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If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Hilda’s Home - A Story of Woman’s Emancipation - -Author: Rosa Graul - -Release Date: March 13, 2022 [eBook #67621] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from - images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HILDA’S HOME *** - - - - - - HILDA’S HOME - A Story of Woman’s Emancipation - - - BY - ROSA GRAUL - - ❦ - - CHICAGO, U. S. A. - M. HARMAN & CO., 1394 WEST CONGRESS STREET - 1899 - - PUBLISHER’S PREFACE. - - -In the order of nature the ideal precedes the actual. In back-woods -phrase, “The wind-work must precede the ground-work.” “The ascent of -life is the ascent of ideals.” Ascent means action, change, involving -effort, struggle, aspiration. Aspiration implies or pre-supposes -DISCONTENT. - -The author of the story, “Hilda’s Home,” preaches the gospel of -discontent—dissatisfaction with the old, desire for the new. With Ella -Wheeler she says, - - Be not content; contentment means inaction— - The growing soul aches on its upward quest. - Satiety is kin to satisfaction— - All great achievements spring from life’s unrest. - - The tiny root, deep in the dark mould hiding, - Would never bless the earth with leaf and flower, - Were not an inborn restlessness abiding - In seed and germ to stir them with its power. - -The author of “Hilda’s Home” preaches the gospel of Freedom—equal -freedom, the gospel of Liberty coupled with responsibility. With Spencer -she would say, “Every one has the right to do as he pleases so long as -he does not invade the equal right of others.” With Macaulay, Rosa Graul -would say “The cure for the evils of Liberty is more liberty.” Hence she -has no fears that under Freedom the Home and the Family would cease to -exist, or that woman will be less loving and lovable, or that man will -be less manly and honorable. On the contrary she maintains that only in -the soil and atmosphere of freedom is it possible for true womanhood and -manhood to live and flourish. - -While devoting considerable space to the subject of industrial -reconstruction, the central aim of “Hilda’s Home” is the emancipation of -womanhood and motherhood from the domination of man in the sex relation. -“Self-ownership of woman” may be called the all-pervading thought of the -book now offered to the impartial and truth-loving reader. With Havelock -Ellis in his “Psychology of Sex,” Rosa Graul would say: - -“I regard sex as the central problem of life. And now that the problem -of religion has practically been settled, and that the problem of labor -has at least been placed on a practical foundation, the question of -sex—with the social questions that rest on it—stands before the coming -generation as the chief problem for solution. Sex lies at the root of -life, and we can never learn to reverence life until we know how to -understand sex—So, at least, it seems to me.” - -A word of warning: Let no reader expect perfection in the following -pages, either in ideal or in its manner of presentation. The editor and -publisher offer this work to the reading public not for its literary -merits, not for the excellence of its plan nor for the originality of -its conception. The writer of “Hilda’s Home” is a poor, hard-working, -unlettered woman; one whose advantages in the way of preparation for -literary work have been almost nil. The great, the distinguishing merit -of Rosa Graul, as an author, is the simplicity, the naturalness with -which she tells of the varied experiences that educate and prepare the -various characters of her story for living in a co-operative home. For -the life history of these children of her brain she is indebted, so she -informs us, to the cold hard facts of her own experience and personal -observation. “Experience teaches a dear school but fools will learn in -no other,” saith the proverb. The trouble with us all is that we are so -slow to learn, even in the bitter school of experience. In no department -of life is this comment so universally applicable as in the sexual or -conjugal relations of women and men. Hence the necessity of plainness of -speech and honesty of thought, on this subject, no matter how -iconoclastic or revolutionary the thought may be. - -Prominent among the criticisms made upon the economic ideal herein -presented is the absence of all reference to the “Labor Exchange,” and -the apparent acquiescence by the co-operators in the old monopolistic -financial system. In answer to this objection it may be said that our -story was written some years ago, and before the publication of books on -Labor Exchange and other modern economic reforms, and though an appendix -was prepared to supply this lack, the addition would have increased the -size of the book beyond its prescribed limits. - -By others it is objected that an ideal home could and should be built -without the aid of the millionaire’s ill-gotten dollars. To this it may -be replied that the earth with all it holds, including the accumulations -called “capital,” belong to the living present, and not to the dead -past, and that if the legal heirs of past accumulations, the Owen -Hunters of today, can be induced to build model homes for the use of -those who may be ready to utilize them, there would seem to be no -rational objection to such attempts at rectification of past wrongs. - -To close this brief preface, which must serve also as introduction and -appendix, let it be remembered that “Hilda’s Home” is offered not as a -final solution of all the problems of human life, but rather as a -suggester of thought upon some of the most important and most perplexing -of these problems. In all great reforms the public conscience must first -be aroused to see the necessity of such change. If this unpretentious -volume can be made the vehicle or means of helping to educate and -stimulate the public conscience to the point of putting into practice -the reforms advocated therein, the chief object of the author, as well -as of editor and publisher, will have been realized. - - - - - HILDA’S HOME. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - - -“And I may hope? You will not give me a decided no for answer?” - -The time was a lovely June evening. The moon was at its full, wrapping -everything in a silvery haze, while the air was laden with the sweet -perfume of roses and of new-mown hay. The scene was the lawn of a -beautiful suburban home on the outskirts of the city of Harrisburg. -Under the swaying branches of the silver maples that lined the carriage -drive leading to the house could be seen a maiden and youth walking -slowly back and forth, his fair head bent slightly forward, anxiously -awaiting the answer from the trembling lips. The flash of the dark eye -and the heightened color of her usually pale face gave evidence of a -tempest within. Then slowly the dark eyes were raised to the blue ones -above them, and slowly came the answer, - -“I do not know!” - -“You do not know?” He repeated the words as slowly, surprise struggling -in the tone of his voice as he spoke. - -“Imelda, surely you know if you love me, if you are able to grant my -heart’s desire?” Saying which, he caught her hand in his and drew her -out of the shadows into the bright light of the full moon. - -“Look at me, Imelda, and tell me what you mean! Can it be that I have -been deceived in you? I believed you loved me. I thought I had often -read the proof of a tender emotion in your eyes; and now you tell me you -do not know.” - -Deep feeling quivered in every cadence of his voice. He was terribly -excited, terribly in earnest; so much was easy to see. - -The smile that for a moment played about her lips was a sad one. Softly -and clearly the words fell from them. - -“You have not misunderstood me. I do love you, O, so much, but—” The -sentence remained unfinished. With a low, happy cry he gathered her in -his arms. His silken mustache swept her cheek, his lips closed firmly -over hers. For a moment all else was forgotten; their souls blended in -that kiss—a draught fraught with divinest love. It was bliss, ecstacy, -such as only those are able to enjoy who are possessed of a pure mind. -For a few moments the girl gave herself up to the enjoyment of blissful -consciousness. Then with a determined effort she freed herself from his -embrace, laid her soft hand upon his shoulder and, standing with her -head slightly thrown back, said: “But—I do not know if I can marry you.” - -Surprise showed plainly in his every feature. “You love me, and do not -know if you can marry me! Imelda, you are an enigma. I cannot understand -you. What can you possibly mean?” - -A sigh escaped the parted lips. “I mean, my Norman,”—laying a hand on -either of his cheeks—“I mean that I would fain keep my lover! I am -afraid of a husband. Husbands are not lovers.” - -The surprised look upon his face intensified until it became perfectly -blank. “Husbands are not lovers? Child, who put such notions into your -head? As husband and wife, when we are such, then will be the time of -the perfect blending of our love—you mine and I thine. Imelda, now that -I know the sweet boon of your love is mine, I want to realize it in its -fullness. You must grant me the consummation of it.” - -Again she was folded in his arms, pillowed upon his breast, while his -cheek rested against hers. She felt the increase of his passion in the -kisses he pressed upon her lips. His breath mingled with hers. She felt -and heard the mighty throbs of his heart, while his love for her seemed -almost to overpower him. She felt her blood in a feverish glow as it -pulsed through her veins; it was heaven, but—a shudder suddenly shook -her frame, she whispered, hurriedly, intensely: “No! No! No! I can not, -can not marry you. I am afraid!” - -With a mighty effort conquering the tumult of his emotions, but still -holding her closely pressed, he could only articulate, “But why? Why -should you be afraid when I love you, oh, so dearly? I want you for my -own, my precious one—my very own, where never the breath of another man -can touch you; where you will be mine forever more.” - -“And when the time comes that this feverish love-fire of yours shall -have burned itself out, when you begin to tire of me,—always me—what -then will I do with my intense love nature? a nature to which love is -life and without which I cannot live. What then, Norman, will become of -me?” She lay back in his arms and again holding his face between her -hands she asked the question with a fierce intensity that left her voice -a mere husky whisper,—“Norman, Norman, what then will become of me?” - -Norman Carlton was more than surprised; he was fast becoming puzzled. -There was every evidence that the girl he was holding in his arms bore -him a deep-rooted love, but that she should, at the outset,—at the very -moment of the meeting and blending of these two intense natures, that at -such a time there should arise in her heart a fear of the future,—fear -that a time might come when his love for her might not be the same, did -not at all accord with the knowledge he, until now, possessed of the -feminine nature. - -Woman, as he had found her, was only too willing to believe all the love -rhapsodies of man. If he but offered her marriage he was always held by -the gentler sex to be the soul of honor. And really, thought he, what -greater honor could man confer upon woman than marriage? To make her his -wife, to give her his name! Yet here was a woman who with the intensity -of a perfectly healthy and normal endowment, bore him a love which only -such an one could give, and yet—and yet withheld the trust that he, -until now, had found inseparable from the love of woman. - -She seemed to be possessed of a doubt that his love would be a lasting -one, in the face of the fact of his having just made her an offer of -marriage,—using the argument, against all his passionate wooing, that -love would not last. He had heard, but had read little, of the doctrines -that were at this time being agitated in society, of marriage being a -failure; that there was no true happiness in domestic life, etc., etc. -Could it be possible that this girl, who had wound herself with the most -tender coils about his heart, had imbibed such heresies? He hoped not! -The love he bore her was a pure love, and a pure love only he must have -in return, and could a love that he had heard termed “free love,”—such -as he understood the term, be a pure one? She loved, and yet refused -marriage. She clung to the lover and repelled the idea of a husband. -What could it mean! It was beyond Norman Carlton’s conception of pure -womanhood. - -He was indeed the soul of honor. He held all womankind in high esteem. -He revered his mother, and held his sister as one to look up to. His -highest conception of happiness was the mutual love of the sexes, the -consummation of which meant marriage. His idea of home, and of home life -was something exalted, while his ideal of a wife was a thing to be held -apart from all the world. She should be his to care for, to make smooth -the rough paths of her life, to protect and guard her. She should be the -mother of his children. He felt, he knew his love would be as lasting as -the hills. Why then should she fear? With conflicting emotions he gently -clasped her hands while he sought to read what was hidden within the -depths of those brown wells of light. - -Gently, softly, he spoke: “Why should my girl doubt the strength, the -durability, of my love? Does not intuition tell her it will be safe to -trust me?” - -“Aye, I do trust you, Norman. I would willingly place my hand in yours -and follow you to the end of the world. With your love to lean on I -would wander with you to some isolated spot where there was no one else -to see the whole year round, and be happy, O, so happy, and yet——” - -“And yet what?” - -“How do you know that this love will last? How is it possible to speak -for the future? How can you, or I, or anyone, control the fates that -have or may have, other affinities in store for us? How can we know—O, -Norman, how can we know? Believe me, I do not doubt your love. I know -its precious boon is mine, but the future is dark, and I fear to trust -myself to its unknown mysteries.” And sobbing she sank upon his breast. - -Here was indeed an enigma. Would he be able to solve it? Willing to -enjoy the present but fearing to trust the future. This queer girl was -conjuring up dread, though often heard-of facts, but in his case utter -impossibilities. Trembling for the love that at present so surely was -hers, lest by some dread possibility in the future she might lose it, -yet dreading, fearing to enter that indissoluble marriage tie thereby -securing unto herself for life the object of her love. Long the lovers -wandered up and down the shady walk. That their love was mutual, that -there was a natural affinity between their souls, that both possessed -that in their make-up which was necessary for the completion of the -other, was apparent, yet while he longed and plead for that closer tie -called marriage, in order to perfect their relations, she shrank from it -as from some dread abyss. - -“Let us be happy just as we are,” she pleaded. “We can walk and talk, -kiss and sing, and be unutterably happy when we are together. Please, -please do not let us speak of marriage. I almost hate the mere mention -of it. I have seen so much of the misery it contains. Of all the married -people I have known, after the first few months or perhaps the first -year, generally after the first babe has come, they have drifted -apart,—they do not miss one another when separated, and I know of but -very few cases indeed where happiness reigned queen in their homes. I -have known many happy lovers who found, after entering into the -matrimonial state, that they had made a sad, a very sad mistake. They -did not realize what they had expected. I do not want to think that such -would be our case, but I cannot conquer the fear of it. Let me be happy -in the knowledge that your perfect love is mine in the present hour. I -have no fear of losing you. I feel, I know, that I am as necessary to -you as you are to me.” - -And with that he had to be content, for the time being at least. She was -his by all the bonds of affinity that nature had established between -them. He felt that she was pure and good, although he knew next to -nothing of her past life. The handsome home that lay just in front of -them, whose beautiful grounds, bathed in the silvery sheen of moonlight, -was but a temporary home, for this queenly girl. Her position in it was -only that of a menial. Its pretty sparkling mistress had brought her -home with her from a visit to that western metropolis, Chicago, “A -friend of my school days,” she had said. “An orphan in straitened -circumstances.” So she had entered its stately portals as a companion to -its mistress, a nursing governess to two pretty little girls of four and -six years. - -As Alice Westcot was a favorite in society, and as her husband, Lawrence -Westcot, was a man of prominence, this obscure western beauty, although -appearing in a somewhat lowly position, was, with a certain hesitancy, -but withal rather graciously, received. To be sure, society was careful -not to make too much of her—that is, the lady portion of it. O, woman! -how cruel you can be to your sister woman. Dainty lips curled while fair -delicate hands drew more closely dainty skirts when this unknown queenly -girl drew nigh. It is only fair to say that she was not treated thus by -all women—society women. Now and then true worth was found under the -butterfly exterior. Women could say nothing against her, even if they -would say nothing for her. Men doffed their hats, while their admiring -eyes followed the fair form. But there was something in her bearing and -manner that commanded their respect. As yet no man had dared to address -her in anything but a respectful tone. - -But little cared Imelda for the haughtiness of the one or the admiration -of the other. Pretty, lively Mrs. Westcot treated her more like a sister -and friend than a menial, and often in the seclusion of her chamber, -where she could lay aside the mask of conventionality, the bright little -woman had made a confidant of Imelda. Then all the life, all the smiles -and animation, would disappear. The blue eyes would fill with tears, and -the trembling lips confess such tales of woe as would blanch the roses -on the health-glowing cheeks of the horrified girl, while the lips of -the listener would answer: “Again! Again has marriage proven a failure! -Is it ever, oh! is it ever, anything else?” Her lips would quiver, the -dark eyes would fill with unshed tears as a fair face, a sunny smile, -and eyes which seemed pure wells of truth, arose before her mental -vision. Then she would question, “Are all men alike? Is it ever and -always the fate of woman to be the slave of men?” - -Norman Carlton was a friend and visitor of the Westcots, and as Imelda -ever moved freely about the house, it was not long until they met. Both -frank and pure in heart and mind, both worshipers at nature’s shrine, it -was not strange they should be attracted. Indeed, it would have been -strange had it not so been. They loved. But Imelda’s past had been -freighted with so many dark experiences and observations of married -misery, of married woes, that she felt no desire to bring her sweet love -dream to a sudden end—to deal it a death blow by placing upon it the -seal of marriage. - -“If you knew, you would understand,” she said in answer to his wondering -gaze. - -“And may I not know?” - -“Some time, Norman, some time, but not yet awhile, not yet. Tonight let -me be happy, boundlessly happy.” - -So they walked up and down under the silver maples until the hours -waned. The moon had changed her position, and the brightly lighted -windows were fading into darkness. Thus reminded of the flight of time, -they parted—she to seek her snowy draped chamber and dream of what the -dark future might perchance have in store for her. Sunny, golden dreams -they were, to judge by the happy smile that lingered on the lips where -yet his kisses lay warm, while again a thought of those darker times -that lay hidden in the past, would break in upon the sweet present and -like a somber cloud overcast the heaven’s blue, so would she feel a -gloom cast over her young happiness. Shivering she disrobed and sought -her couch, that she might, in sweet slumber, forget the world and its -woes, and thus continue her waking dreams of him who constituted her -heaven. - -And Norman? With his head bared to the cool air, he watched the graceful -form flit across the lawn and disappear within the house. Then, -murmuring, “You are a mystery, my sweet queen, but, for all that, my -pure love. Whatever it may be that makes you differ from other women I -know that none but pure emotions can stir that fair bosom. Good night, -my winsome love! Good night! Whatever the sad experience may have been -that has seemingly destroyed your faith in man, I mean to win it back. I -mean to prove to you clearly that at least one man is worthy the -unbounded trust of one pure woman.” - -A little while longer he stood, until a light, flashing from one of the -upper windows, told him that Imelda had entered her room, and was -probably preparing to retire. Again his “Good night” was wafted upon the -air in a love-laden whisper, and then his firm tread could be heard -receding in the distance as he wended his way quickly under the -whispering silvery maples. - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - -What of Imelda’s past? What were the dark forbidding shadows that -threatened to overcast her future? - -Nothing unusual; interwoven only with a story such as has darkened many -another young girl’s life. The history of one woman’s life, the threads -of which were woven so closely with hers as to hold her to those past -memories as in a net in whose meshes no loophole had been left. Imelda’s -mother, just such a bright, beautiful and queenly girl as she herself -now was, had wrecked her life upon the rock upon which thousands daily, -hourly are wrecked. Of what this rock consisted we shall see as our -story proceeds. - -Nellie Dunbar was the child of poverty. She was one of eight children, -whose parents probably could not have taken proper care of one. So, -instead of giving Nellie that which every child has the right to demand -of those who take upon themselves the responsibility of ushering -children into existence, viz: a thorough education to develop their -mental capacities; proper care of their young bodies to enable them to -become full rounded women and men; careful, tender nurture of both body -and soul—instead of giving Nellie and her numerous brothers and sisters -all this it was only in their very young days—days when the minds of -children should be free and unburdened of care save childhood’s plays, -that they were able to send them to school at all. While yet of very -tender age, when toys and books should have been their only care, these -were laid away upon the shelf and their young strength pressed into the -much needed work of helping to support the family. - -Oh, ye parents of the millions! Do you ever think of the wrongs daily -and hourly perpetrated upon the children, those mites of humanity whose -advent into the world you yourselves are directly responsible for; upon -whose unborn souls you place a curse that is to work out its woes in the -coming ages—children who with all their unfitness are to become in turn, -the parents of the race? - -Nellie found work in a cloak factory, and, as she sat day by day bending -above her machine she often almost cursed the fate that made her a -working girl; only she had been taught that such thoughts were impious. -That it was a good and all-wise “God” who had mapped out her life, and -that it would be wicked to be anything but thankful. - -But Nellie’s heart was rebellious. Not always could she quell the -longings that would well up therein. So when one day a handsome, -dark-haired, dark-eyed man found this beautiful uncultured bird she fell -an easy victim. It was the old, old story over again, of a trusting -maiden’s love and of man’s selfish appetite. Not that he was a greater -villain than men are wont to be, but men, like the bee, are used to sip -the honey from every fair flower hereon they may happen to alight. He -knew he would be envied the possession of the love, the favor, of this -beautiful creature, by all of his friends, while the possession itself -would be unalloyed bliss to him. - -But a time came when his plaything tired the man of fashion and culture. -He would have dropped it, but he had reckoned without his host. Maddened -by the sneers and innuendoes of her hitherto companions and by the -insults of men, all the latent devil that lies hidden and veiled within -the heart of many a loving woman, was aroused. Having managed to purloin -from her brother’s pocket a shining little toy and hiding it within her -heaving bosom, she sought her betrayer’s side. With burning cheeks she -demanded of him to do her justice. - -He would have tried again to soothe her fiery blood with honeyed words, -but they had lost their power. Her faith in him had been destroyed; -never again could she trust him. He sought to allay her fears with fair -promises; he would marry her, if she would wait a few days; he wished to -arrange his affairs; he would prepare a home for her. - -The young girl’s eyes flashed ominously as she answered: “No! I will not -wait. Now! instantly, do I want my due.” - -Herbert Ellwood began to grow impatient. He was tired of the scene. -Curbing his temper, however, he again made answer: “This evening, then, -I promise to be with you although you are very foolish not to wait a few -days longer, until I should have had prepared a home to take you to.” - -She looked like a lovely fury as she stamped her foot in rising anger. -“Now!” she cried. “Now, within the hour! I cannot, I will not trust you -one moment longer.” - -The hot blood mounted to his white forehead,—Did this pretty fool think -that she could command him?