacred, not a word of this night's wbrk shall ever pass my lips." , " But I mutt have the money. I shall be forever ruined in reputation if I do not

j pay my debts of honor." j " You had better be ruined in the estimaI tion of your fast companions than in your j own conscience, Sam.' j He replied not for a few minutes, and I thought I had gained the victory. " I must have this money," he presently said," let the consequences be what they may." I " Youshallnotleavethisplacewith those notes." I as determinedly replied. " We shall see," he said fiercely ; and a gleam of passion, shot from his i eyes. '! I returned his gaze, but it was i simply of firm decision to do my I' duty ' > | " Come, Sam ; call the better man i into your heart, now, and return the i money." He had turned his face towards the '' door as I spoke ; and as I ceased he sud- | denly took tho roll of notes from his i breast, crammed them into my hand, and 'fled. ' 11 Surprised at this sudden surrender, I i' stood clutching the money in my fingers, ■' and stating aftur him. when .-mother figure I durkenedtt* door, and a policeman stLd ' I before me. ftjou oan guess th» reel, I was • arrostod for burglary. j i -Tliero waslrVpry"pro<#»ffaiii.t, ;im Mv j assertion that I Jwd found a burglar at! iie, j safe, and taken tho money from him, wan I regarded as an absurd falsobood, I would ' cot betray Samuel, for the sako of our old I friendship; and, for the sake of his betrothed, 1 kept the secret. I alnviHt' hoped that he would not let mu miffcr ] for his crime,, but he remained silent' throughout tho trial. I heard of hit wedding, ami of his departure on a bridal ' tour, and I hoped Lucy would never |

know anything of his crime, *nd that Sam would repent. After that I went, as the law ordained, to live- for years an outcast from the society of hones' men—seeing onhr felons and their jailers—knowing myself scorned by the people I most respected—knowing 1 that never while I lived could Ibe reI stored to my former place in the world or in the hearts of those who had been my friends.

So it has proved. Yet, if I had made Lucy happy I should have felt that all was well. When I was free onee more a great longing urged me to see Samuel again. I thought that he, at least knew of my iunocenco and of the sacrifice I had made for him. He was a rich man now living in a handsome country seat some miles from town Thither I went one evening and found him in his study. He knew me, but be did not give me his hand. Ho offered me money ; I did not take it. I could not to save myself from starving. And he told me that it

waa beat that a man who had been where I had been should not come to hia house again.

" I shall not trouble you," I said. " But you know —you of all men—why 1 have borne such ignominy for so many years."

" I know nothing," he said. " You've no right to say that 1 know anything. I deny it. Good-night." So the door closed upon me. I went away through the long green garden. At its gate a woman was standing; she turned toward me. In the moonlight I saw a wan, worn face; but I knew it was what Lucy's had faded to. She called me by name (Mat Mayhew) and put her hand upon my arm. There we stood, face to face. " You've come hack," she said. " Not to trouble you," I answered.

Her hand closed on mine. " Mat." she said, " a woman cannot be a man's wife without learning him by heart. There's a mystery between you two. He fears you. Will you tell me why ?" " No," I Baid, " no, Lucy Green." She clutched me tighter. " It's just as well," she said. " I know you were innocent. I know it; I did not then. I've come at the. truth some how. As far as Igo you are avenged. 1 jilted you for a handsome man, I've found out that his heart is the heart of Satan. Oh, what a life I've led, Mat ! How cruelly I've been insulted by word and deed ! My heart went back to it's old love long ago, Mat! I can tell you that, now that our youth is over, although you may despise me for

I may have been wrong, but I couldn't help it; I took her hands, so hot and trembiing.in mine, and kissed Sam Swain's wife upon her lips; and I said no matter what, a few wild words, best not repeated, and went away again, never to see her any more. I had not hated Sam for hk conduct tome ; I had clung to my love through-all. But when I learned that he had ill-used her and made her life miserable, I cursed him. I'm trying to feel that I forgive him now—trying hard.

The man who is curious to see how the world could get along without him can find out by sticking a cambric needle into a mill-pond, and then withdrawing it and looking at the hole. There is nothing that will tend to make a man forget to ask a blessing at the breakfast table quicker than to ait on a plate of soft boiled eggs that the cook left on tho chair when she tide her shoes.

When a young man encircles his part- ' ner's waist for a dance he will do wisely to keep his figers still. Nothing aggravates a young lady more than to imagine you are trying to count the whalebones in her .dress.

" Dey ain't no nigger on de top Bide er kreation," said a coloured man at Tenill.e the other day, putting his hand to his bandaged head, " what can sing a hymn an' put the gear on a kickin' mule at de same time."

A Miss Joy was present at a party recently, and in the course of evening some one used the quotation: " A thing of beauty- is a joy forever," wheu she exclaimed : " I'm glad , I'm not a beauty, for I should not like to be * joy forever."

A Harvard student was called to account for having publickly styled the Professor of Hebrew " a first-class said mule." He admitted having made the remark, but laid he intended it as a compliment. " Explain yourself," said the Professor. Why, a first class mule is necessarily a good ' Hc-brayist." As year after years rolls into the great sea of the past, and man draws nearer and nearer the great port of death, he becomes more sadly convinced that red Manuel wrappers will shrink in spite of the best efforts of the washerwoman. This is why it is so difficult to distinguish ,a last year's wrapper from a coral necklace.

'••'> have always pittxi the little girl at Ihe opera, ttho as eh* lay back in the injurious oh air of the Ik>x, utterly weary ait aleopr, and bored at an hour when sho slmuM have been mug in bed, was anked why she came. " Ob, I ranst, you know," yawned tho little lady, languid ten years beforo hor time, "we have season tickcta" The trouble with a great many oldor peoplo i* that they nave " soiuiOti ticket* " for the good things of this life, and so do not naif enjoy them, .