Ten Nights in a Bar RoomArthur, T. S. (Timothy Shay)
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Ten Nights in a Bar Room
Arthur, T. S. (Timothy Shay)
Christian fiction; Temperance -- Fiction
The pale face of the mother grew paler--she gasped--caught for breath
two or three times--a low shudder ran through her frame--and then she
lay white and pulseless in the arms of her husband. As the doctor
applied restoratives, I had opportunity to note more particularly the
appearance of Mrs. Morgan. Her person was very slender, and her face so
attenuated that it might almost be called shadowy. Her hair, which was
a rich chestnut brown, with a slight golden lustre, had fallen from her
comb, and now lay all over her neck and bosom in beautiful luxuriance.
Back from her full temples it had been smoothed away by the hand of
Morgan, that all the while moved over her brow and temples with a
caressing motion that I saw was unconscious, and which revealed the
tenderness of feeling with which, debased as he was, he regarded the
wife of his youth, and the long suffering companion of his later and
evil days. Her dress was plain and coarse, but clean and well fitting;
and about her whole person was an air of neatness and taste. She could
not now be called beautiful; yet in her marred features--marred by
suffering and grief--were many lineaments of beauty; and much that told
of a true, pure woman's heart beating in her bosom. Life came slowly
back to the stilled heart, and it was nearly half an hour before the
circle of motion was fully restored.
Then, the twain, with their child, tenderly borne in the arms of her
father, went sadly homeward, leaving more than one heart heavier for
their visit.
I saw more of the landlord's wife on this occasion than before. She had
acted with a promptness and humanity that impressed me very favorably.
It was plain, from her exclamations on learning that her husband's hand
inflicted the blow that came so near destroying the child's life, that
her faith for good in the tavern-keeping experiment had never been
strong. I had already inferred as much. Her face, the few times I had
seen her, wore a troubled look; and I could never forget its
expression, nor her anxious, warning voice, when she discovered Frank
sipping the dregs from a glass in the bar-room.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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