—him who had always been the darling of fair -women?—him who needed but to hold out his hand to find it eagerly -clasped by any of a dozen fair ones? Scorn curled his lip, and the -habitual gentleness from his manner suddenly fled. - -“Enough,” he cried.—“I am tired of this. Go home and wait until I come.” - -With this he turned his back upon her, making it very plain to her that -he considered the obnoxious interview at an end. But the demon in the -girl’s heart was now fully aroused. With a quick step she had reached -his side. Despair and anger gave her strength. By one quick movement she -whirled him round when he found flashing in his eyes the shining barrel -of a revolver. - -“I will avenge my honor on the spot, here and now,—wipe out my shame in -your blood if you delay an instant longer to do me the justice I -demand.” - -She spoke the words in a tragic manner. She had worked herself into a -frenzy, and Herbert felt it was dangerous to longer trifle with her—that -she was capable of executing her threat. So he submitted to the -inevitable. With a sigh he donned his coat and hat and hailing a hack -they were quickly driven to the nearest minister’s whose son and -daughter witnessed the ceremony. - -Through it all Nellie’s cheeks were the color of blood; her eyes gleamed -like living coals. When all was over, her overwrought nerves gave way. -Breaking into a fit of hysterical weeping, she sank at her unwilling -bridegroom’s feet. Frightened and shamed he gathered her in his arms, -carried more than led her from the bewildered minister’s presence into -the waiting hack. - -He was at a loss where to take her. He could not take her to his -bachelor apartments. He feared to take her to her mother in the -condition she was in, knowing only too well that the ignorant woman -would not hesitate to heap abuse upon her daughter’s head when she knew -all. So, after a few moment’s consideration, he named some distant hotel -to the waiting hack driver, where, upon their arrival, he procured rooms -and saw that she was properly cared for. - -It was long ere she became quiet. The unhappy girl walked the room, -backward and forward, while a storm of sobs shook her form. For a time -Ellwood feared insanity would claim her. He was not at heart a bad man, -and such an ending to this day’s work would have been most unwelcome to -him. He had been living merely to enjoy himself, as a certain class of -young men are in the habit of doing, though it be at the expense of some -other member of the human family, probably not stopping to think, not -realizing, what the cost may be to that other. He had fallen desperately -in love with Nellie’s fair face and, had she loved him “more wisely,” as -the saying is, it is likely he himself would have proposed marriage. But -his fever having cooled somewhat he recognized only too well the fact -that they two were not mated; that true happiness could never spring -from such an union. - -But—well, things had taken a different course. Full well he knew that he -had wronged the beautiful but uncultured girl. He was now called upon to -make reparation, and marriage had set its seal with its “until death do -us part,” upon them. - -As remarked before, he was not a villain. Now that the deed was done it -took him but a short time to make up his mind to abide the consequences, -be they what they might. He knew they were unsuited to each other; that -they had very little in common, but he knew that she was beautiful. He -would never need to be ashamed of her appearance. He had had the benefit -of a splendid education. He had a lucrative position, and by casting -overboard many of his old habits and associates he thought they might be -able to get along. Then, too, she was used to work. She knew and -understood the value of money; surely with her experience in life she -would be able to manage—would understand the art of housewifery. - -Alas, he did not know, did not understand how this having been used to -work all her life caused her to hate work. As he had been lavish with -her—spending his money freely when in her society, the idea had taken -deep root in her brain that he was wealthy; whereas he had only that -which his position—bookkeeper, secured him. She had denied and stinted -herself so long that now she meant to enjoy. - -It was not an easy matter for the young man to be true to his resolves -and do what he considered his duty by her. If, in those first hours when -her grief had been at its greatest, he had folded her to his heart with -real affection, instead of forcing himself to every caress—to hide the -deep disappointment in his inmost heart—may be he might yet have -reawakened the love that through deceit had turned to Dead Sea fruit -upon her lips. Or, if she with womanly tenderness had coaxed his ebbing -love into new life, things might have been different. But, as it was, -the hour wherein she had found herself compelled to force him to comply -with her demands and make her his wife, in that hour her love for him -had died—died for all time. - -Had she been a woman cultured and refined she would have scorned him; -that lacking, she was simply indifferent. She no longer cared for that -which once had constituted her heaven, but, on the contrary, was -inclined now to a desire to get even with him, as the saying is. It was -not a great soul that Nellie was the possessor of. A poor but -pretty—nay, a beautiful girl, born under circumstances such as children -of her are usually born under, surrounded and reared in the same manner, -what could you expect? - -And Herbert Ellwood? Ah! he felt more keenly. The sowing of the wild -oats that young men are unhappily supposed to have a right to sow, and -even ought to sow, according to the views of some—had only for a time -threatened to stifle that which was good and true in his nature; and -bitterly in his after-life did he rue the sowing. - -After having made up his mind that there was now but one proper course -for him to pursue, that course he meant to pursue. Days passed on. He -soon found that to harvest his crop of wild oats was not so easy or so -pleasant as the sowing had been. Nellie’s temper was the rock upon which -all his good resolves stranded. He would have taught her many things -that would have had a tendency not only to make her a polished lady but -which would have been of daily, almost hourly use to her, but she -mistakenly argued that as she had been good enough in the past to while -away the time with, pretty enough to cause him to fall in love with her, -she was good and pretty enough now as his wife, just as she was. She did -not understand that it was ever so much more difficult for a wife to -attract and hold a husband, even in those few cases where love rules -supreme in the home of the married couple, than it is for a bright and -sparkling young girl to win a lover. - -But time sped on; the months passed by and then came the hour when the -cause of this most unhappy union was ushered into existence—a little -brown eyed babe. The fair Imelda was born. For a while it seemed as if -the young couple would return to the love of their earlier days. The -advent of the little creature was something wherein they had a common -interest. But as Nellie grew stronger her attention was all taken up by -baby, who proved a charming dimpled darling, cooing and laughing in the -faces of both parents alike. - -But the young mother never was the old self again. The charming girl -soon developed into a fretful discontented woman. The man that found -life such a disappointment gave all his love to his baby daughter and it -was not long until the baby screamed and struggled at his approach. -Perched upon his shoulder, her tiny hands buried in his clustering -curls, she would babble and crow with delight. For the time Herbert -Ellwood would be happy, but even this sight—a sight that would have -melted most young mothers’ hearts with pride and happiness, was only -another bone of contention between them. Squabbles and quarrels were of -daily occurrence. - -Nellie was irritable and dissatisfied. Her health was failing her. -Herbert was tired and disgusted with his unpleasant home, and began to -spend his evenings away from it. In consequence many lonely hours fell -to Nellie’s lot. Often her pillow would be wet with tears. She was -unhappy and knew not the reason. She laid the blame at Herbert’s door; -whereas he, poor fellow, had done all in his power to bring things to a -different issue. He had miserably failed. - -But neither knew the reason why. Both failed to understand that as they -had ceased to attract, as they had scarcely so much as a single thought -in common, they should long ago have parted. They were falling in with -that most abominable practice of modern times and of modern marriage,—to -“make the best of” what contained _absolutely no best_!—as their union -was miserably barren of all good qualities. Each was conscious of a dull -aching void, with no understanding as to how it could be filled. - -Time passed on, and other babies came,—unwelcome, unwished for mites of -humanity that sprang from the germ of a father’s passion, gestated by a -mother with a feeling of repugnance amounting almost to hate. What -mattered it that in the hour of birth each new comer was caught lovingly -to the mother’s breast, when in that moment of mortal agony the -wellspring of her love had been touched. No amount of _later_ love could -undo the mischief done _before its advent_. - -Some of these babes were ill-natured and puny from their birth, born -only to pine away and die, racking again the mother’s heart. Two others, -a boy and a girl, grew to be the torment of the household and the bane -of their mother’s life. And still the babies came, and oh! so close, one -upon the other, until the poor mother thought life was a burden too -great to be borne. - -Such a flood of anger and hate towards the father and husband, would -sweep over her heart as the knowledge of each conception was forced upon -her! At such moments she felt as though she could kill him. - -Reader, can you read between the lines? Can you see the hidden skeleton -in this miserable home? Do you understand how it all could have been -avoided? Herbert Ellwood, as stated before, was not a bad man. Instead, -he possessed many noble qualities. But he was a child of modern society. -He was a husband, possessed of a wife. He had always been what the world -calls true to that wife. He was possessed of health, strength and -passion. Is it necessary to say more? The story is a plain one, and an -old one. The thinking reader will find little difficulty in discerning -that theirs was the curse of modern marriage life. - -[Illustration] - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - -Such had been the early life of Imelda Ellwood. Surely not the best of -environments for the development of a young character, but, singularly -enough, Imelda’s was so sweet and pure a nature that in spite of all the -close contact with impure elements she remained thus pure and sweet. But -early she became disgusted with home life, measuring all to which the -name applied by the standard she had known. Even as a child she was wont -to say: “I will never marry.” Home to her meant the elements of war. Her -brother Frank, just fifteen months younger than herself, and sister Cora -again only sixteen months younger than Frank, were the torments of her -life. Frank’s teasing propensities were so great that he was utterly -reckless as to his methods of indulging them, so he succeeded in making -those around him miserable. If Imelda had a new book, he was sure to -damage it in some way. If she had a new article of clothing, he would -ridicule it until the very sight of it became hateful to her. If she -made an engagement to go somewhere and he became aware of the fact he -would contrive to make it impossible for her to keep it, or at least to -detain her so long that she was robbed of the greater part of the -pleasure she had expected to derive from it. - -Cora was tantalizing, obstinate and contradictory; always opposed to -everything that Imelda wished. Sometimes she felt that she almost hated -them. Added to this her mother cast a heavy burden upon the tender -shoulders of the young girl. Almost always with a babe in her arms, or -expecting one, she let her shafts of ill-temper play upon her eldest -daughter. Often it seemed there was a certain bitterness and -vengefulness directed against Imelda as the author of all her -troubles—it having been her expected coming that caused the consummation -of this most unhappy marriage. Conscious of having in some way incurred -the ill-will of her mother, but unconscious as to the _how_, Imelda -often wept bitter tears at the unjust treatment she received at the -hands of her who should have been the child’s best friend. In this case -it was the father who proved himself such. Early these two found in each -other a comfort and help such as is rarely known between father and -daughter. - -To her he imparted all the knowledge that should have been the mother’s -care, and although the little Imelda saw but little of the inside of a -schoolroom, she grew up a really fine scholar. - -After having instructed her in all the rudimentary branches, he taught -her the classics. He taught her elocution, music,—instrumental and -vocal, book-keeping, shorthand, etc. Next, German and French. - -Herbert Ellwood was a scholar, and he made a scholar of his daughter. -She was eager to learn, and it was a pleasure for him to teach her. Even -this proved a bone of contention in that home,—a home which was as -unlike what a home should be as could well be imagined. Her mother -grumbled over the wasted time, poring over books when there was so much -work to be done. Cora turned up her saucy nose and said, doubtless the -time was coming when she would have to humbly bow to Madame Doctor, or -Lawyer So and So, or Professor of some University; while Frank thought -more likely she was getting ready to catch some “big beau,” and maybe -become “My Lady” to some rich foreigner, some great Lord, or something -of that sort. Imelda had by this time, to a certain extent, become -callous to such taunts, and quietly went her way, performing obnoxious -duties that were waiting to be done, with no one else to do them. - -But as the years went by changes came. First; the greatest and most -lamentable of them all, was the death of her father. - -For years past he had been ailing, and the time came when he was unable -to work. At first he brought his books home in the evening, and with the -assistance of his faithful child strove to complete the task he found -himself unable to cope with alone, and, by working hours after he had -been compelled to lay aside his pen Imelda was able to finish his work -for him. But the time came at last that he was unable to do anything. He -could no longer go to his daily labor. All day long he would sit near -his open window and watch the busy turmoil in the streets below. Then he -become too weak even for that; so he lay upon the bed watching his -beloved child, and wondering what she would do when he was gone. His -wife and other children did not seem to worry him. His thoughts were all -concentrated upon Imelda, and Imelda’s heart almost broke as she watched -the thin white face grow thinner and whiter day by day. Now and then the -thin emaciated frame would be convulsed with a fit of coughing that -would leave him perfectly exhausted. Tenderly she would smooth his -pillows, would hold a cooling drink to his lips, then with a firm hand -she would smooth his brow until under her gentle, soothing influence he -would fall into a light slumber. - -Then Imelda would glide away from his bedside, and, if possible, seek -her own room for awhile, where she could relieve her overcharged heart -of the load that was suffocating her. Tears would flow and ease would -come. Although her mother had in her early childhood taught her to pray, -Imelda never now thought of seeking aid or relief in prayer. She had -long been a skeptic. She had seen the dark side only of life, and she -often wondered if life held any brightness for her? How often had she -asked without receiving an answer: “Why must my young life be so -different from that of other girls?” - -Just at present the fear of losing her beloved father was paramount to -everything else, and while she felt as though an iron hand was clutching -at her throat she watched and saw his life slowly ebbing away, and, at -the close of a calm, balmy autumn day he quietly fell asleep, never -again to awaken, and on the 18th of October, Imelda’s seventeenth -birthday, he was laid away to rest within the tree-shaded cemetery. - -After that, Imelda had more duties to perform, heavier burdens to bear. -Contrary to what might have been expected, her mother refused to be -comforted, and became even more fretful and irritable than before. -Imelda moved about calm, pale and tearless, but with oh! such an aching -weary heart. But never a word passed her pale lips—for who would have -understood that ceaseless pain—and for which she was reproached as being -heartless and unfeeling. - -Although Herbert Ellwood had always been able to command fair wages, -there had been nothing laid aside for a rainy day. His wife never had -been what is known as a good housewife. She believed in taking the -things the gods provide and let the morrow take care of itself. So when -he was no longer able to follow his daily occupation, they were without -means. His long and lingering illness had plunged them heavily into -debt, the burden of which rested solely on Imelda’s slender shoulders. -And—they must live! Both sisters found work behind the counters of a dry -goods emporium. Cora grumbling and daily declaring that it was a shame, -and that she was determined to make a change as soon as a chance -offered. Frank too, was told that it was time he placed his shoulder to -the wheel, as the combined efforts of two girls were hardly sufficient -to support a family of five, for there was another little girl of two -years: “Baby Nellie” she was called. But Frank would put his hands in -his pockets, whistle the latest air he had heard at some low “variety -show,” bestow a kick upon the frolicking kitten, make a grimace at baby -Nellie and walk out as unconcerned as though there were no such thing in -the world as the worry and trouble of procuring food for hungry mouths -and clothes for freezing backs, or paying rent to keep a miserable roof -over their heads. Imelda’s face would perhaps grow a shade paler and the -trembling lips compress more tightly, but farther than that she gave no -sign. From her mother it would generally bring forth a flood of tears. - -Imelda would feel as though a cold hand was clutching at her throat as -she watched her mother. Poor mother! What had life brought to her? It -had been one long succession of trials, sorrow and woes without the -ability to cope with them. Once, and only once, Imelda ventured to -gently wind her arm about her. With an impatient movement the poor woman -had brushed it aside, accompanied with an irritable, “Don’t!” After that -Imelda never ventured to approach her again. Her sensitive spirit had -been deeply wounded, but she also knew that her mother could not by any -possibility understand her. So she tried hard not to bear her any ill -will. She eagerly sought for every excuse she could think of for the -mother whose life she knew had been made up more of thorns than roses. - -So, the weeks and months went by in a weary routine, but bringing with -them new troubles and fresh sorrows. Frank, who had persistently refused -to put his hands to any kind of work, had idled away his time with -companions who were wholly as bad if not worse than himself. Under the -leadership of one more bold than the rest they had for some time been -perpetrating deeds of petty larceny until they were caught in the act. -The most of them were arrested and a term of work house stared them in -the face. Frank, however, with one other succeeded in absconding. This -was the news that was brought home to the despairing mother and -grief-stricken sister. Never again had the poor mother seen or heard -aught of him. They knew that he possessed a passionate love for the -water and they felt sure that he had gone to sea. - -And yet another trouble awaited them. Cora, who was now sixteen years of -age, and who gave promise of beauty in the future, though as yet -undeveloped, had formed the acquaintance of a graceless scamp, fair of -face, with but the possession of a decidedly insipid smile—a brainless -fop with an oily tongue. The willful girl had been meeting him for some -time before Imelda became conscious of the fact. Long and earnestly did -she strive to reason with the refractory sister, pointing out to her the -many defects of this very objectionable lover. - -But Cora had always been obstinate, and the years had brought no change -in this respect. In plain words, she told Imelda to mind her own -business. A short time after she disappeared—leaving a note stating she -had “gone to live with one with whom she could have a little peace,” as -she expressed it. - -For some time the mother and sister were unable to trace her -whereabouts, but one evening, some six weeks later, Imelda had an errand -to another portion of the city. Returning about ten o’clock she hailed a -car and presently found herself seated opposite her runaway sister, and -with her the partner of her flight. To judge from the manner of both -there was little happiness or love or _peace_ between the couple. Even -to an ordinary observer it would have been apparent from the sulky and -extremely careless outward appearance of the two that Cora’s love dream -had been cut very short. - -After the first shock Imelda conquered her fear of risking an -altercation in so public a place and seated herself at Cora’s side. -There was something in the defiant attitude of the girl that caused her -heart to stand still with a nameless dread, but she forced herself to -speak. - -“Cora,” she said, “are you married?” Cora paled, and in her companion’s -eye was a wicked flash. A hesitating “Yes,” fell from the lips of the -wayward sister. Intuitively Imelda felt that she was telling a -falsehood, and her heart sank within her. She understood that the -willful girl was leading a life of deliberate shame. Only a short time -until she would be cast off, and then——? - -Imelda could not bear to contemplate the “then!” With a sound like -rushing waters in her ears, she arose from her seat and staggered toward -the entrance of the car. She must get away from the near presence of the -twain, out into the open air. She felt that she must suffocate in there. -How she reached home she never knew, but _that_ night sleep was a -stranger to her eyes. The next day she went about her work a trifle -paler, her footsteps a trifle slower. While her mother fretted over the -child that could leave her in such a fashion without one thought of the -pain she was inflicting on loving hearts, she never heeded the drooping -gait and the pained expression upon the face of her eldest child. - -The winter had come and gone, and come again and the watchful eye of -Imelda detected that the mother’s step was slower. The tall figure was -slightly bent and an unnameable something about her struck terror to the -daughter’s heart. She drooped and faded day by day, and the much tired -girl knew that darker days were coming. Often on coming home in the -evening she would find her mother lying on the bed, not asleep, but -broken down, without ambition enough to lift the weary head from the -pillow; little Nellie crying bitterly with cold and hunger, or perhaps -the poor baby had sobbed itself to sleep upon the floor while its mother -seemed to have lost all interest in what was going on around her. - -Imelda moaned in despair. She was needed oh, so much at home. The -ailing, wasted form of her mother appealed so strongly to her aching -heart for the care there was no one to bestow. The baby felt like ice as -she pressed the tiny thing to her heaving bosom. But how could they live -if she remained at home? Only what her tender hands were able to earn -did they have to keep the wolf from the door. And if she ceased to work? -What then? - -Imelda knew and felt that darker days were coming, darker than she had -yet known, and her impotence to ward them off almost drove her to -despair. But the time came when she felt that she could no longer remain -away from the bedside of the dying mother, come what would. To make -matters still worse little Nellie had contracted a severe cold, and many -sleepless nights fell to her share walking to and fro, from the bedside -of the sick woman to that of the ailing child. One by one all the little -comforts and luxuries of former days were parted with. Pretty trinkets -her father had given her and which, therefore were of great value to -her, were all sacrificed. - -In the early spring the change came. The baby had been unusually -feverish for several days while the mother was sinking fast. The night -was bitter cold and Imelda knew she must not sleep. Both patients were -nearing their end. Folding her shawl more closely around her shoulders -to be more comfortable, she prepared for her long and dreary vigil. -Never a word did the mother speak, breathing heavily in a dull stupor. -Toward midnight she moved uneasily. Imelda bending over her saw her lips -move. She bent lower and caught the whispered words, “Frank, Cora.” That -was all. - -The wayward ones, who had taken their mother’s life with them, to them -the last breath was given. Nellie and Imelda were with her. It was the -absent wayward ones that had left a void. When the morning dawned, it -was to find the weary woman at rest; the woman whose life had been one -long mistake. The baby moaned. Imelda lifted her to her knee, and as the -sun sent its first rays through the dim window pane the fluttering -breath left the little purple lips, and Imelda was alone—alone with her -dead! - -[Illustration] - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - - -After the body of her mother had been laid away, by the side of that of -her dead husband, with the youngest of eight children clasped in her -arms, Imelda changed her home to a little attic room. When all was over -she returned to the store where she had now been employed three years. - -In the early days of her engagement there she had become acquainted with -a bright cheery little girl, Alice Day by name, with whom she had become -fast friends, although a greater contrast one could scarcely imagine -than existed between the personalities of the two girls. The one, small, -bright, saucy, sparkling; the other, tall, stately, sad. Although Alice -did not have that high order of intelligence that Imelda was the -possessor of, yet she was so purely child-like and frank, that they at -once attracted each other; each supplying to the other that which she -did not possess. Their friendship, however, was of short duration. -Pretty Alice had a lover, a traveling salesman at the time, whose home -was in the east. He was about to establish a business of his own and so -would no longer have opportunities of seeing his little lady-love; a -state of affairs that did not meet the approval of either the young -gentleman in question or that of the fair Alice. So he proposed to take -her with him as his wife. - -Alice was married and Imelda saw no more of her friend. Now and then a -letter came and she knew that the husband was prospering; that Alice -lived in a beautiful home, and that two sweet babies, girl babies, had -come to make music in that stately home. - -About the time that Alice left the store to become a wife another girl -found employment with the same firm; a tall, stately girl whom to -describe would be extremely difficult. Fair as a lily, ruddy as a rose, -with a bearing almost haughty. One moment a laughing, rollicking sprite, -the next if some unlucky individual dared to address her with a freedom -she thought uncalled for her blue eyes would emit such scornful flashes -that you almost felt their scorching heat. The color would rise in her -cheeks until they were stained a dark hue; her lips would be compressed -so firmly that they appeared almost white. - -Sometimes it appeared as though two distinct and separate spirits -inhabited the body of this girl, so utterly would the different moods -change her from one to the other. We might go still farther, and say -there were three spirits. Three in one, for there was still another -phase of her character. In the first, she was the rollicking, teasing, -mirth-provoking sprite, the next, she was soft, melting, a child of -dreams, and in the last a proud, scornful, haughty woman. Talented and -gifted by nature, her character was as yet unformed. Future events would -determine which phase would predominate. - -Such was Margaret Leland when first Imelda knew her. The two girls were -soon strongly attached to each other. Margaret was very sympathetic and -Imelda was in need of sympathy. Misery loves company, it is said. So -when Imelda one evening told her the story of her life, with all its -trials and shadows,—which revelation was made after the death of her -father, Margaret reciprocated by giving a history that was fully as sad -as her own. Interwoven with her life were just as bitter tears, and if -Margaret had not stood above an open grave her life had nevertheless -been overshadowed by such tragic events that it took all the innate -pride of her nature to enable her to hold up her head. Probably to this -very cause was due the fact that she sometimes let this pride carry her -to extremes. - -It was on a fine summer evening not long before wayward Cora had -deserted them that Imelda and Margaret had been walking together and -found a seat in beautiful Lincoln Park. Imelda had just finished -relating her story, omitting nothing of the mistakes that had been so -fatal to the happiness of her parents. “I cannot understand,” she -concluded, “why it was they were so utterly unhappy. It often appeared -to me that my mother almost hated my father, although he was far above -her mentally, possessed of remarkable intelligence, having had the -benefit of an education so thorough that often I have wondered how a -match so unsuited was ever made. I have never known my father to be -really unkind, although often impatient, as my mother could be very -trying. However, I have often sought to excuse her for that; her health -for years had not been of the best and the babies would come oh, so -close! Poor mother! I suppose almost any woman would have broken down -under it.” - -“I should think so,” replied Margaret’s low sweet voice. “Only think! -eight children in how many years?” - -“Fifteen,” answered Imelda, “and you must remember, too, she had three -miscarriages in that time. Yes, it was too much. Do you know,” she -continued musingly, “that the thought often comes to me, that while -lover’s love must be great, it is not great enough, not strong enough to -withstand the storm of married woes. I have never had a lover, but have -often dreamed of lover’s joys. But tell me, where do you see lovers -among married people?” - -“Married lovers are indeed a rare sight,” Margaret answered, “and,” she -continued, startling the ear of the listening Imelda, “love certainly is -a beautiful dream. I know of what I am speaking, for it has come to me, -e’en that; but ‘_marriage is a failure_,’ and, as I think now, I do not -believe I shall ever trust myself to its deceiving, cruel fetters.” - -“Then what will you do?” - -“Remain as I am, free as the birds of the air. No man shall ever say to -me, ‘thou shalt’ or ‘thou shalt not’!” - -Imelda stared at her friend in open-eyed wonder. - -“What then will become of your love?” she asked. - -Margaret’s lips trembled as a sigh escaped them. “Ah, Love, sweet -entrancing Love! Imelda, he is a fickle boy; promising you heavenly -bliss to entice you into his meshes. They sound so fair, these promises, -so bewitching in the rosy hue he weaves about them, until——” - -“Until what?” - -“Until you permit his alluring voice to entice you into those rose-woven -and satin-covered fetters called marriage bonds. Then, in a most -tantalizing manner, after all loopholes of escape have been closed, he -takes his departure with mocking laughter and leaves you only the -blackness of despair. Your weak hands are not powerful enough to hold -him with all the man-made laws of the land. He comes to us all unsought, -in rose-strewn dreams. If you would retain his blissful presence you -must meet him full of trust and confidence. Fetter this laughing, happy -boy and he will slip from between your clinging, clutching fingers. In -spite of yourself he is gone. You are alone, bound to a loathsome -corpse. Never again will the sweet little cajoler walk by your side, in -the old form, to soothe your aching heart with his warm perfumed breath. -And if ever, in very pity for you, he shall make the attempt to draw -near in another form, to warm your frozen heart, you are forced by the -cruel laws of a cruel society with your own trembling hands to murder -him. - -“Marry? No! I may enjoy a lover’s love, may mount with him to realms of -bliss, and when the time comes that we have outgrown each other, the -time when one may be mounting too fast for the other to keep up, as when -one becomes a weight, clogging the footsteps of the other, then at -least, no unnatural fetters will have bound us. We can still follow our -own sweet wills, and should Love again with his winsome wiles approach -me with his golden dreams, I shall then be free to clasp him in my -embrace. I may once again be happy in the sunshine he is sure to bring -with him, and shed around him.” - -Awestruck Imelda listened. Margaret’s cheeks were glowing with -excitement. Her eyes shone with a splendor Imelda had never noted there -before, while the look in them seemed far-away. Where were her thoughts? -What visions floated before her mind? Was it the lover she spoke of, -with whom she was mounting to unknown heights of bliss, or was she -looking into the far-away future where he was the same, and yet not the -same? When Love shall have taken upon himself a different guise than he -at present wears? Who knows? Imelda listened spellbound to this dreaming -girl, almost fearing to break the silence that ensued. - -“Margaret, who taught you that? Where did you learn to hold such views -of love and marriage?” - -Almost instantly the entranced look faded from the face of the beautiful -blonde. That most holy glow gave way to a sickly pallor. The lips -quivered like those of a grieved child, and the eyes filled with tears. - -“Experience,” she faltered. - -“Experience? You?” - -“Yes, Imelda. Listen. I will now tell you the story of _my_ life. Or, -more properly speaking, that of my mother; but which has nevertheless -influenced mine to such an extent that all my life, I suppose, the -results of it must walk by my side, follow me wherever I go. To begin -with, my mother has been what the world calls ‘a divorced woman’.” - -“Divorced!” Imelda exclaimed in a startled manner. - -“Yes, divorced! Married at the tender age of sixteen, she thought all -that was needed to make earth a heaven was the complete union with the -man she loved. A few week’s she lived in a fool’s paradise. She was -young, inexperienced, with character undeveloped, else even in that -short time she must have seen and understood the innate coarseness of -the man who was her husband, whom she had promised to love, honor and -_obey_, and who is my——father! In a very short time it dawned upon her -that they had no tastes whatever in common. A brutal coarseness soon -became manifest that caused her to shrink at his every touch. He soon -came to understand this and it roused the very devil in him. He -delighted in torturing her in every conceivable way. He did not even -stop at blows.” - -“_Blows!_ Oh,—” gasped Imelda. A bitter smile for a moment curled -Margaret’s lips, and then she proceeded: - -“And that man is my father. Oh, why must I say it!” It cost her a great -struggle to proceed. Imelda asked her to refrain, but Margaret insisted -that she must tell her all, saying, “I would have to tell you some time -that we may fully understand each other,” and in a few moments she -continued: - -“The thought of separation never entered her mind in those days. She -worked; a slave could scarcely have been more driven. A slave! Can it be -possible there ever has been a worse slave than my mother was? And then -the babies came. All through the time of gestation she had to work, to -perform the hardest labor, and often my——father would come home -intoxicated and, if it was possible for him to descend a step lower than -was his wont, that was the time. I myself know little or nothing of -those days, but my mother has made me her confidante, and every word she -has told me is engraven on my heart. Oh, how she must have suffered in -those awful, awful times! She was helpless under his brute power, and -the relations that should only be the expression of a pure and holy -love, that should, in my opinion, be fraught with divinest bliss, became -to her the tortures of hell. Many a night sleep was a stranger to her -eyes, and, other nights again, sleep came only after her pillow had been -drenched with tears. Under such circumstances her children were born. Is -it any wonder that the world is filled with criminals and idiots? - -“How it was ever possible for me to be what I am is more than I can -comprehend. I know I am far from perfect. I am terribly self-willed and -can never bear being crossed. My mother was proud and self-willed also, -and though she learned to hate and loathe the man whom according to law -she was in duty bound to love, and though she suffered untold agonies I -think her pride, her self-respect, would never permit her to stoop to -anything that would degrade her, if we except the fact that she was -forced to live in marriage with a man who was in every way a brute. It -is to this pride and self-respect, I think, that I owe it that I am able -to lay claim to a higher and better nature than it could otherwise have -been possible for me to possess. - -“Oh, the disgust that I feel when I hear matters pertaining to sex made -light of. These relations to my mind are something sacred and pure. But -the sensual man who believes that woman was made for his use only—the -man who commits continual outrages upon the woman who is legally bound -to him, upon her who bears the name of wife—such men defile the air with -their very breath. - -“If under such circumstances a woman in her own soul, through her -superior mind, can create and hold a world of her own, making it -possible to ward off many evils that would naturally be the inheritance -of her children, what may she not do under conditions that are -favorable? Thus I think it was that mother stood above my father as the -stars are above the earth. - -“But I have deviated. The years passed, and three times she had become a -mother. Always for a short time after the advent of a little one my -father seemed to show some marks of humanity, treating mother with some -show of kindness, but not for long. It would soon wear away and when the -trying season of gestation was upon her again he would be tenfold worse. -My mother thinks the reason for this was that during those seasons she -was more averse than ever to sex relations, which relations on his part -meant neither more nor less than debauchery of what should have been an -act personifying and realizing holy love. She would shrink from his -touch as from a reptile. Not being able to understand her, as he was not -possessed of a single refined instinct, it had the effect to infuriate -him. - -“Seven years my mother led this life. Her first born, a boy, died when -he was a little more than a year old. Then I was born. After that came -another boy. When Osmond was two years old and I four, my mother one -day, with both of us left my father’s house forever. During the last -year or two matters had been growing worse and still worse, until -finally they had become unendurable. - -“My mother being a well-developed woman and possessing strong attractive -powers would unconsciously draw the passing glances of men wherever she -might chance to be. In spite of all she had been compelled to pass -through, feeling was not yet dead within her. An intelligent and -attractive man always had the power to move her to animation and life. -This, again, my father could not understand, and to his many other -faults was added that of an insane jealousy. It was the last straw that -broke the camel’s back. Having been subjected to his indignities until -she was able to bear them no longer she resolved to submit to no more. -So one wet, cold evening in the early autumn she returned to her -childhood’s home.” - - - - - CHAPTER V. - - -“But if my mother thought she was now freed from her husband’s -persecutions she was soon to be undeceived. He dared not enter her -father’s home but when the shades of evening came she soon found it was -not safe to step outside of the house as she never knew the moment that -he, like some uncanny apparition, would suddenly appear before her, and -soon he succeeded in making her so nervous that she was almost afraid of -her own shadow. - -“Added to this trouble was the necessity of procuring work, for my -grandfather was not blest with any surplus of this world’s goods. It was -with him as with so many thousands of others, weary work from early morn -until late at night, in order to make both ends meet. The feeding of -three new boarders and the procuring of proper clothing for them was a -matter of no small importance. - -“So having treated herself to several weeks of rest my mother most -seriously began to think of suitable employment, and one day began the -weary search for work. Many were the disappointments met with ere that -search was successful. But at length the tiresome tramp was ended. She -had answered an advertisement for chambermaid at a hotel and been -engaged. Little enough did it promise to bring her. It was the best, -however, she was at that time able to do. Having had no educational -advantages no very large field was open to her, and the need at hand was -pressing. - -But her trials, it seems, had only begun. It soon leaked out that my -mother was a woman with that obnoxious appellation a ‘grass widow.’ She -was young yet, only twenty-three, and libertines, both young and old, -thought her their rightful prey. But her proud spirit rose to the -emergency. None ever ventured to accost her a second time with undue -familiarity. It was a severe strain upon her, nevertheless, and she had -not been very strong of late. Soon the effects of this strain became -apparent, and often she feared she must utterly break down. All that -winter she was under a doctor’s treatment, who would insist she must -have rest, absolute rest, or he would not answer for the consequences. - -“But how could she rest? She had her two children besides herself to -clothe, and she could not bear to think of being an added burden to her -father’s family. So she only more firmly compressed her lips and bravely -worked on. - -“No doubt she would have rallied more quickly but for the incessant fear -she was in of meeting my father. He shadowed and dogged her footsteps. -He threatened to steal her children. He circulated the vilest reports -about her and well nigh succeeded in ruining her reputation. When she -appeared upon the streets or in any public place she imagined she could -feel the stare of every man she met. All this had much to do in keeping -her poor in health and spirits. - -“But as time passed her unusually strong nature began to assert itself. -Being freed from the curse of sex slavery her nerves became stronger. -The dark circles under her eyes disappeared. By and by she began to gain -strength in spite of the doctor’s assertion that she could not do so -without positive rest. But the knowledge of having her every footstep -dogged, her every action watched, was a constant horror to her, and she -often wished—if it were not for her children,—that she were at rest in -the grave. - -“But at twenty-three it is not so easy to die. The young pulsing blood -courses with too much strength and warmth in the youthful veins. So she -lived and grew strong, and by and by youth more fully asserted itself. -She again took an interest in life and her cheerful ringing laugh could -now sometimes again be heard, making glad the hearts of her children and -friends. - -“But yet another trial awaited her. My father was getting tired of -single-blessedness. At different times he had sent messengers to my -mother to ascertain when she intended returning to her home and duties. -To all such she made the answer—‘Never!’ So, just two years from the -date she had left him, he entered suit for divorce. - -“I cannot understand how that man’s blood flows in my veins. Of all the -despicable means imaginable none were omitted to gall her sensitive -nature. He dragged her fair name through all the mire and filth known to -the divorce court. She was tortured with numberless disgusting -questions, such as I think no one has the right to ask, even though -holding the highest office in the land. The loathsome secrets of her -chamber of horrors were dragged into the light of day, for the court -must know _why_ a woman _dared_ to desire to leave her husband. - -“The offensive questions that were asked her, and even more offensive -remarks made in an ‘aside’ by the prosecuting attorney, stung her to the -quick. Her white and trembling lips refused to answer but still the -torture went on. They must lash the quivering bleeding heart until she -was on the verge of insanity. - -“Then the daily press took up the refrain. My father, of course, was the -wronged party. The man always is. Nothing of his inhuman treatment -appeared in their columns, but a blazoning of all the lies and slanders -he had in his maliciousness hurled at her defenseless head. Oh, the -sneers and the scoffing! I wonder how she ever lived through it. - -“I understood nothing of all this at the time, but since I have become -old enough to understand, my mother herself has told me all the dark -story, and I never get done wondering how she ever was able to bear it. -Methinks if it had been _me_ there would have been murder in my soul. I -really believe if a man would subject me to such insults and abuses I -could in my righteous anger plunge a knife into his black heart!” - -“Margaret! Margaret!” gasped Imelda, “how can you talk so?” - -Margaret had arisen and stood with clenched teeth and hands. Her lips -compressed and eyes flashing, a picture of towering wrath. Then suddenly -breaking down she burst into a storm of uncontrollable grief and tears. -Imelda rose, and gently placing an arm about the weeping girl sought to -draw her to her side. - -“Come, sit here,” she said, “and compose yourself. Remember all this has -long since past, and——remember also——he was your father!” - -“_My father!_” With ineffable scorn were these words uttered. “To my -everlasting shame and sorrow, be it said, he _was_ my father, but do you -think that that fact would deter me from denouncing him as the monster -he is? And you can say it is all long since past! Oh, Imelda, Imelda, in -this _one_ instance,—my mother’s case,—is in the past, but oh! in how -many thousand cases is it not true today? It is _now_, that those -horrible deeds are being perpetrated. Oh, thou _holy_ ‘_sacred_’ thing -called _marriage_! How many sweet, pure temples of womanhood you are -daily, hourly defiling, by the unrestrained lust hidden under thy -protecting shelter. O, that I could proclaim it over the world; O, that -I could reach the innermost recesses of every pure woman’s and every -trusting maiden’s heart. Beware, oh! beware the serpent’s sting. How -long, oh, how long has the burden, the blame of the _downfall_ of man -been placed upon the slender shoulders of woman, while man stands -smiling by, gloating to see how easily the burden is kept there by that -horrible bug-bear custom. As it has been customary for her to bear it it -is supposed she always must bear it. - -“Man sets up one standard of morals for woman and another for himself. -She, according to his idea of the term ‘pure,’ must keep herself _pure_, -undefiled, untouched. That means, to strangle nature’s desires, nature’s -voice and nature’s longings until some man who has been letting his -passion run riot, desecrating nature’s gifts until what remains is but a -wreck and mockery of true manhood, comes to claim her in her -inexperience. Then, in thousands of cases he drives her to insanity or -to an early grave, with his insatiable lust. - -“Marry! I would not marry for all the wealth that is yet hidden within -the bowels of the earth. I will never, never, permit myself to become a -piece of property, wherewith some one man may do as he wills. I intend -to remain sole owner of my person.” - -Imelda was awed by the storm of passion that shook the stately form of -her friend. Her words seemed metallic shafts of a “white heat,” entering -her sensitive soul. Could it be possible that man under his smooth -outward seeming, could be such a monster? Surely, surely such are only -exceptions, rare exceptions, never the rule. Her pure soul revolted at -the horrible accusations to which Margaret had just given utterance. -And, perhaps, this horror was intensified by hearing such accusations -drop from the lips of a girl whom she had always regarded as the -impersonation of maidenly purity. - -And was not this girl pure? Yes; one look into that face, shining with a -glory almost unearthly, was sufficient assurance of that. But were those -accusations true? Again the conviction forced itself upon Imelda that, -so far as Margaret herself was concerned, those lips were certainly not -expressing a falsehood. But where, where had she learned to speak in -this manner? She spoke of the sweetness of love and the bondage of -marriage in the same breath. How could she speak of the desirability of -the one without the sanction of the other? They must go hand in hand, -and bear the risks attending such association. There was no other way. - -These thoughts passed rapidly through Imelda’s mind; faster far than it -takes to trace them. Believing she might have misunderstood her friend -she could not but give speech to the doubts that were agitating her. - -“Margaret! Margaret!” said Imelda, “calm yourself. Your words and manner -are so strange; I am unable to comprehend them. How can you speak thus -of marriage and yet welcome love? Surely I have not been mistaken in you -when I thought you a pure woman. You could not mean to make holy love -illicit, and desecrate it by removing the holiest of all holy sanctions, -marriage?” - -Margaret’s sweet excited face underwent a change. The color faded -slowly, leaving it purest white. The firmly closed lips trembled; the -fireflash in the eyes died out; slowly the tears gathered in them until -the great pearly drops rolled down over the white cheeks, splashing upon -her tightly clasped hands. A sad look overspread the expressive face as -she said: - -“My Imelda, have I shocked you? When you have been observing married -people, married life and all the consequences attending it, as long and -as closely as I have been, you will see as clearly as I now do that of -all things imperfect under the sun, _marriage_ is the _most_ imperfect.” - -“But what would you do?” again questioned Imelda. - -An added sadness seemed to settle upon Margaret’s face as she answered: - -“Nothing, nothing at present. My mind is in a tumult seeking to break -through the cobwebs and mists that are beclouding it. I often think, -think, think, until my brain reels and then find myself no farther than -at the beginning.” - -“But you were telling me, or giving me to understand that you have a -lover. I cannot understand how you, with the withering contempt in which -you hold man, could ever fall in love.” - -Like a gleam of sunshine a smile flitted over Margaret’s face. “O, -Imelda! I am only human, and a child of nature, and nature demands, you -know, the attraction of the sexes, and Wilbur Wallace is a man _above_ -the average.” - -“You love him?” - -“I love him.” - -“But then——how——” stammered Imelda, not knowing how to shape her -question as to how Margaret’s views of marriage would meet those of the -young lover in question. - -Margaret smiled. She understood what Imelda would ask. - -“_He has not asked me to be his wife._ He does not wish it. He loves me -too well to place me in a bondage, the chains of which might wear my -life away. He would take me as I am, cherish me as something holy, lead -me where I am weak, but teach me to be strong.” - -“And you are going to accept this offer? or——probably have accepted it!” -came in broken accents from Imelda’s stiffening lips. - -But Margaret slowly shook her head. “I do not know, my dear, I do not -know. Here is where the cobwebs and mists keep everything enshrouded in -such utter darkness that I cannot see. O, that they would either clear -away, that I might see, or that I were daring enough to explore the -darkness and daring enough to take the risks I might incur. But here I -stall. Wilbur understands, and patiently waits. I know he is trustworthy -but I have not the courage.” - -“And it is this lover of yours that has been poisoning your soul with -such radical ideas? O, Margaret, beware! you know the old adage men are -deceivers ever, and I would not have my Margaret among the lost.” - -Margaret turned and looked at Imelda as if a sudden thought had struck -her. “I will say no more,” she said; “but I would have you know _him_, -my lover. Will you promise to meet me here next Sunday afternoon at two? -I will then take you where you will meet many radicals, and Wilbur -Wallace among the rest. There will be a lecture, the subject being, -‘Modern Radical Reform.’ A very interesting discussion is expected. Will -you come, Imelda?” - -Imelda’s sweet dark eyes were filled with a troubled look, but the -searching glance with which she scanned the face of her friend could -detect nothing but the utmost purity and truth. - -“I will come,” she said. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - -Just as the city clocks were striking the hour of two Imelda neared the -seat that the two girls had occupied a few evenings previous. Margaret -was already awaiting her and a bright smile lit up her countenance when -she espied her friend. - -“On time, Imelda. I am glad. I feared you might have changed your mind, -as I had not seen you at the store for several days. I thought something -might have happened to prevent your coming, or that possibly I might -have frightened you.” - -“Mother has not been feeling well. That explains my absence. As to -changing my mind, I had given you my promise. Do you not know me -sufficiently well by this time to know that I never willingly break it?” - -“Forgive me, dear,” said Margaret, as she drew her arm through Imelda’s. -“I did not mean to imply you were fickle-minded, as some girls often -are, but you will admit that our conversation of a few evenings ago -would be a stronger test than most girls would prove equal to. But” -(looking at her watch) “we will have to walk rapidly if we would be on -time. I never like to enter after the meeting has been opened; it always -creates more or less of a disturbance.” - -The girls walked briskly to the car, then rode about thirty minutes when -another five minutes walk brought them to their destination. The little -hall was already well filled, and as Margaret led the way up the aisle, -she was greeted with smiles and nods from all sides. It was apparent -that she was well known and it was at once observed that she was -accompanied by a stranger. Many were the admiring glances bestowed upon -the beautiful girl. However, there was not long time for conjecturing -who she might be, as a rap upon the desk soon called the meeting to -order. A tall, dark man of perhaps thirty years had arisen. Imelda -thought she had rarely, if ever, seen such piercing black eyes, which -accompanied by a dark, heavy moustache, gave the speaker a somewhat -fierce appearance, as in a clear, strong voice he began: - -“Friends! Comrades! I am highly pleased to see so many here upon this -occasion, when we hope to be able to offer you a by no means common -treat. The lecturer is one well known in radical circles,—a woman who by -her undaunted courage and brilliant intellect has won for herself an -honored name. This is a time when many reforms are discussed and -agitated. Many are openly avowing their faith and belief in this or that -reform, while many more not so daring do not openly join themselves with -radical movements. In their inmost hearts, however, they are with us, -while others again as yet are ‘on the fence,’ their hearts torn with -doubt, their understanding still clouded with the mists of superstition -and prejudice. But as they are more or less earnest seekers of truth, -these mists will clear away and they will be enabled to see things in -their true light. Not much more than ten years ago the word ‘socialism’ -evoked from the average man and woman only a smile of contempt. Those -who were pleased to apply that cognomen to themselves were looked upon -as a species of mild lunatic. Anarchy was regarded with a still stronger -aversion (as indeed it yet is). The general impression of this class of -people was that they were lazy, even to filthiness. It was believed by a -great many that the most severe punishment that could be inflicted upon -an anarchist was to condemn him to a bath (laughter.) He was considered -a dangerous individual, as he was supposed to be one who would not -hesitate to knock a fellow workingman down and force him to share his -hard earned wages. It was believed he was ever ready to blow out the -brains of some other individual who happened to be possessed of a little -more than himself of this wicked world’s goods, and was considered at -best a dangerous lunatic. But today? Even our worst enemies are forced -to respect us (applause). We know they fear us. Not in the sense they -once did, but they fear our influence upon the working class, the -so-called bone and sinew of the American nation. - -“There are many other reforms. Each and all have their advocates showing -that the people are awakening out of their deep lethargic sleep and are -beginning to think. Not least among these reforms, is the reform in -matters pertaining to sex. The thinking men and women of today no longer -can close their eyes to the fact that the vices and immoralities of the -masses, as well as those of the so-called better classes, are spreading -in a manner truly appalling. But worst of all, and attended by the worst -possible results, is the sex slavery of the married woman. To discuss -these reforms in their varied phases is what of the head. Her figure was -too slight, her face too pale, her features too irregular to lay any -claims to beauty, but as she opened her lips and began calmly to speak -she at once claimed the full attention of her audience. Having arranged -her discourse in a careful manner, it was utterly impossible to -misunderstand her meaning, and as she gradually warmed to her subject -the tired look faded from the large, intelligent gray eyes, her cheeks -became slightly flushed, the fair brows seemed irradiated with a -luminous glory. - -Soon Imelda seemed spellbound as she listened to the clear bell-like -voice that conjured up picture after picture before the mind’s eye. The -speaker painted the contrast between the very wealthy and the very poor. -On the one hand rolling and rioting in luxury, on the other wallowing in -filth; the sinful idleness of the one, the lavish toil of the other. - -“If you will follow me,” she said, “I will lead you to the homes of -poverty, of toil, of subjection, of vice and of crime, and again to -where the so-called refined elements dwell. Together we will search for -the truth, together lift the veil and seek for the inward cause of the -outward effect. - -“In the abode of poverty we find a pale and emaciated woman bending over -her sewing at a late hour of the night. The wintry winds howl and the -has brought us here today. Before doing so, however, we will listen to -the discourse about to be delivered by the able lecturer, Althea Wood. I -now have the pleasure of introducing to you Miss Wood.” - -Here the slender, black-robed figure of a woman arose and moved to the -side of the speaker, greeting the assemblage with a slight and graceful -inclination window sashes creak! The fire in the stove has burnt out. -Her fingers stiffen as the hours speed on. Upon a pallet in the corner -lies outstretched the figure of a man. From time to time a low moan -escapes the pallid lips. Beside him lie the forms of two children, pale, -wan and emaciated. - -“Why all this? Because in the days of health and strength, when he -received wages that were something more than a mere pittance, confident -that he would always be able to provide for those he loved, this man had -been neglectful of the future. They had lived comfortably and enjoyed -life. - -“But by and by, because of over-production in commodities there had come -long months of enforced idleness. Then, because of privation and mental -anxiety this man had fallen a victim to that dread disease, consumption. - -“And now, although and because, on every street, magazines of clothing -were overflowing, so that there was scarcely room to store any more, -this poor woman must wearily toil by the midnight lamp to increase the -already superabundant supply of clothing. Although and because the -granaries were filled to bursting, she and hers must go hungry. Although -and because the market is overstocked with coal this poor family must -shiver with cold through the long wintry nights. Although and because -the millionaire and his family cannot find means or ways to spend the -millions wrung from the sweat of the weary toilers, is this -heart-rending suffering of the poor. - -“Lightly as we entered we depart from this abode of woe. We try the next -door. This time it is a woman’s form that lies outstretched upon a -miserable pallet. Several small children, scantily clad are playing upon -the bare floor. A young girl stands at the window, looking out at the -fast-falling snow. In her hand she holds on open letter. She is fair to -look upon. Decked with the world’s riches men would rave over her. But -what are the emotions stirring this young heart? Her mother, brothers -and sisters are starving. All her scanty earnings cannot supply the sick -mother the needed medicines and the family with necessary food and -clothing. - -“Just one year ago the husband and father had been brought to this then -cheerful home, crushed almost out of the semblance of humanity, by the -accidental falling of timbers carelessly piled by his fellow workman. -‘The firm should be held responsible,’ had been a frequent comment by -those who knew of the occurrence; but the victim was buried, and soon -the matter was forgotten by all except the bereaved family. - -“Again it was a case of improvidence; of happy content. The husband and -father had lavished his love and his earnings upon his wife and -children. They had lived and enjoyed life, without thought of a ‘rainy -day,’ and now they were destitute. - -“The letter in the girl’s hand shows her a way out. She has but to give -her hand in marriage to their landlord, upon every lineament of whose -face is written ‘hard, hard.’ But he is rich, and if she would barter -her youth and beauty for his hoary head and his money, he would to see -to it that a good doctor should be at once provided for the mother and -also that the wants of the little ones should be cared for. If no—they -owed him six months rent, and on the morrow they would be forced to seek -another roof to cover their heads and bodies from the wintry weather. -And thus the cold, hard alternative was presented to this inexperienced -girl, this rosebud just opening to the sunshine of life, with its dreams -of love and happiness—the cold hard alternative of sacrificing herself -in a loveless marriage or of seeing her sick mother and young sisters -and brothers turned out into the pitiless storm. Stern poverty bade her -smother her dream of conjugal bliss on the altar of duty to mother, -sisters and brothers. - -“Another picture: Again sickness in the abode of poverty. One beautiful -sister bending over the dying form of another,—dying for want of care, -want of medicine, want of food. A high fever is racking the prostrate -form and the despairing sister knows that if the sufferer does not soon -receive the needed relief she will be beyond its need. No work—and if -she had work she could not leave the sick one, as there is no one else -to care for her. Where to get the money to bring relief—aye, to save -life!—is the question staring her in the face, awaiting answer. - -“There is a way by which the money may be procured, and there is a pain -in the look of the well sister that far exceeds that on the features of -the unconscious sufferer. It marks every line of the fair face; it -settles deep about the compressed lips. - -“As the night shadows deepen she grasps a light wrap and throws it over -her head. She bends, kisses the burning lips with her own icy ones and -with a gasping sigh goes forth into the chill dark night. Not far does -she go till she leans against a lamp post, as if for support. The wind -blows her scanty skirts about her but she does not heed. The minutes -pass by until a half hour has sped, when a man comes along, walking with -a rapid step. He is buttoned up to his chin in a great fur-lined -overcoat. As he nears her she holds out one cold, stiffening hand, as if -asking for charity, but no sound passes her lips. He stops and looks at -her. She sees he is young, but the look in his eye makes her flesh -creep. She flings the covering from her head, showing a face of -exquisite beauty. The act has caused all her wealth of glossy raven hair -to fall over her shoulders. - -“Ah! she was an exquisite tempting morsel, but what mattered it for her! -She was but the child of poverty. When she returned to the bedside of -the sick sister, an hour later, there was an unnatural light in the dark -eye, a hectic flush on the otherwise pale face. But the trembling hands -held _gold_; she could now procure the sorely needed help for the -sufferer. - -“And why is all this? Because of man-made laws; because of ‘tyranny of -the dead;’ because of the dictates of society; because of the iron rules -of state and church; because of helpless poverty in chains of submission -to accursed monopoly. - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - - -“Now walk with me a few blocks onward. A different portion of the city -is reached. Here are carriages filled with ladies dressed in velvets and -furs. Their dainty persons adorned with flashing jewels. They throng the -operas, concerts, reception rooms, while faultlessly attired swains hang -upon their every word. Their life is one round of seeming pleasure. -Daily and nightly emotions, aspirations, good and true and pure, are -recklessly trodden under foot. Fair hands are sold while hearts are -crushed. The highest bidder is sure to win the stake. They take the -yellow gold their fair bodies have bought them and with it deck the -casket whose contents are one mass of corruption. The smiling lips hide -the starving aching heart. - -“And whence comes the gold for which this daily barter of souls take -place? Coined from the life blood of the poor. Every cup of the -intoxicating wine of life they lift to their lips is seasoned with the -sweat, the life blood of the toiling masses. Sighs are woven into the -glittering meshes of their silken robes. Crystallized tears are the -pearls the seamstress has sewn into the glittering folds as she plied -her needle in the dead of night. - -“And the fawning swains? The lady whose dower is the most golden is the -favored one. The oily tongues daily, hourly, fabricate the smooth -falsehoods. They swear love eternal, and for the time being make martyrs -of themselves to worship at the golden shrine. What matters it that he -has led a life that would lay low the silver head of a fond mother; a -life that would paralyze a proud and loving sister’s heart; that would -blanch the confiding maiden’s cheek,—could they but know. But they do -not know, and so the sensualist transmits the germ of poison and disease -to the coming generation. - -“Women accept such moral and physical wrecks of humanity, with hollow -skulls added to their other numerous imperfections, and in nine cases -out of ten the women are just as shallow brained as the men they accept. -While the man of fashion is seen at the gambling table, at the -racecourse and in the drinking saloons, flirting with gaudily dressed -girls, the woman of fashion discusses the latest style of party dress, -counting on her finger-tips how many masculine hearts have been laid at -her feet, and, in order to kill time, pores over the latest novel. - -“And from this seed, sown in such reckless fashion, the coming -generations are to grow. What is to furnish genius to those unborn -generations? Whence is to come the soulful man and woman? How is purity -to thrive in an atmosphere of poison and corruption? - -“When we enter the realm of the law and look into the records of crime, -we find the account simply appalling. When we read the number of -divorces granted, and the vaster number applied for and not granted, we -wonder whether there are any left who still honestly advocate wedlock. -Read the pleas upon which those divorces have been granted and they will -show you that so long as loveless marriages are entered into, so long as -men and women are mismated, just so long will the marriage bond mean a -galling bondage; and so long as such marriages are entered into and -children begotten from them; so long as the prospective mother sees in -the coming child only an added burden; so long as this child is -undesigned and undesired; and so long as the gestating mother suffers -for and craves what are impossibilities to her, just so long will there -be crimes and records of crimes; just so long will prisons be filled -with criminals. - -“What is the most numerous of the reasons that form the pleas for -divorce? ‘Illicit love’! In spite of all laws; in spite of the iron hand -of custom, in spite of the trampling underfoot of all the tender -passions known to the human heart, that heart demands and will have its -rights. What matters it if society has cased it in outward fetters that -are supposed to confine it to prescribed limits. When nature demands its -rights this casing becomes too small; the fetters too weak to bind. The -frail, weak human heart expands and swells until its bonds burst and -like a caged bird regaining its freedom, the heart seeks its mate in the -free wild wood to follow nature’s law. The divine law of freedom is -written deep within the human heart. No matter how deeply it is -encrusted under the ice of mercenary motives; no matter how firmly -clutched by social custom, when love comes knocking for admittance all, -everything, must give way before his all-conquering power. Bar and -double bar the doors, but ‘Love still laughs at locksmiths,’ and ‘Love -will find a way where wolves fear to prey.’ - -“O, Love! love! love! How thy holy, thy soul-redeeming power has been -defamed! Unholy passion, that burns and sears with vice the hearts of -men, has oft been mistaken for that holy flame. Love, sacred love will -elevate, will cleanse from all impurities, will awake ambition, will be -an incentive to noble deeds, to a noble life. But passion alone -enervates, disgusts, wears out both body and soul; it drags down its -votaries to groveling depths. - -“But how seldom do mothers teach their children the difference between -the two? The smiling mother gives her innocent daughter to a hoary head -and a seared heart if there is but a golden covering to them. A -‘splendid match’—from a worldly view—is all that is needed. But the -sequel too often shows how splendid the match has been. Only when the -heart is still in death does it no longer throb with pain and sickening -dread at the touch of him who should have thrilled her whole being with -exquisite happiness. How many are able to read aright the story in the -still white face? - -“Go visit the homes of the dead and see there the number of graves that -entomb the forms of youthful wives and mothers. Go enter the abodes of -the insane and count the rows of staring eyes proclaiming a living -death,—all caused by the barter of sex life. Go through the length and -breadth of the land and see the signs of heart-break; the pitiful misery -that is the lot of mankind, and all caused by ‘Man’s inhumanity to man,’ -and especially man’s inhumanity to woman. - -“Go where you will, into lordly mansions of the rich, into the hovels of -the lowly poor, and see the subjection of woman unto man. He rides -roughshod over her most sacred and tender ideals. Every hope in the once -bounding heart has been crushed. Her fate is to please her ‘lord and -master,’—to keep _his_ home for _him_; to entertain _his_ guests; to -bear _his_ children; to rear them for _him_ to dispose of as _he_ may -see fit—thus forcing her to bring into the world a race of slaves, a -race degenerated by having implanted in the heart of the unborn child -all the evil passions that naturally rankle in the breast of woman so -enslaved and outraged. - -“The soul is unthought of in this reproduction, which merely takes place -to satisfy the animal in man. The desire, the inclinations of the -mother, are not considered. To cater to the passions of man, to be the -mother of undesired children is her _natural_ sphere in life. She must -thank God that she has been selected thus to be the instrument to -perpetuate the race. Home, sweet home, has been sung until it echoes and -re-echoes throughout the land, but to millions of women it has been -simply a prison, a hellish prison. - -“The church, ‘the man of God,’ its instrument, stands upon one side. On -the other side stands the state. In case the church is not strong enough -to control woman, the state holds up to her aching eyes the terrors of -the ‘law of the land.’ - -“Oh, the path of woman is a straight and narrow one! Woe unto her if she -dares to depart therefrom. And yet you wonder how it is that criminals -throng the land; that there are so many that will not respect the rights -of others. Did anyone ever respect any rights of the mother that bore -them? Why; she _had_ no rights! Then how could any one respect them? -Bound by man-made law and church superstition from her infancy her fate -is linked fast with that of the working class. She and they must alike -be kept in subjection. - -“O, workingmen, O ye toilers, ye producers! O womankind! mothers of -coming generations, awake, arise, and hand in hand, break the bonds that -enthrall you, that enslave you, body and soul. Refuse to longer be any -man’s slave. Assert your rights. Clamor for your freedom, and rest not -until you have obtained it. - -“It is impossible that in squalor and filth, purity should be gestated. -Assert your freedom, O women! Demand it, clamor for it, fight for it! -Never for one moment cease to struggle for it. Be united in your -efforts, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, and the day is sure to come -when victory shall be yours.” - -“I am afraid,” the speaker went on,—“I am afraid I have been telling you -more of the evils that need reform than of the methods of securing that -reform; and, while I am radical in the extreme, yet I condemn not one -single method or idea that may help to bring about one single reform, be -it ever so small. ‘Rome was not built in a day,’ and the world will not -be reformed in a day, or a week, or a month, or a year. But as the days -and weeks and months and years speed by, each reform will furnish its -aid in bringing about the much desired result. Everyone who is working -for reform, or in other words, working for humanity’s best welfare, no -matter in what line it may be, is doing his or her share of the work, -and will doubtless receive the full credit that is due them. Only this I -would add, while everyone is riding his or her own hobby, I would look -beneath this mass of corruption and unearth the underlying cause. To lay -the ax to the root is what must be done in order to fell the giant, and -to be able to do this we want freedom, _freedom, freedom_! No more laws -to bind our thoughts and shackle our hands. We want to be free, to let -the hearts within our bosoms beat as they will; free to follow the -dictates of our normal desires; free to extricate ourselves from the old -and customary when we recognize it as evil; free to let our souls soar -into the regions above the clouds; free to enter the upper chambers of -the mind; free to tear down the structure of rottenness that enables the -few to drain the life blood of the millions and to coin it into shining -gold wherewith to perpetuate their power. Free to use our own -inheritance, the grand gifts of nature. - -“O thou glorious, O thou great, grand, redeeming ‘Liberty’! Thou shalt -yet wave over this beautiful world the banner of holy brotherly love! -Thou shalt yet secure to us this much needed freedom. Thou shalt yet see -its fruits in the coming generation of a new-born people,—when poverty, -hunger and misery will be unknown! When crime will be a forgotten word; -when the rule of the church, like that of the state, will be a thing no -longer remembered; when prisons will be swept from the face of the -earth; when justice, glory-crowned, at the right shall stand; when -charity no longer has a place, since her vocation shall be ended; when -the awaiting of unborn humanity will be regarded the coming of a joyous -event, and when disease shall have succumbed to the master hand of -science, death no longer a dreaded monster, but a friend that comes only -as a result of nature, to claim those that have lived their glorious -life to the end, and who fain would resign that hold upon it in exchange -for the peaceful rest that follows the well-performed labor of the day. - -“O, friends and comrades! to hasten that day I ask you to join the band -that but yesterday was small indeed, but which today has swelled to such -size as to alarm those that would place their feet upon your necks, and -which will continue to swell more rapidly day by day until the -down-trodden will arise as one man to demand their natural birth right.” - -With glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes the speaker took her seat amid -deafening applause. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - -A long drawn sigh flattered from the trembling lips of Imelda while -Margaret’s face glowed with excitement equaled only by that of the -speaker. When the excitement which followed had abated somewhat, the -presiding officer rose and again his strong, clear, but pleasant, voice -was heard. Almost instantly the profoundest quiet reigned. His handsome -face had caught something of the general excitement and he carelessly -threw back the black locks that clustered about the open brow. - -“Friends and comrades,” said he. “You have listened to the discourse of -a noble woman, on a most important subject. A noble woman, because she -dares to assert her womanhood; dares to assert the _I_. She dares to fly -in the face of custom, in the face of power. She dares to point out -where evils lie hidden. Dares to show you where the curse of poverty -stalks; where its birth place is, side by side with that of vice and -crime. She has pointed out glorious possibilities for those who may dare -in the present to provide a way to secure the rightful inheritance of -the many. And to judge by the applause you have accorded to her you have -rightly understood and justly appreciated her. But notwithstanding this -appreciation we know that not all our friends agree with our lecturer, -and so, in accord with our custom we will now hear what others have to -say. We invite you, one and all, to take part in this debate, and let us -know what your views are. ‘Free discussion’ is our motto at these -meetings.—” - -The chairman resumed his seat and an expectant hush fell upon the -assemblage. One, two minutes passed; then arose a gentleman upon whom -the snows of many winters had fallen, to judge by hair and beard, but -whose general appearance otherwise did not show old age. His -business-like, “Mr. Chairman,” had a pleasant sound, while general -attention was now directed toward him. - -“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “courtesy would at any time demand of -me that I treat ladies with the greatest respect, yet the lady who today -has entertained us, and who has given us the benefit of her intelligence -and knowledge of humanity, has not told us all the causes of the -trouble. I must pay her the compliment to say that she understands how -to handle her subject. I too have observed many instances of despairing -young girls who sacrifice themselves by selling themselves for life, or -for an hour, in order to obtain the means wherewith to make brighter the -declining pathway of some loved one. I have known cases wherein the -betrayed, outraged maiden had given her trusting love in vain, and was -then driven to seek an untimely grave. In the homes of the wealthy it is -a well known fact that love seldom enters. With environments which ought -to bless the unborn generations decay and degeneracy is even more marked -than among the poorer classes, since among the latter love does often -take by the hand the maiden and lover to join them together, and, for a -while at least, hovers over the pair. Often one child, and sometimes -more, is the result of loving union. But where only sordid gain is the -object of marriage the fruits must of necessity be of an inferior order. -To my mind, this evil, this marriage evil, is the worst of all evils. -Instead of the home being the birth place and cradle of love and truth -and peace, it is the hot-bed, the breeding place of vice. The unwelcome -child incarnates the germs of disease, of vice and crime. The -dissatisfied mother implants in her offspring abnormal desires and -passions because her own desires have been dwarfed and disregarded. Thus -the enslaved mother sows the seeds of tyranny in her child. It matters -not if such a home be one of plenty or want. One breeds the roue, the -other the criminal of the future. I only wish to state here that so long -as the people bow to an ‘unknown God’; a God who is supposed to rule -somewhere up among the stars, in a place called heaven; a God who will -punish those who have been truer to nature than to the impossible -teachings of the church, by burning them in everlasting fire, and so -long as the people sustain a state or government that holds them in -bondage; a state to which they must pay tribute for every privilege they -enjoy, even unto the privilege of choosing a mate; so long as the -credulous people pay tribute to the parasites called politicians who -fasten themselves wherever they can find a foothold, just so long must -we continue to endure the evils portrayed by the last speaker. So long -as labor is a slave to capital, so long as the workingman is but an -irresponsible part of the machinery that produces wealth for the few, -just so long will woman be a slave to man, and just so long will -children be a curse instead of a blessing, and just so long will crime -and disease stalk abroad. The workingman must first strike for and gain -his freedom. Then the emancipation of woman will follow. I have nothing -farther to say.” - -Amid appreciative applause the man of many winters resumed his seat. -Next arose a man with snapping black eyes and jetty hair who with -cutting sarcasm dissected the lecture, telling his hearers that in -ninety-nine cases out of a hundred all the poverty, the ill-luck, was -due to the man or woman’s own fault. “The working people,” said he, “as -a class, are lazy; they are extravagant; they are vicious. They would -rather spend their leisure time in saloons, swilling beer and poor -whiskey, and in playing cards, than with their families at home; they -would rather lounge and loaf upon street corners than do an honest day’s -work; they would rather follow a course that would lead them to steal, -and even murder, and thereby get them into the penitentiary where they -would be only too well treated. If it were not for the church who with -her gentle and peace-diffusing influence keeps the working classes in a -measure content, and under control, there would be no telling to what -deeds of outrage the ignorant, licentious masses of people would go. -Take away the influence of religion and what would be the result? -Without fear of a god or devil, like a brutal horde of wild beasts with -nothing to restrain them, they would fall to murdering and plundering -everything and everyone that stood in their way, regardless of -consequences, just so they could satisfy their ungovernable appetites.” - -The only thing this man could think of that could be done was to make -more laws; laws more stringent and binding. Then enforce them to the -letter. - -“We speak of loose morals,” said he. “Could there be anything more loose -than the ideas of marriage that are fast becoming popular? There are -almost as many divorces petitioned for and granted as marriages entered -into. Divorces are too easily obtained. The laws are too lax. If such -were not the case people would be more careful in entering the holy -portals of marriage. But there are so few that any longer consider -marriage as something holy that it is becoming a menace to the country. -Again I ask for more laws. Let them be stringent and let them be rigidly -enforced. Let those that are forming such contracts and entering into -the bonds of marriage, understand that it is for life, that there is no -escaping the consequences, and then people will get along better.” - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - - -There was not much applause this time, when the speaker resumed his -seat. Some few laughed, but here and there, as you cast your eye over -the audience, you could see compressed lips and flushed cheeks. But as -the platform was a free one, where everyone was invited to freely speak -his convictions, no one attempted to interrupt the speaker, although -many felt the hot blood of indignation mount to their cheeks. - -Almost immediately upon his resuming his seat a woman rose, and, upon -addressing the chairman, had the right to speak accorded her. A woman -probably forty years of age, but looking nearer thirty. A woman who in -her youth might have been handsome and who was yet passably fair. Of -figure she was tall and well developed. The light brown hair was combed -back so as to leave the low brow free and uncovered. The blue eyes were -sparkling with a light that was not caused by a sense of pleasure. The -finely curved lips were quivering with suppressed emotions as she -fearlessly walked forward and faced the audience. - -“Friends! Comrades!” she began, with a voice both clear and strong. “It -is not often that I feel myself called upon to make any remarks at these -meetings. My sentiments generally are so clearly expressed and so well -defended by those who are better able to treat the subjects that as a -rule are under discussion here, that I find more pleasure and benefit in -listening to others than in taking part in discussion. But this -afternoon I feel impelled to make a few remarks, hoping that you will -bear with me if I am not able to express myself quite as concisely and -correctly as I might wish. I do not wish to find fault with our lecturer -in regard to what she has said, but—if it could be called a fault—with -what she did not say. Although she has painted you pictures most dismal -and saddening I can assure you the half, nay, the one tenth has not been -told. Methinks there are some things that she has too lightly touched -upon, and which our friend, Mr. Roland, has somewhat more plainly -pictured. The ‘looseness’ that Mr. Warden so much deplores in divorce -laws does not exist. In fact these laws are so stringent as to place the -possibility of obtaining a divorce beyond the reach of the poor. Divorce -laws, like all other laws, are for the special benefit of the moneyed -class. They can avail themselves of divorce if they see fit, and that -they do see fit rather often is quite evident. And for once I must give -the privileged class credit for something. Notwithstanding Mr. Warden’s -lament that divorces are so easily obtained I claim there is nothing -more difficult. The most excruciating torture that it is possible to -inflict upon a sensitive and refined woman is to drag her into our -modern courtroom and subject her to the quizzing process of shameless -lawyers, who ply her with numberless questions that cut to the quick the -sensitive heart and lacerate it as though some diabolical machine filled -with knives of all shapes and sizes were making mince-meat of it. These -lawyers luxuriate in cruelly delving in these wounded and bleeding -hearts so that it takes a woman of tremendous courage to willingly -undergo this dissecting operation, and therefore comparatively few seek -the redress of the law. It drags forth, into a foul atmosphere, the most -sacred treasures, and defiles them with the vileness that so often is -found in the precincts of the law. It hurls a woman from her pinnacle of -respected womanhood into the depths of disgrace. It prohibits her from -the companionship of the good and pure. It ostracises her from what is -called ‘good society,’ it points the finger of scorn at the child that -calls her ‘mother.’ If that child be a boy there is a chance for it to -win its way in the world, but if it be a girl then hard will it be for -her to gain a foothold upon the steep and rugged pathway she will have -to climb. - -“How can a sensitive, womanly woman desire to confront a room filled -with coarse, unsympathizing men and relate to them the stories of her -woe? How can she tell of tears shed in the dead of night; of how her -sacred womanhood has been abused; of how her outraged person is forced -to submit to his loathsome touch? Broken down, suffering from -oft-repeated child-bearing, tired unto death with her manifold duties, -sick in soul as well as in body, I say how can she tell all this, with -all those strange leering faces about her? She would rather go on -suffering until death comes to her release, or perhaps her overburdened -brain gives way, while the world wonders: ‘What could have been the -reason? She had such a good, industrious, sober husband, who has always -so handsomely provided for her every want, and such a nice large family -of children growing up around her. How could she have been else than -happy?’ - -“They really cannot understand what could have caused her brain to give -way. Aside from this, not everywhere is it possible to obtain a divorce -for such reasons as I have just mentioned. In some states if she is not -treated to blows, neglected with her children to such an extent that -cruel want speaks from the hollow eyes and sunken cheeks, she will be -told she has no just cause for complaint, and should go home -submissively to her liege lord and master, thankful for the home -provided for her, and should bow her head in humility to the great and -all-wise God who has made all things well. - -“O, it is a noble sphere that has been marked out for woman—marked for -her by her owner, her lord, her master! Why cannot she be content, why -cannot she be satisfied? Aye, satisfied! O, if she could only be aroused -to universal dissatisfaction, there would be hope for her emancipation -in the near future. - -“Our friend, Mr. Roland, has made the remark that in order to free -woman, man, the workingman, must first be freed,—the economic conditions -must first undergo a universal change. Then why, in freedom’s name, is -woman’s cause not more frequently urged as an argument to that end? O, -that woman herself would only awake to a sense of her condition! O, -sisters, awake! Hasten the advent of the coming day that proclaims your -freedom from the tyranny of man, by aiding him to obtain the rights that -are justly his. Lend your aid in freeing man from the thralldom of state -and monopoly, and ever bear in mind that the same blow which shatters -your brother’s fetters will also free you. That which insures his -freedom and independence will do the same for you. For when the day -comes in which justice reigns, she can no longer stand with blindfolded -eyes while woman’s life is fettered.” - -As the speaker ceased, and the applause burst forth, Imelda bent her -head near Margaret, whose cheeks glowed like twin roses. - -“Who is she?” she asked, and Margaret in answer whispered: - -“My mother!” - - - - - CHAPTER X. - - -For an instant Imelda was startled. She had never seen Mrs. Leland and -had pictured to herself a different woman; but as she looked again she -could see the likeness between mother and daughter, and there crept into -her heart a thought of her own mother, and she contrasted the weary, -fretful, listless woman with this mother of her friend, who, after the -life of trials and sorrows that had been hers, had arisen in such -splendid self-confidence; who had burst the chains that bound her; who -now dared to hurl such scathing truths, like firebrands into a magazine -of powder, as it were, ready to stand by the result the explosion must -bring forth. She began to understand the source whence her young friend -received her strength of character. - -Mrs. Leland’s words, even more than those of the lecturer, burned into -her heart as her thoughts wandered to her almost worshiped father, now -sleeping under the ground. Over her tortured heart crept a fear that -possibly even he had not been to that fretful, oft-times unjust mother, -all that he might have been. There might have been pitfalls carefully -hidden from her sight—for her mother never made a confidante of her -child. But she knew of the inharmonious life that had been theirs. She -could not remember ever having caught sight of the holy flame of love -between them. And yet—the babes had come. She knew the mother had not -desired them. She felt dazed. Her head swam, as these thoughts coursed -through it in much less time than it takes to trace them here. - -But again someone was speaking, and again the horrors of married life -were pictured. How woman is sold! Woman has no outlet for her -overcharged feelings save in tempestuous temper and tears. Generally, in -time, the temper is subdued and the tears alone remain, and the world -wonders why woman so soon loses her attractive powers; why the sparkling -girl overflowing with magnetism turns so soon into the pale, weary, -hollow-eyed woman who finds life’s happiness turned to Dead Sea fruit -upon her lips. - -As Imelda listened she felt as though a cold hand were clutching at her -throat. The world seemed slipping from beneath her feet. Then another -rose and in his turn spoke of the holiness of marriage, of the holiness -of the church, of the holiness of the state. Like hollow mockery the -words echoed and re-echoed in Imelda’s ears. What could be holy now -after she had seen the evil withdrawn and the sickening truth exposed to -view. Like one in a dream she listened and wondered that any one could -still be sincere in uttering such words as in all good faith this man -seemed to speak. It seemed as if, all in a moment, where had heretofore -appeared rose-strewn paths, she now saw only pitfalls whose yawning -depths were ready to engulf those who foolishly set their feet upon the -treacherous edge. Still, as in a daze, she realized that the speaker was -done, that once more Althea Wood was speaking. The clear, sweet voice -resounded through the room. - -“My friends,” she said, “it would be indeed difficult to express the -pleasure I have felt listening to the discussion this afternoon. Nor can -I express how thankful I am that my cause has been so warmly championed, -notwithstanding the efforts of those who cannot as yet see this question -in the new light in which it is viewed by many of you. I agree with -those of my friends who claim that this vexed question does not receive -the attention that it deserves. It is sad and pitiful, but true, that -the average man and woman are so unwilling to hear this subject -discussed that it requires a great effort to speak of it. They may be -willing to pick up a book that treats on this subject, and, screened in -the seclusion of a private room, try to digest the writer’s ideas, but -under the fire of other eyes to hear from the lecturer’s lips these -tabooed subjects is quite another thing. So long, however, as sex is -considered impure, something for which the human race should blush, just -so long will it be not only a difficult but painful subject for -lecturers to discuss. The consciousness that we would probably be -misunderstood is unpleasant. - -“O, that I might live to see the hour when this beautiful earth shall be -freed from the crushing fetters of custom; from the deadly poison of -superstition and prejudice; from the grinding heel of monopoly,—to see a -race of men and women enlightened, liberated, self-reliant, free. Not an -enforced freedom, keeping them ever on their guard, fearing the lurking -enemy in the entrenchments, back of the bulwarks of authority and the -fortifications of avarice and low desires. No! the time for such -hypocrisy will then have vanished. We shall then hail the time when a -race of freemen shall exist because of the universal demand for and -recognition of it. The race will have become purified in the fires of -truth, love and justice. When it shall have risen to the height where it -will have attained the full knowledge of its worth; where and when it -shall have demanded its rightful birthright, the right to own itself; -the right to the product of its toil; the right to recognize truth -wherever it is found. - -“Just so soon as you make that demand, earnestly and sincerely, your -right will have come to you. Begin with recognizing the great truth that -you are an individual, that you are rightfully sole owner of your own -mind, of your own brain capacity. Let no outside influence enthrall you; -break your chains, set your mind at liberty, and it will soon work out -the salvation of the body. When once you can see that there are fetters -the desire to break them will come; the effort to break them will follow -the desire. - -“Before I close I will say to my Christian critics that if there were -not so many laws there would not be so much of the ignorance of which -they now complain. Laws and customs keep the masses in the old ruts, -destroying the strength wherewith they otherwise could elevate -themselves to nobler heights. To the everlasting disgrace of the church -it must be said that its influence keeps the deluded masses in their -benumbed condition, content to spend their miserable lives in abject -slavery. Pitiable is the fact, but cruelly true, that many of them -desire nothing more ennobling than to seek oblivion of their troubles in -the depths of the intoxicating bowl. - -“But Freethought is not the cause of this desire. Her mission is to -break the fetters that bind man’s mind; to sweep away the cobwebs and -mists of superstition; to slay the tyrant prejudice that bars the -entrance to the new and the true. - -“When the truths of science shall have been mastered by the law-ridden -and priest-ridden people, when they shall have obtained the right to own -themselves, then with the disappearance of ignorance will also disappear -vice and crime. My heart aches at sight of this poor, deluded, cheated -people, daily robbed more and more by laws that were made for none but -slaves to obey. The rich man makes them and of course never expects to -come in contact with them otherwise than to inflict them upon those who -produce his wealth. Love needs no fetters. Nothing binds human hearts -but Love. - -“So, once again I urge you to awake; to come to a realization of your -own thralldom, and then in turn to help others to awake to a -consciousness of this yoke of slavery borne by you all. Then the world -will move onward; will move rapidly toward that millennium that is to be -the realization of evoluted humanity.” - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - - -As the meeting was dismissed, all in a moment the earnest truth-seekers -were transformed into a social assemblage. Hearty handshaking abounded -and equally hearty laughter was heard upon all sides. For several -minutes it seemed to Imelda that she had been forgotten by her friend -who had been joined by the chairman of the afternoon, but she had more -than enough to occupy her mind in observing the scene before her, and -reviewing the two hours she had just passed through. Many and -conflicting were her emotions. Every word, almost, that had been spoken -had sunk deep into her heart and she again experienced all the -sensations of surprise and indignation she had felt, the mere memory of -which almost caused her heart to stand still and chill the blood in her -veins. Never in all the years of her young life had she dreamed of such -dark depths of hopeless woe. - -Just then a hand lightly touched her arm and she heard Margaret’s sweet -voice: - -“Imelda, my dear friend, permit me to introduce to you another friend, -Mr. Wallace.” - -Imelda suddenly found herself confronted by the chairman of the meeting. -The interruption was opportune, as it recalled her to herself. Wilbur -Wallace’s darkly bronzed face was all aglow. A happy light shone from -the dark eyes and the clear strong voice had a ring in it that could -have been caused only by something very pleasant. The next moment -Imelda’s hand was folded in his strong clasp while the words: “I -consider myself fortunate in meeting Miss Ellwood here this afternoon,” -most pleasantly struck her ear, and he continued: “I very much hope that -the pleasure may be often renewed.” Imelda felt the icy clutch slowly -being removed that had been holding her enthralled; a more life-like -smile lit up her face as she replied: - -“The pleasure will be mutual, I assure you.” - -“Then we may hope to see you here again?” - -“Why not?” she asked. “I have heard much this afternoon which, although -not pleasant in itself, was both new and interesting, and I have no -doubt I shall be able to learn much here which would be impossible for -me to learn elsewhere. While the facts, as they have been shown here -today, are almost impossible to believe, yet if true, it is time I knew -something about them. But I cannot see the remedy; how do you propose to -alleviate, or rather to banish such evils?” - -Imelda’s dark eyes looked questioningly into the now serious face of -Wilbur Wallace, whose answer promptly came. - -“The solution of that problem will, no doubt, be the work of future -years, albeit much can at the present time, and also in the near future, -be done to make the way clear. ‘Making the way clear’ is what we trying -to do. This is a meeting place for thinkers—free thinkers, all of them, -and no matter what their ideas of God, of the church, may be, they all -have come to the conclusion that there is something wrong somewhere, and -that church and state bear a large share of the blame, is plainly to be -seen. The so-greatly despised ‘anarchist’ is, I think, more largely -represented than others.” There was a quick uplifting of the brow of the -young girl at the mention of the word ‘anarchist.’ - -“I do not understand,” she said. “The colors wherewith I have seen the -name painted are not very attractive. If I have had a mistaken -impression I would like to have my error corrected.” At this moment the -old gentleman, Mr. Roland, accompanied by Miss Wood, stepped up to the -little group. - -“What matter of importance is being discussed here with so much -interest?” broke in his pleasant voice. “I must confess to a desire to -join with you, but first permit me.” Here followed the necessary -introductions, then Wilbur Wallace spoke. - -“Miss Ellwood being a stranger to our circle, is also a stranger to the -ideas usually discussed here. Consequently she finds them not unmixed -with a certain amount of gruesomeness.” - -“And what particular idea, or object, or fact, is it that fills you thus -with unpleasant feelings?” asked Mr. Roland of Imelda. - -“I think almost everything that I have heard spoken of here today. If -all I have heard here today be true, every young girl would be justified -in shrinking from marriage as she would from the brink of a dark abyss.” - -“That is well expressed,” said Miss Wood; “and if we could but impress -that idea upon the mind of every woman there would soon be a new state -of affairs. When woman learns the true worth of herself she will insist -on the right to dispose of herself as she will see fit, and not as she -is commanded to do by the arbitrary laws of a society that is man-made.” - -For a few moments Imelda was lost in thought, then her dark eyes flashed -upward. - -“I understand that if woman could be successful she would be able to -enjoy a glorious freedom. But would not this very freedom have some very -undesirable results? Undesirable as a large family of children may be to -the majority of women, as it most inevitably dooms them to a life of -drudgery, yet under circumstances of unlimited freedom, such as you -advocate, how long would it be until the race would begin to dwindle -away? For many women, as I know them, would prefer not to be mothers at -all, and very few of them would wish for a large family. We all know -that the life of the infant is but a tender plant that sometimes does -not long survive the hour of its birth. Do you think such a state of -things would be desirable?” - -“My dear Miss Ellwood,” Mr. Roland replied, “the idea of the extinction -of the race would indeed not be pleasant to contemplate, but the perfect -freedom of woman would naturally overcome the very dangers you fear. The -desired and gladly welcomed child will of necessity be superior to that -which is undesired and unwelcome. When a prospective mother is filled -with thoughts of that coming event she lives during that period only for -the well being of that mite of humanity. She will seek to observe, to -study, the laws of nature to their fullest extent, and being in the -possession of sexual freedom will soon learn to understand these -glorious laws. So children will be born into the world in a more normal -and healthy state than is now the case, and the result will be fewer -little graves. Then again woman will develop mentally and she will -bestow upon her unborn babe a legacy of brain power that at present, -under our corrupt social system, is an utter impossibility. So even -though there would not be so many undesired unfortunate beings called -into life the quality would be so vastly superior that the loss in -quantity would be anything but loss,—rather gain.” - -“I agree with you,” Imelda said, “but here the question arises, How will -woman be enabled to gain this freedom that is to bring about so many -desirable results?” - -Young Wallace made answer: - -“Woman’s awakening to the consciousness that it is needful will be the -cornerstone upon which her freedom will be built, but she will need the -help and support of outward influence. So long as man is the slave of -‘the almighty dollar,’ so long will woman be the slave of man, because -in the present state of society she is dependent on man for her -maintenance. The economic battle goes hand in hand with that for woman’s -rights. Man needs woman’s aid in this battle for the rights of humanity, -and the blow that shatters the shackles of wage-slavery will also break -the chains that hold her sex in bondage. When the race becomes free her -battle will have been won, and she can begin to build up a new and -glorious race.” - -Wallace’s eyes glowed as the enthusiasm wherewith he had spoken sent the -blood bounding through his veins. Imelda saw that Margaret’s eyes rested -with something more than mere admiration on his darkly handsome face. -All in an instant she understood—“Margaret’s love.” It shone in the -depths of her deep blue eyes, it trembled upon the sweet, dewy lips, it -burned in the glow of her cheek. - -Imelda’s eyes reverted again to the face of the young man with renewed -interest; but her searching glance could detect nothing to his -discredit. It was a frank, open, manly countenance wherein she gazed, a -face women would involuntarily trust and little children love. - -“At the same time,” now spoke Miss Wood, “you will permit us to begin to -exercise just a little of that freedom now. We will begin at home with -our individual selves and proclaim that no man shall ever say to us, -‘Thou shalt,’ or ‘Thou shalt not.’ How is it Miss Ellwood and Miss -Leland?” - -The question was put rather laughingly and banteringly, as she turned -first to one, then the other of the two girls. Imelda had no answer but -a heightened color, but Margaret held out her hand which Miss Wood -readily clasped. - -“I am with you,” she said. “I intend to win my lover’s love and hold it -too, but I will never buy it at the price of my freedom.” - -“Bravo!” came simultaneously from the lips of the gentlemen, while the -hand of the elder gently patted her shoulder. - -“That is what I call making remarkably free with my daughter. She -belongs to me and I object,” and the pleasant face of Mrs. Leland became -visible in close proximity to her daughter and Mr. Roland. Margaret’s -laugh rang out in sweetest music. - -“Now! now! Mamma, you know better than that. If I am your daughter, I am -not your property. Don’t you know if I find pleasure in feeling Mr. -Roland’s hand on my shoulder—why—you have nothing to say.” This last was -said in so saucy a manner that it caused a general laugh, which having -subsided, she with sudden recollection added: - -“Pardon me. I almost forgot, mamma,—this is the very dear friend I have -so often told you about,—Imelda Ellwood.” Mrs. Leland’s eyes rested for -a moment searchingly upon the face of the young girl; then, satisfied -with what she saw there, clasped both hands in hers and in a few words -caused her to feel quite at her ease. Then seating herself, she said: - -“Proceed now. I know that I have broken into the midst of something very -interesting.” - -“Only a continuation of our discussion,” replied Mr. Roland. “We have -been considering the rights of women in particular, and those of -humanity in general. The reason in this case is, to convince a beautiful -woman and win her as a convert,” bowing to Imelda, “which I hope is -justification in this case for becoming eloquent. I can assure you that -you have missed something, Mrs. Leland.” - -“Well, if such is the case, I am sorry, but who is the convert that is -to be? You, Miss Ellwood?” looking inquiringly into Imelda’s face. - -“Just so,” she answered, “and if I can gain a clearer insight into -things, the efforts of my friends may prove successful. But I must -remark that I seem to have gotten into a very pronounced set of -radicals.” - -“Are you frightened?” asked Wilbur Wallace with a laugh, in which the -rest joined. - -“Not in the least,” she retorted, “although the term ‘radical’ always -left the impression on my mind of something of a rather wild character. -But really, if what I have seen of them this afternoon are fair -specimens, they are a very well behaved species.” - -A general laugh followed. Mr. Roland pronounced it almost six o’clock -and time to disperse. As a parting admonition Miss Wood turned to -Imelda. - -“You seem to be a young woman of more than ordinary intelligence. It is -such as you whom we wish to win, to take an interest in the fate of -womankind,—in the fate of humanity. Permit your friend, Miss Leland, to -induce you again to join this circle, and I hope when next I see you -that I will find you one of us, heart and soul. Good bye, now, friends, -may your every effort be blessed with success.” With these words they -parted, she clinging to the arm of Mr. Roland, leaving our little group -of four alone. Arriving at the outside they found that it had already -grown quite dusk. For a moment there seemed to be an indecision on the -part of Margaret and Wilbur as to which direction they should take, when -Mrs. Leland decided the matter for them. - -“Come with me to the nearest car, Margaret. It will take me almost to -our door, so I can very well go alone, while you and Wilbur can -accompany Miss Ellwood to her home.” Imelda protested, saying she was as -well able to go alone as Mrs. Leland, but the elder lady insisted, -supported by her young friends, and as a matter of course carried the -day. - -“By the time you return,” she said, “I will have luncheon ready. Good -night, now, Miss Ellwood, I will not say good bye, as I hope to see you -often.” Waving her hand in adieu, she mounted the car and was gone. - -Five minutes walk in another direction brought them to the car that it -was needful to take to reach Imelda’s home, and soon they were being -whirled along to their destination. The car was almost deserted, which -gave them an opportunity to continue their conversation. Margaret did -not say much, but seemed rather to enjoy listening to her friend and -lover as they traversed the same ground that she had passed over not so -very long since, for although the daughter of a radical mother, that -mother had not always been radical. The time was not very far gone by -when the old prejudices still held her in bondage, and the fear of what -the world might say, restrained her in all she would say and do. - -Margaret long felt the influence of those earlier teachings. It had been -harder for her to break away from the old beliefs and superstitions than -for her mother; but—“Love works wonders” was true in this case. Wilbur -Wallace was of that type of men who are sure to win conviction where -once they gain a foothold. Gifted with a bright intellect and a manner -of speech both positive and fluent, he carried conviction to the minds -of his hearers. It had been at an entertainment, to which she had -accompanied her mother, that Margaret had first met Wilbur. The young -couple had from the first been attracted, which attraction soon ripened -into more than mere friendship. - -But young Wallace was not without bitter experience; as he had observed -home and family life he had found it anything but perfect. He had seen a -sweet and gentle mother suffer from the arbitrary monogamy of her -married life to such extent that it had laid her in an early grave. The -lesson of the ending of that life had entered like a corroding iron into -the soul of her first born, a boy then but eighteen years of age. From -the hour his idolized mother was laid beneath the green sod he had never -entered his father’s home. Life was a problem he had set himself to -study, and the more he studied the greater the problem became. But he -was not easily daunted. He kept his eyes open, thus soon discovering -that the world was full of wrongs that needed righting. - -Soon Wilbur Wallace’s name was classed among those who were laboring in -the cause of the poor and lowly. But woman’s cause seemed ever to lie -nearest his heart. The memory of one sweet woman lay enshrined within -the depths of his heart; for her sake he sought for truths that should -be the means of saving other women from a like heart-break. The faces of -two weeping girls, as he had seen them last, would arise before his -mind’s eye, and more firmly than ever did the resolve become rooted to -save them from a like fate. The years had rolled by; he was twenty-seven -and his sisters young women of twenty and twenty-three. He had never -seen them again, for many miles separated him from the place that had -known his childhood days. - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - - -Then had come the hour of temptation to him. Sweet Margaret had come -into his life, and he found himself shaken to the very depths of his -being, but he came forth conqueror. He loved the girl with all the power -of an intense nature, but he would never seek to bind her. His love -should bless her but never prove a scourge. The girl’s heart had grown -faint when it had caught his meaning. Love, sweet, pure soul-redeeming -love, had come to her, but not such as the world knew it. She was not to -know the meaning of the word wife. O, how her love had been tested! But -love had conquered, and together they had studied the problem that had -at first appeared as though it would prove the shoal upon which their -bark of life was to be wrecked. But the skillful hands of reason had -warded off the dreaded disaster and had safely guided them through the -rocks out into the smooth waters of the mid ocean, but for the present -they were adrift; as yet they could not see the shore, the haven where -they might safely be anchored. Now and then this caused the trusting -maiden an anxious pang, the honorable man a deeper pain than he wished -to betray, but the sky was clear, bright sunshine and smooth waters made -the way very pleasant. So they were content to drift on. - -Margaret had learned to understand the meaning of the glorious freedom -that her lover sought to secure to her. She had looked deep into the -mysteries of married life with the aid of that mother whose experiences -had been so terrible. She had learned also to walk with open eyes and to -read the signs as she walked. And oh, how her pure soul revolted at the -hideous sights that were covered with a filmy veil, sights that the -gauze like covering made only the more horrible by the vain attempt at -concealment. - -She lifted the smiling blue eyes to the clouded face of her friend who -seemed almost to have forgotten her presence. - -“Well, Imelda, what do you think? Do you now understand how I could -express myself as I did some days ago?” - -“I understand now, as I did then, that you had just cause to mistrust -the present institution of marriage. I do not blame you, but there is -still much that is not clear to me. What else can we do, if we would not -sacrifice nature’s truest, purest instincts?” - -Margaret slowly shook her head, and scarcely above a whisper came the -words: - -“I do not know.” - -Wilbur had been observing the girls and had heard the low-spoken words. -A sad smile played about his lips. - -“Wait,” he gently said. “The problem is too great to be solved in one -short afternoon. It has caused me considerable thought for quite a -number of years. As yet I have found no satisfactory solution, but do -not despair of eventually doing so. When woman becomes conscious of her -true worth she will soon find means to have that worth recognized. I -think, however, for a first lesson, Miss Ellwood has done extremely -well. Suppose we discuss some commonplace subject for a change. The -weather for instance. Have we not been having some very fine weather for -October?” - -Both girls looked up, first at Wilbur, then at each other. There was -nothing remarkable about discussing the weather, but just at this moment -it sounded ridiculous, and but for the fact that Wilbur’s face was like -an impenetrable mask they would have burst out laughing. As it was they -controlled the desire and soon found themselves discussing plays, -literature, art, etc., which they found very interesting. - -The minutes passed by and soon they arrived at their destination. The -parting words were said, Wilbur giving expression to the sincere wish -that she would again join their circle. - -And Imelda did join them, again and again. She seemed drawn to the -circle in the lecture room by some magic force. Question after question -on that radical platform was brought up for discussion. The fields of -science also were explored. She soon found that she was able to learn at -that place more in a few short months than in all probability she would -have learned in the outside world in years. - -Many were the battles she was called upon to fight with the deep rooted -superstitions of other days. Idol after idol crumbled to dust beneath -the merciless fingers, but bravely she held out while scale after scale -fell from the weak eyes until at last they grew stronger and she could -see as with a new light. Bright and clear was now what had seemed dark -and murky before. The new truths burst upon her in all their splendor -and at last Imelda was ready to take her place in the world as an -inspired priestess of the new realm of thought; of the new truths by -means of which the world should be renovated and womankind uplifted. - -Thus time had slipped by and brought its changes to Imelda. Her mother -had been laid to rest at her father’s side, and in spite of the desire -of her friends to share their home, she had made one for herself. Humble -though her little attic room might be she was queen in its realm. - -They were indeed dark days that now fell to the lot of Imelda. It was -hard to hide the aching heart beneath a smiling exterior, but it was -part of her daily task, and bravely did she accomplish it. But when she -returned at night to spend the evening alone in her little room, it was -then that she was often overcome; it was then that the over tired spirit -gave way to grief. As she looked around at the many little mementoes of -earlier and happier days, they brought vividly to her memory the times -when her father, with his favorite child at his side, had permitted her -to look into the depths of his artist soul. If home had not always been -the most pleasant of places, yet at those times she had not known the -meaning of the word sorrow as she now knew it. Father and mother were -now sleeping in the silent grave. The brother and sister who ought, by -nature’s ties, to be more closely drawn to her now than ever before, -were, she knew not where. And in the new light in which she now looked -upon the world, she felt more sorrow than anger toward the wayward -absent ones. O, if she could but have the assurance that the future -would develop the better part of their natures she felt she could -willingly forget the past. Could she but find them! She thought that -perhaps there might yet be a way of reaching their hearts; but never a -word did she hear from either. If it had not been for the friendship of -Margaret, who was more and more a true sister to her, her life would -indeed have been lonely and dark. - -Nor was Margaret her only friend. Among the circle of radicals where -Imelda was a constant attendant she found many that were sympathetic in -more ways than one, but none attracted her more powerfully than did Mr. -Roland. He was more like a father than a mere friend, and fatherly had -often been the advice that the kind and sympathetic old gentleman had -given her. One other, also, had an influence over her life and strongly -did she feel herself attracted in this direction. That other was Wilbur -Wallace. In spite of the love he bore the winsome Margaret, the sad -dark-eyed Imelda had the power to stir his heart to its very depths. -Fain would he have folded both sweet girls to his great loving heart and -cherished them there as priceless treasures. Margaret saw and understood -what was going on in the heart of the man she loved, but she understood -also that that which was “her own” would remain her own, and she “feared -not.” - -Margaret was right. Even though Imelda’s head was sometimes pillowed on -the breast of her lover and even though he should kiss the tears from -the sad eyes and hush the fear of the trembling lips, what of it? The -love that was to throw Imelda’s whole being into a tumult was yet to be -called forth by another. This love that she felt for Wilbur Wallace was -a sweet, tranquil affection, undisturbed by the passions that clamor for -possession. Knowing and understanding this, the two girls were more firm -friends than ever. If now and then Wilbur felt a stronger emotion; an -emotion that would cost him an effort to subdue, no one but himself was -aware of it. He knew that the time had not as yet come that it would be -practicable to give vent to his feelings in the manner that he felt was -right and natural, and that the well being and happiness of both these -girls was far too dear to his noble heart for him to cause them one -needless pang. - -Thus matters stood when one day Margaret startled them by stating her -determination to prepare to go upon the stage. She knew that she -possessed dramatic talent of no mean order, and had often expressed a -desire to choose the stage as a means of earning a livelihood. Nor did -she meet with opposition now from her friends, although they were at -first somewhat taken aback. Within a week she was in the hands of a -competent teacher. This, of course, necessitated study, and instead of -spending so many of her evenings as she had hitherto done in the society -of Wilbur and Imelda, she was forced to devote her spare time to books. -This fact caused Imelda and Wilbur to be more often thrown together than -ever before. Now it was music they practiced together; then it was a new -book they read and discussed, while now and then they would go and hear -some good opera. As a general thing when such was the case Margaret -would go also, as she passionately loved the queens of song; and her -sweet lips only curved in a happy smile as she observed the good -understanding between the two whom she so dearly loved. That such a -thing could be possible as Imelda winning her lover from her never once -entered Margaret’s mind. And she was right. Wilbur Wallace did not hold -lightly the gift of his Margaret’s love. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - - -Thus matters went on. The cruel, piercing winter months had waned; balmy -spring with her flattering promises had again visited the land, and in -turn was now giving place to the sultry days of summer. The tired shop -girls, behind their counters, looked as though they could barely drag -their weary limbs along. Imelda had for some time felt as though she -could not possibly hold out much longer when, near the close of an -unusually hot and close June day, a lady, small of figure and dressed in -the airiest of summer costumes, came tripping down the aisle and -stopping just in front of Imelda’s counter said: - -“Some real laces, please.” - -With a start and smothered cry of “Alice!” Imelda went forward and the -little lady caught the stately head and drew it down, imprinting the -warmest of kisses upon the pale lips. - -“Still in the old place? I thought I would find you here, providing you -had not done as I did—got married and settled down as the queen of some -fair home.” - -A silvery laugh dropped from the cherry lips, but the laugh sounded just -the least bit forced, and the bright glow on the rounded cheek,—was it -really the flush of perfect happiness? Imelda looked long and carefully -into the blue eyes, but though they were clear she could not read within -their depths, the dimpling smile hid everything, if there was anything -to hide. - -“Why, where did you get your cranky ideas? O, I forget,—you still live -in Chicago, which city, as I believe, has known many changes, and, I -suppose, the people who inhabit the dear old place must of course change -with it. But Harrisburg is a rather conservative town, you know, and -radical or progressive ideas are not much indulged in by its people. How -is it? am I right? have you been imbibing some of these new foolish -notions?” - -Imelda smiled. This little chatterbox was rattling on at a great rate, -on a subject she evidently knew little about, and had already exhausted -her store of knowledge. What would she think if she knew exactly what -Imelda’s views at present were? The girl behind the counter had an idea -that her visitor would be somewhat shocked. So she only answered: - -“Maybe I have, it is in the air, you know, like a contagious disease.” -Alice laughed. - -“Is it dangerous?” she asked, but not waiting for a reply she continued: - -“Have you time? I would like to have you with me this evening so that we -could enjoy a quiet dinner together. May I call for you?” - -A flush stole over the pale face. When had such a pleasure ever been -offered her? For a moment she hesitated, then threw scruples to the -winds. - -“Yes; you may come. I will be ready. This is indeed kind of you to make -me such an offer, and I assure you I shall appreciate it.” - -The dainty gloved hand was raised in a mock threatening manner. - -“If you speak again in that strain I shall punish you by failing to put -in an appearance. But I must not forget—your address, please.” Imelda -wrote name of street and number on a slip of paper and Alice Westcot -tripped down the aisle and out to where her carriage was in waiting. -Imelda’s lips quivered as she watched the friend of former days pass -out. - -There were but few of the girls in the store now who had known Alice. -The few who had seen the meeting between the two wondered who the richly -attired lady could be who was on intimate terms with the sad faced but -well liked companion and co-worker who had a smile and kind word for all -but who made friends with none—none except the jolly, mirth-loving but -proud Margaret Leland. - -Imelda sighed as the form of Alice disappeared. Who would have thought, -looking at the dainty figure, that in former years she had stood at the -self-same counter where Imelda now presided. That she had wealth at her -command was easy to be seen. But was she happy? If she was not she knew -well how to hide it. No casual observer would have noticed anything -wrong and when her carriage in the evening drove up to the number that -Imelda had given her the pretty figure was robed in daintiest white. -When Imelda appeared in the doorway in her plain black lawn and simple -sailor hat she hesitated a moment. She knew she would look out of place -at the side of this richly attired lady, and she would rather not go. -But already Alice was calling to her to come. “For,” she said, “we want -a good long evening together and we cannot afford to waste time.” - -Imelda hesitated no longer. Why should she? Did the possession of wealth -alone make Alice Westcot her superior? She told herself, No! They had -been friends in the days of long ago, Imelda had found Alice a dear -girl, sweet and pure and true, but for all that she knew that mentally -this little woman was not her equal. - -So she took her place at Alice’s side without further hesitation and -they were soon whirling along toward one of the beautiful parks. Imelda -gave herself up to the luxury of such delicious comfort, such sense of -pleasure as seldom came to her. Alice chattered on at her side, telling -her all about her life; telling her of the many bright spots it -contained; of the beautiful home with its richly furnished rooms, its -charming grounds and surroundings; of the husband who showered wealth -upon her; of the two pretty blossoms—her little daughters, one dark eyed -with glossy curls like the father and who was named Meta, while the -youngest was fair and flaxen-haired like herself, and had been given the -name of Norma. - -Imelda listened like one in a dream. Was Alice’s life all sunshine? She -made bold to ask her. For a moment the bright sunny face clouded, then a -silvery laugh rippled from the ripe red lips. - -“Why not? Certainly it is sunshine, all sunshine. Have I not everything -my heart desires? No more hard work, no more eking out and economizing, -no more planning how to make both ends meet. My husband’s purse is open -to me always. I have nothing else to do but be happy.” - -And then, not giving Imelda time to ask any more questions, she in turn -began to question her. She poured such an avalanche of questions upon -her that Imelda did not know which to answer first. So bewildering was -the torrent that Alice was obliged to repeat them more slowly. Imelda -answered them all to the satisfaction of the persistent questioner who -gradually came in possession of all the dark facts that had brought so -much pain into the young girl’s life and only at the close of the story -did she understand that Imelda was all alone and her tender little heart -swelled and two pearly drops fell upon the hands of the girl as she -lifted them and pressed them to her cheeks. - -“My poor, proud girl,” she said, “how you must have suffered! Listen, -Imelda. How would you like to live with me? O, no!” she said as she -looked into the surprised eyes of the girl, and read therein a refusal. - -“I understand you too well to offer you a home without a way of earning -it. I understand your proud nature better. But I would like someone -trustworthy to take care of my little daughters. For really I am too -much of a butterfly to have so grave a charge on my hands without some -one more competent to aid me. I do not understand how to train my -babies. But you, who have had so much experience, would know always what -to do and they really are such dear little darlings. I am sure you would -soon learn to love them and then you should be treated as just the lady -that you are, not as a servant but as my own dear friend, and you should -have so much time all your own when you might read or paint or study, -and you shall cultivate that precious talent of yours, music. Say yes, -dear, you shall never be sorry for it, I promise you,” and the little -cajoler wound her arm about the neck of the dumb-founded girl and laid -her face against hers and coaxed and kissed and plead until Imelda gave -the so much desired promise. Then Alice was happy as a child and said -that Imelda must leave the store instantly so she could prepare to go -with her when she should return to her home. - -“I expect to remain only a little over a week, and until then you shall -come and live with me at the hotel where I am staying.” But to this -Imelda would not listen. It was all so sudden she could hardly realize -what it involved. A sharp pang entered her heart as she thought of -Margaret and Wilbur. Ah, yes, it meant to give up these tried and -trusted friends. No! oh no, she could not leave without devoting some of -the last hours of her stay in the dear old city that had always been her -home, to the friends whose lives were so closely woven in with hers. She -finally succeeded in making Alice understand as much. In the morning -when she told Margaret, it seemed at first as though she could not -comprehend it. The large soft eyes filled with tears and the sensitive -lips quivered when the comprehension came home to her, but she bravely -choked a sob as she said: - -“You are right. Why should you wear out your life, standing day after -day behind the counter in that store, when opportunities are offered you -that do not fall to the lot of every working girl. Yes, it is certainly -my advice to accept this offer, and make the most of it. But I insist -that you spend the evening with me at my mother’s home. We must make the -most of your short stay with us.” - -Imelda did not refuse. She felt it was not so easy to sunder ties. She -also felt a sadness steal over her as she thought of how soon she was to -turn her back upon all the scenes of the old life, and some very sharp -pangs made themselves manifest. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - - -The evening found her with her friends. After supper Wilbur came and was -told of the projected change. He bent a quick searching glance upon -Imelda and in the eyes that met his he thought he read a subdued pain. -All through that evening Imelda was unusually quiet. Wilbur and Margaret -played and sang but Imelda only listened. Mrs. Leland once in passing -behind her chair, laid her hand upon the glossy dark hair, slightly -bending the head so she could look into the dark eyes, saying in a low -tone: - -“Are the dreams of the future not bright, dear Imelda? Don’t let the -shadows of the past follow you into the future. Keep a brave heart and -it will be strange if the future does not contain for you something for -which it is worth your while to work and wait.” - -The dark eyes of the girl filled with a pearly mist. - -“Thank you, Mrs. Leland. When you, who have certainly seen some of the -very darkest sides of life can still give such encouragement there must -indeed be a bright side to all things, only I am parting with so much -that is pleasant in the present, while the future is yet a sealed book. -Not knowing what it may contain, it is not very wonderful that I should -feel the least bit sad.” - -“But you are to be an inmate of a beautiful home and the companion of -the friend of former days.” Imelda smiled. - -“Yes, of former days, indeed. In the present she is no longer -all-sufficient. I have been walking in the pathways of progress. She has -been lingering in those of blind faith, of contentment and of duty. I -fear there will be many lonely hours for me.” - -“There may be,” said Mrs. Leland, “but also, maybe, you can take this -little girl by the hand and lead her by your side. Who knows what your -work in this new life you are about to enter really may be? So be of -good cheer. At all events it is not to another world, or even to another -continent you are going. You can send us your thought and your love and -receive a return in a few days. I know Margaret and Wilbur will both -expect a great many of the white-winged messengers, and they will keep -your fingers busy in their spare moments.” - -She bent and kissed the warm lips of the girl and passed out of the -room, soon returning with a basket of luscious fruit. For a time the -music was hushed while the fruit was discussed. But as all things, the -best as well as the worst, must come to an end, so with Imelda’s visit -to her dearly cherished friends. As the evening was far advanced when -Imelda rose to go home, Margaret coaxed her to remain with her. - -“For I am,” she said, “so soon to lose you altogether, that I want to -make the most of the short remaining time.” But Imelda was longing to be -alone. - -“Not tonight, dear. Tonight you must excuse me. I cannot help it, but I -have so much to think about, so much to do yet. But tomorrow night, if -you wish I will come and remain with you,” and with that Margaret had to -be content. “Instead,” Imelda went on, “I would have you come with me. -It is not so very late yet, and a walk will do you good. Wilbur will -make it doubly pleasant coming back. What say you?” But now it was -Margaret’s turn to shake her head and say: - -“Not tonight. But that does not mean that you will be permitted to go -home alone. Wilbur will take care of you. Will you not?” Wilbur smiled. - -“It seems I have nothing to say in the matter but am quietly disposed -of,” he said with a spice of mischief, “the arrangement suits me, -however, so I will not object. Or, have you objections, little girlie?” -He looked at Imelda in such a quizzing manner that the tell-tale blood -dyed the pale cheeks to a dark crimson. - -“If you desire objections, Mr. Impudence, it will not be a difficult -matter to satisfy you.” Whereupon the young man, in mock humility, -begged her not to deal with him too severely, plead for pardon, and -solemnly promised that he would not offend again. Thus laughing and -jesting they prepared to part for the night. Ready to start Imelda stood -some moments at the door gazing up into the starlit heavens. Wilbur in -the meantime wound his arm tenderly about his beloved Margaret. For a -moment she was enfolded in a close embrace; pressed to his manly breast, -his lips closed over hers in a tender clinging kiss. “My own precious -one,” he murmured,—“you love me?” - -“As my life.” - -Again their lips met, then he stepped forward to Imelda’s side and -together they walked toward the humble home of the girl. For awhile -neither spoke, and when at last their voices did find utterance it was -only to speak of commonplace matters. Their hearts were too full to -converse much; least of all of that which was uppermost in their minds. -Imelda’s leaving would make a great change for them all, and Wilbur felt -that it would make a decided change in his life. He almost feared to -give expression to his feelings,—certainly not under the starlit -heavens. So, when after a quiet walk through the nearly silent streets, -they reached the home which soon would know Imelda no longer, he -stopped, loth to leave her, and she, as if divining his thought, simply -said, “Come,” and just as simply he followed her up the three flights of -stairs into the little room where he threw himself into an arm chair at -the open window. Imelda was about to strike a light when he said: - -“Don’t, please; come and sit here with me. It is easier to talk with -only the light of the moon.” And Imelda did as he requested, moving her -chair so that she sat just opposite him, but for awhile it seemed that -the moon, which was full and flooded the city with its pale silvery -glory, was not going to prove an inspiration to conversation, for the -moments slipped by until half an hour had passed, and as yet neither had -spoken. But now Wilbur turned and laid his hand gently upon that of the -dreaming girl. - -“Imelda!” Low, soft, tremulous, the name dropped from his lips. She -started. Why was it that the mere sound of her name should thrill her -so? - -“Imelda!” Again the low-spoken name came to her ear like sweet, -thrilling music, and suddenly, ere she knew how it had happened, she -found herself encircled by two strong arms, her head pillowed upon the -heaving breast, and the bearded lips pressed close to hers in a burning -kiss. Tender words and endearing names greeted her ear. - -“O, my darling, it is hard to see you go, not knowing when, if ever, I -may see you again, and just as you were becoming so dear to me.” - -“But Margaret?” came in a trembling whisper from Imelda’s quivering -lips. He held her closer still as he made answer. - -“She is the dearest, sweetest woman that ever loved a man.” - -“But she trusts you,” came from the trembling lips. - -“And why should she not? Am I not trustworthy? Darling, she knows the -love I bear her is all her own, and surely, you do not think her so -small that she should deem it necessary in order to hold her own, my -heart must be held in such narrow confines that none other, though she -be equally pure, equally good, may find room therein? You do not think -that, do you? No, my love; Margaret is too true, too noble a woman to -fail to understand that no matter how boundless the love may be Imelda -has won, it cannot detract one iota from that which is hers in her own -right. I could not love her less if I would, notwithstanding the new -love which you, my darling, have won, and I cannot believe that Imelda -has been one of our number all this time without having learned to -understand that there is nothing so pure as the love that is free, free -to bring blessings upon the object that inspires that love. Love is -limitless. Each new object that finds its way to the innermost recesses -of a true lover’s heart brings new stimulus that each in term may reap -the benefits, the added blessings that are bound to come with the -calling into life of each new love.” - -Wilbur Wallace was laying his whole soul bare before the pure eyes of -the young girl, and O, what a storm of emotions swept over her soul! -What a new import, and how different, these words conveyed from the -standards that had been taught her from her earliest infancy. A little -over a year ago she would have believed it to be rank treason to -passively listen, with such a sweet sense of enjoyment stealing through -her veins, to such passionate words of love from Wilbur’s lips,—and now? -Well! try as she would, she could not detect a feeling of guilt. On the -contrary she was conscious of being very happy at that precise moment, -and the conviction that had for some time been making itself -manifest,—that it is right to love, and to enjoy that love, whenever and -wherever Cupid may make his appearance, was forcing itself more clearly -upon her mind. She now began to believe and understand that nature is -right. That love must always be right, and so her answer to Wilbur was -only to nestle closer to his side. - -It was not the first time that he had encircled her waist with his arms, -and kissed the ripe dewy lips. She had always permitted it, smiling like -a happy child, as she looked into the pure dark eyes above her. Often he -had drawn both fair girls to him, an arm about each slender waist, a -fair and a dark head resting upon either shoulder. Margaret never -thought that Imelda was robbing her, and into Imelda’s head the idea -never entered that such proceedings were not right, although he had -never folded her quite so closely, nor pressed her lips so firmly as he -had done tonight, and now she felt he was giving expression to more than -the friendship he had hitherto tendered her. With a mighty bound her -heart told her that Wilbur loved her! And Imelda? - -O well, she was a woman! and as far as we have known her we have every -reason to pronounce her a true woman, true to all of nature’s holiest -instincts. So, who would or who could blame her when she gave herself up -to the subtle warmth that had crept into her heart and pervaded her -whole being? She felt her pulses throb and thrill, and knew she was -under the influence of the sweetest of all human emotions, but feeling -them to be pure she gave herself up to the influence of the hour, and to -the love that had unawares crept into her life. - -Yes! Imelda now knew that she loved, even as she was loved, and the -minutes passed until they grew to hours—hours of pure holy joy, and when -Wilbur left her the dawn had crept into the east, and with his kisses -resting upon her lips she still sat at the open window, dreaming of the -raptures that life—sweetened by magic love—had brought her. And soon the -waking dreams merged into the sleep of youth and innocence as the brown -eyes closed; and still the smile hovered about the dewy red lips as they -in tender cadence whispered—“Wilbur!” - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - - -The morning hours passed. The sun rose high in the heavens and still -Imelda slept; slept until the noonday rays fell across the fair flushed -face. The heat soon made the room uncomfortably warm, waking the -sleeping maiden who, confused at first, did not understand how she came -to be sleeping at the open window. But all in a moment memory returning -with a swift rush, brought back the sweet hours of the departed night. -The red life blood stained the fair cheek and obeying the first impulse -Imelda’s face was buried in her hands, hiding the blushes that stained -it. Such holy memories she would keep hidden even from the sun’s bright -rays. Then brushing the tangled tresses from her brow she cooled the -burning face with fresh cold water, darkened her room and disrobing lay -down upon her bed to rest the aching limbs that had become cramped by -reclining so long in an uncomfortable position. - -But the desire to sleep had fled. Thoughts in the brown head revolved in -chaotic confusion. The sweet love dream wove rosy fancies until chased -by the more realistic thoughts of the near future, causing a feeling of -sadness until rose-hued love again conquered. - -Thus for an hour or more, in sweet reveries indulging, and when the -excited nerves were becoming soothed, and soft slumber gently closing -the drowsy eyes, a low rap sounded upon the door. The next minute -Margaret was sitting upon the edge of the bed, chaffing and teasing -Imelda for being so lazy. - -“It is easy to be seen,” she was saying, “that you were born for -something better than standing behind a counter, measuring laces. What a -perfect lady you would make, to be sure. Your very first holiday you -must use in practicing the airs, the manners of a fine lady.” Her clear -sweet laugh rang out while she bent and kissed the red lips of her -friend. - -Imelda’s soft rounded arms wound themselves about the fair form bending -above her and drew her close to her fast beating heart. Laying her lips -to Margaret’s pink shell-like ears, she rapidly whispered; then drawing -back, eagerly did she look into the now quiet and pretty sobered face of -Margaret, who seemed to have sunk into deep thought. - -“Margaret,” whispered Imelda. “Margaret what have you to say?” The large -blue eyes rested lovingly on the dark face before her, darker hued still -because of the burning blushes that were mantling it. Margaret’s answer -was to bend low and lay her face close to hers. Her eyes shone brightly -as she clasped Imelda to her breast. - -“What have I to say? Why, as you followed the dictates of your heart you -have done perfectly right. Wilbur is so grand so noble a man, how can a -woman help loving him? You did not think I would find fault with you for -doing precisely as I have done? Maybe, if I thought it were possible -that you could win him away from me it might be that I would not treat -the matter so coolly,” [a new light dawned in Margaret’s eyes] “for I am -only human, and I love him, O, how I love him! I find in him my nearest -realization of heaven—as I can think it. He is to me life itself. If the -star of my love were suddenly to set I think my life would go out with -it. My love has power to sway me like a storm-tossed bark, like a mighty -oak in the wind. And you, Imelda? Tell me what is your love like.” The -waves of rich blood were flooding the face of the questioned girl. - -“Not like that,” she said. “Mine is a quiet joy; it is peace; it is -balm. Like oil on troubled waters; a calm after a storm; a haven of -rest. To lose him would bring me pain, deep and lasting, but not a -complete wreck. But O, Margaret, I don’t want to think of anything like -that. The mere thought hurts.” - -How long the girls would have gone on in this strain can never be known, -for at this moment a rap again resounded on the door of the room. -Imelda, frightened, quickly drew the covers closely about her form, the -next moment she was merrily joining in the silvery laugh of Alice who -had entered without waiting to be bidden. The dainty figure was attired -in rich black lace that became the lily fairness of the sweet face -exceedingly well. It was the first meeting between Margaret and Alice. - -“A pretty, merry child,” was Margaret’s inward comment. - -“Proud and haughty,” was Alice’s first thought. That was always the -first impression Margaret made on others, and only in the measure that -new acquaintances won their way into her heart did she unbend; only to -the nearest and dearest did she show the child of nature that she really -was. It was not long, however, until winsome, pretty Alice had found -that way, and for a while Margaret dropped the proud air that became her -so well and descended to the mimic and burlesque. She recited selections -of emotions and passion, until tears filled the eyes of her auditors, -then suddenly, in the twinkling of an eye, the broad brogue of Irish -Bridget caused them, with blinded eyes, to hold their sides, convulsed -with laughter. Then followed a negro song, ending with an Indian -war-whoop; whereupon she sat down upon the floor at their feet and asked -them if they did not think it rather foolish to so exert themselves with -laughing, such a warm day. “It is so exhausting, you know, and so -vulgar!” and waving her fan back and forward in the most approved -languid, lady-like style, she elevated her slightly retrousse nose, -while her companions went into new convulsions of laughter. - -Leaving them to recover their composure she rose and stepping to the -window drew aside the curtains. In a moment she was lost to her -surroundings; her thoughts following her eyes into the distance, into -the future. Incomprehensible dreamer she was, as she gazed up into the -azure sky. The pearly teeth sank deep into the crimson lips. Tightly the -white slender hands were interlaced, while the large eyes became soft -and lustrous, a mist rising therein, and presently tears were falling -upon the folded hands, recalling her from dreamland to the realistic -present. Just then Imelda’s arm was wound about the snowy neck and her -quick eye caught sight of the tear drops. Her heart gave a quick -apprehensive bound. - -“What is it?” grasped the paling lips as she caught the tear-bedewed -hands in hers. “Am I the cause?” - -But already Margaret’s mood had changed; a bright smile played about the -sensitive mouth. - -“No, dearest,” she said, “how could you.” - -But Imelda was not so easily satisfied. The cruel fear entered her heart -that Wilbur might be the cause. The painful thought was reflected in her -eyes. All in an instant Margaret understood. Folding her arms about her -friend’s neck she said: - -“Not that, Imelda, never that! I am not so foolish, but I do not -understand myself today. It is a day of my many moods. I am as changeful -as an April day. I was thinking of the future, what it may bring me. Do -not think, silly child, that your pure love for Wilbur has caused my -tears. Not of that was I thinking. Oh, the curse of poverty! I love -beautiful things. I love fame. I love wealth. I love a home, and I love -little children. [This last came almost in a whisper.] What will, oh -what will the future bring? Any of these? and which of these? will any -of my dreams be realized? Sometimes a sort of despair comes over me when -I think of the hours of trial, of pain, of suffering my dear mother has -been compelled to endure, with her nature so well fitted to enjoy and to -bless. A kind of wild anger sometimes takes possession of me. It has -been nothing but plod and work. Then I think if her fate is to be mine, -over again, I could curse the day I was born. - -“But those feelings do not often last long. The determination to conquer -buoys me up. I mean to sway the world, and—I will! I will fight for -freedom until I obtain it. I will not permit myself to be shackled and -fettered. Society has placed fetters enough upon me at my birth; and I -will not add to their number. Free as the wild winds I mean to be. I -will conquer fate. The day shall dawn that victory shall be mine; and -then those I love shall be happy as the laughing sunshine of a summer’s -day. - -“And to curb some one else!—to curb you, my sweet Imelda, could I do -that and be consistent with my ideas of justice? Never again, my dear -girl, never again insult me with that suspicion. Now good bye, my -precious one, this evening I expect you to be with me.” - -Bending she kissed her, and without bestowing a single glance upon the -surprised Alice, Margaret was gone ere Imelda had fully comprehended her -meaning. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - - -Imelda had seen Margaret in similar moods before, and she knew of the -intensity that sometimes lurked beneath the smiling exterior. She knew -Margaret’s most dearly cherished desire was some day to be a mother. To -press the rosy dimpled infant, the child of the man her heart owned -king—to her jubilant heart was her dream of dreams. But with this gift -that she so craved she demanded no common conditions and environments. -To call into being a perfect child she must be a perfect mother, and she -understood, only too well, that she could not be that, surrounded with -imperfect conditions. - -Something had vividly portrayed this dream before her eyes today. Imelda -understood the fierce storm of emotions that sometimes shook the nature -of the proud girl to its very foundations. But Alice did not understand. -She was rather frightened than otherwise at the storm that had so -suddenly burst from the lips that had but a short time previously been -overflowing with gayest merriment. The depths of feelings thus exhibited -was a revelation to her. She had never heard such wild, such passionate -words from any one, much less from the lips of a woman. In a helpless -manner she turned to Imelda for explanation. But Imelda appeared to have -forgotten the presence of Alice, as she sat blankly staring after the -receding form and at the door through which she had passed, and only -after Alice had twice spoken her name was she recalled to herself. With -a deep heart-felt sigh she arose and began arranging her simple toilet, -but never a word did she say of the queer manner of her friend, until -again the voice of Alice aroused her. - -“What was it you said? O, the meaning of this strange outburst. I don’t -know if I would be able to explain the moods of Margaret. I doubt if -anyone could explain them, but she is the dearest, sweetest, noblest -woman that ever lived. Her life, like mine, has been overshadowed by -those of her parents. She understands the meaning of the finger of -scorn, and her proud spirit rebels against it.” - -“The finger of scorn? What do you mean? Explain yourself.” - -“Margaret’s mother is a divorced woman.” - -“A divorced woman!” broke, in a surprised cry, from the lips of the -young woman. Another question seemed to hover on them, but checking -herself she waited an answer. Imelda smiled. She understood what was -going on in the other’s mind. When, in all the past, had a woman gone -through the dread ordeal of the divorce court that the world in general -and women in particular did not believe that she was not in some way to -blame for all the shame that had been heaped upon her? She who had the -strength to dare to go through the calumny of the divorce court was, in -the minds of many, composed of some grosser material than that was used -in the composition of women in general, and little Alice Westcot was by -no means above the common. - -How could she be? Had she ever been taught otherwise? She had yet to -learn that the divorced woman, instead of being a coarse-grained -creature of the slums is more often possessed of a nature most refined, -and far superior to her surroundings. She had yet to learn that it was -for that very reason, often, that the divorced woman bears the shame, -the disgrace and the calumny heaped upon her by the cruel process of the -law, in order to escape a state so distasteful to her sensitive soul -that death itself is preferable to the continued endurance of bondage. -Imelda knowing this could only smile, but she hastened to say: - -“Yes! her mother was married to a man that Margaret is anything but -proud to acknowledge as a father. He was coarse and brutal; often -descending to so low a level as to strike the woman who was the mother -of his children. Margaret’s mother was a woman very sensitive and -refined. The only wonder to me is that she ever could have made the -selection that she did, unless the fact that she was little more than a -child could be considered an explanation. He drank, he cursed her, he -struck her. He did not provide. The more she worked the less did he do, -and the more he depended upon her efforts to gain a livelihood, until -finally one day she took her babes (she had two of them) in her arms and -left the man who had made of her life such a miserable ruin. - -“As time passed he sought to induce her, by every effort in his power, -to return to him; but his efforts were unavailing. She would rather, she -says, have thrown herself with a babe clasped in either arm into the -cold waves of the darkly flowing river than again return to the bondage -from which she had escaped. For, added to all the other indignities she -had been forced to bear, were the constant outrages perpetrated upon her -womanhood, and which she could no longer endure.” - -“The brute!” broke, in a passionate exclamation, from the lips of Alice. - -Not heeding the interruption, save by a quick sharp glance at the young -woman by which glance she noticed that her lips were compressed and the -delicate hand clinched, she proceeded with her story. - -“Finding her mother could not be induced to return he finally entered a -suit for divorce, and here the demon nature of the man showed itself in -its most depraved form. It would have been the easiest thing in the -world to have obtained a divorce upon the grounds of desertion, as -nothing could ever have induced her to return to him, but that did not -suit his vile purpose. He circulated all the unclean, defaming reports -about her that his low mind could concoct, which brought Mrs. Leland to -the verge of insanity. - -“At last it was all over. Once more she was a free woman, but defamed -and disgraced before the world. It was then she registered a vow that -the world should yet pay her the respect that was her due, and nobly has -she kept her word. Her daughter Margaret can go with head erect into the -best society, while she herself is everywhere treated with the most -marked respect. But for all that, Margaret has oft times felt the stigma -her father has placed upon her mother, and through her upon her own -name, and many of these fierce outbursts,—one of which you have just -witnessed, are due to that fact. But Margaret, like her mother, is pure -gold, and no taint remains upon her, or upon her equally true and pure -mother.” - -As Imelda finished speaking she finished also her toilet, and sinking -into a low rocker, in a tired manner, laid her head against its back. -Presently Alice slipped forward and knelt at her side. She laid her face -against Imelda’s knees but said nothing. For a few moments the young -girl permitted her to retain this position, then laying her hand upon -the fair head and gently brushing the blond hair from the white temples, -said: - -“What is it, Alice?” A change had come over the merry features. A -hitherto unthought-of sadness dwelt in the light eyes where also a -suspicious moisture was visible, and with a noticeable effort she -conquered something that was gathering in her throat. - -“Nothing,” she replied. “What should I have to say? Only Mrs. Leland’s -history has placed a new light upon divorce in my eyes. I have never -heard a case thus discussed, or seen it placed in such light before. She -was at all events a brave woman, and I would like to meet her. As for -Margaret I know I shall always love her.” - -“If you really wish to meet Mrs. Leland nothing will be easier,” Imelda -said. “I am to spend the evening with them. You can accompany me and -judge for yourself.” - -“Thank you. But you must remember, Margaret has not invited me. So you -see I cannot go.” - -“Nonsense! I see nothing of the kind. Margaret is not responsible for -the oversight she has committed and I will take it upon myself to -introduce you into their pretty but simple home. But really, I feel -hungry. I have not taken food today, and my stomach demands its rights.” - -“Not taken food today? Why, Imelda! what do you mean? Do you know what -time it is?” - -“I must confess that I have not been troubling myself to ascertain, so -cannot answer your question.” - -“Well, you seem to attach little importance to the craving of the inner -man—or woman, which is it in this case?” laughed Alice. “But for all -that, will answer my question myself for the enlightenment of your -pitiful ignorance. It is now half past two. I am usually not any too -early a riser myself but long ere this I generally have eaten my second -meal.” - -“Little gourmand!” smiled Imelda. “I wonder you do not say it is time -for a third one.” Alice laughed lightly. - -“That is a libel,” she said. “I protest; but in order that you may be no -longer exposed to the danger of starving yourself I insist that you now -go with me. I will take care of you in the most approved style.” - -Imelda protested. “A glass of milk, some fruit and a piece of cake, will -be all-sufficient and I have a supply of that on hand.” But Alice -insisted so strenuously that Imelda succumbed and in a short time both -were comfortably seated at a table in a restaurant awaiting the dainty -viands that Alice had ordered notwithstanding the protesting looks of -Imelda. But Alice only laughingly shook her head and proceeded to call -for some little extras. It seemed to afford her a peculiar pleasure to -press these little attentions. She was happy to be able to contribute -towards furnishing some little pleasure for the friend for whom she knew -life had hitherto not turned the sunniest side, and Imelda soon came to -understand that it was useless to protest against her friend’s -generosity. - -Having finished their meal they seated themselves in the carriage that -stood in waiting, and were soon bowling along the shady drives. For -awhile thought was busy with each of the fair occupants. Imelda was -thinking of the changes that had come into her life, past and present. -How many sighs, how many tears lay in the bitter past. She shuddered as -with cold, on this blazing hot day. No, no! She was done with it. She -did not desire to resurrect its skeleton memories, even though some -dearly loved ones belonged to that past. But the present? Were not the -changes the present was bringing also fraught with bitterness? Yes, but -not without hope. The green banner of hope was held high, indicating the -coming of better times. There would be sweet memories mixed with the -pain of parting. And the future? She would win it, she would conquer it. -She would not be less brave than Margaret who so earnestly vowed to -conquer all obstructions. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - - -While such thoughts surged through the brain of Imelda, what was it that -clouded the brow of fair Alice, causing now and then the ruby lips to -part with a tremulous sigh? What caused the eyes to grow dim, the -child-like mouth to quiver? Was there a skeleton in her closet also? Ah, -could we always but lift the veil and look underneath! What aching, -breaking hearts the smiling lips sometimes mask. Imelda looked up just -in time to see a bright drop splashing upon the dainty gloved hand, but -which was hastily brushed away. Another moment and the young woman was -laughing and chatting in a way that showed a light and merry (?) heart -underneath, and Imelda forbore to question. The two had a very nice -drive, enjoying the parks and open air sports. The hours of rest were -doing Imelda a world of good, reviving her spirits and calling a rosy -hue to the pale face. - -The evening found them at the home of the Lelands, where they were both -heartily welcomed. Alice watched the faces about her, wondering whose -lover the handsome Wilbur Wallace was. She read in his face an almost -worshipful love when his eyes rested on the proudly regal Margaret, -while they followed with a passionate intensity every movement of the -queenly Imelda, which glance would soften to a holy glow when he bent -his head above her and when his hand touched hers. Alice felt the warmth -of Mrs. Leland’s motherly manner, and soon found that her heart was in -every word she uttered. Although here and there a silver thread could be -seen among the brown, her manner was as bright and youthful as that of -the young girl’s. Later the generous hostess brought in fruits, cake and -cream, and merry sallies were passed round, while the refreshments were -being discussed. Music and singing came in also for their share, and -Alice felt that she had passed a very pleasant evening indeed. - -The absence of all formality was not the least pleasing feature. The -naturalness of every movement and action was refreshing in the extreme -to Alice, whom the wealth of her husband had led, during the years of -her married life, into those circles of society where empty phrases and -society small talk are paramount, but which must be delivered in a -stiff, formal, cut and dried manner. To talk, to act, to laugh, to eat, -to drink, to sleep, to rule—that is society life; anything but to be -natural. O, how homelike the little circle was! The evening passed by -and the time came for parting. Margaret reminded Imelda of her promise -of yesternight, and tendered the same invitation to Alice, but the -latter did not accept. - -“No! no! I would only be intruding. It is enough that I am about to -separate these precious friends without intruding upon the last days and -hours they can have together. With many thanks for the pleasant evening -I have spent I will bid you good night. Tomorrow is another day when I -shall see you again.” Leaning back in the cushions of her carriage she -was rapidly driven to her hotel. Wilbur kissed both fair girls and for a -moment his arms wound about Imelda’s form. She could feel the beating of -his heart and heard his rapid breathing. She smiled into his face, wound -her arms about his neck, laid her cheek against his, for an instant -touched her lips to his whispered “Good night,” and the next instant had -slipped from his embrace, and from the room. - -Margaret was standing at the window gazing at the starry heavens when -she heard the door close after Imelda’s retreating form. Turning she saw -that they two were alone. Again she turned to the window giving him time -to recover himself, and when a few minutes later she crossed the room to -his side Wilbur had regained his composure. She laid both hands upon his -shoulder and looked into the dark eyes. - -“Wilbur,” she whispered. Only that one word, the mention of his name, -but O, it spoke volumes. The next moment he had caught her to his breast -and covered the fair face with kisses. - -“My darling! my darling!” he said. “You love me, you trust me?” There -was a suspicious moisture in the dark blue eyes as she crept closer into -his arms. - -“You know I do.” The girl’s heart was passing through a fiery ordeal. -Would she prove pure gold? Long were they locked in each other’s -embrace, not a word was spoken, but the lips were sealed each with the -vibrating glowing lips of the other. Holding her thus close he drew her -to his knee as he sank into the swelling cushions of an arm chair, and -Imelda’s dark head had for several hours pressed the snowy pillow ere -Margaret sought her side. She leaned over and kissed her on the forehead -when the white lids opened and the soft arms closed about the neck of -her friend. Thus the two clasped in each other’s arms a dark head and a -fair one pressing the same pillow, their breath mingling, they fell -asleep, and not until Mrs. Leland gently shook them and laughingly -called them the seven sleepers, did they awake. - -“I am afraid you would be ‘my ladies’ of the first water could you live -according to your inclination. I believe girls are naturally lazy.” Thus -teasing and laughing she moved about opening the shutters and letting in -the bright sunshine. - -“Only see how you have let the golden hours of the morning fly away -lazily hugging your bed.” But the smiling faces on the pillow did not -look as though this moralizing had anything to do with them. Margaret -saucily told her mother that she (her mother) was only sorry that she -could not lie there at that hour and enjoy a lazy nap, but if she would -be kind enough to cease moving about and give them a little chance they -would think the matter over, and in a little while come downstairs and -have some breakfast. - -“Which means, you saucebox, that I am to leave the room and go to -prepare your breakfast. Very well, Miss Indolence, but I hope you will -condescend to make your appearance when it is prepared.” Thus bright and -cheerful the new day began, and in a little while fresh and rosy, -attired in white muslin dresses they made their appearance. Margaret had -insisted that Imelda should wear one of her own snowy robes for the -morning. - -“I am tired of seeing you in this everlasting black.” So the somber gown -had been laid aside and when later in the day Alice came to carry Imelda -off she clapped her little hands in delight at the sight of the spotless -robes. She wanted her to retain the pretty dress for the day, but to -this Imelda would not consent, so she had her way. Then Alice asked -Margaret to join them for the day. “I shall need your advice and help.” -Both girls looked up with a questioning glance, but Alice shook her head -and said: - -“No! I will answer no questions, only come.” They were not long in -doubt, however, as to what it was that Alice wanted Margaret’s advice -for. They drove up to a large dress goods emporium where they selected a -variety of beautiful fabrics. Soft gray woolens and dainty white -muslins; also a handsome black silk. At first Imelda did not understand -that they were meant for her; and when she realized it; it was too late -to protest. She was scarcely more than half pleased, as Alice counted -out the price for the pretty material, and made up her mind to accept it -only as a loan, and so she told Alice. Alice did not object, only said: - -“There are many things you will need and it will not be a question of -how soon you will return the amount; that can be settled some day when -you leave me. I would far rather, however, have made you a present of -these few necessary articles.” Imelda flushed. - -“If you do not wish to offend me, you will cease to speak in such a -strain. I can understand that I look very much out of place with my -plain black muslins, but as your companion, nursery governess to your -children I will hardly need much costly apparel.” - -“As my friend,” corrected Alice. “Whatever else you may be; whatever -position you may insist upon filling, I wish it distinctly understood -that you are my friend. An orphan, in reduced circumstances, if you -will, but always, most assuredly my friend.” Thus the matter was settled -for the present. Imelda bit her lip. Alice did not understand that the -act of kindness, as she meant it to be, was, and must be most galling to -the proud spirited girl; but no further comments were made at that time. -The fair trio with their purchases next drove to a dressmaking -establishment. Under protest Imelda was measured, and the order given to -have the dresses made on short notice. - -“You have nothing to say in this, only to obey,” Alice had said with -merry laughter. Thus the days slipped by one after another, until -Imelda’s trunks were packed, awaiting the expressman to take them to the -depot. She herself was arrayed in her traveling dress, a plain soft gray -serge, seated at the window awaiting her friends who had promised to -escort her to the depot, Alice having said that she would meet her -there. Tears stood in her eyes as she let them wander over the familiar -objects that she was to take leave of now forever. Many a little trifle -was stored away in the bottom of her trunks, but other and larger -articles she was now forced to part with. Many a token had been given to -Margaret, but there were still others that had to be disposed of, which -Wilbur had promised to do, and as she now heard a familiar step coming -up the stairs she quickly, with a convulsive start, laid her hand upon -her heart and turned her face to the window. Another moment an arm had -drawn her into a close embrace and she lay sobbing upon a manly breast. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - - -Quite a while she lay thus, for the first time giving full vent to her -feelings. She had not intended to do so, but of what avail are good -resolutions when the heart is full to overflowing; when every fiber -clings to some loved object from which it is about to be separated, and -she had not known how close her heart had clung and was clinging to this -handsome, noble man, this lover of her best, her almost only friend. In -spite of all the teachings and theorizing of later days the thought -would steal into her mind—was it right? Is it right? Was she, O, was she -wronging that noble girl? But Margaret’s clear eyes still wore the same -sweet, shining light that they had always been wont to wear. Always -cheerful, always loving. If she considered herself wronged she certainly -understood how to most successfully hide it. - -But in giving shape and being to such a thought, was she not wronging -Margaret? Her ideas of right and wrong were far too lofty to permit her -for one instant to entertain such a sentiment. Would not the idea that -those precious friends by their love were wronging her, be equivalent to -placing a curb upon the natural outpourings of their hearts? Would not -this thought be an infringement on personal liberty? To prove that she -had been wronged Margaret must analyze the how! Could it in this case be -otherwise than that some one person had taken or appropriated something -that was her own, her personal property? Now how could any one rob her -of her own? She knew and felt that that which was her own no one else -could take from her, for just as soon as that which she had thought her -own was appropriated by another, the unquestionable, the insurmountable -truth confronted her that the said object had not been her own. Or, -again, if such could once have been the case it proved now her inability -to hold it and consequently at the same time proved her unworthiness. -Are we, is anyone, justified in an attempt to forcibly retain that which -in nature is attracted elsewhere? - -Margaret in her reasoning would have answered “No!” Therefore it was the -height of folly to speak of robbing her. And when the object in -question, as in this case, was the heart of a man, was it not a question -so easily answered as not to leave a shadow of doubt that he who bore -the heart in question in his bosom was the natural owner thereof, and as -such, was possessed of the indisputable right to dispose of it? - -But Imelda, through his love for her, might sway that heart? O, yes! -that was her right, as he had granted it to her. That another, equally -pure and good girl had the power to win and sway him also proved only to -her that his nature was more grand, his character more noble, his mind -more pure, and his heart vastly larger than that of other men. No! -Margaret did not feel herself wronged, although she knew that Imelda -held an equally warm place in his great heart. - -But as yet Imelda did not fully realize and understand the full grandeur -of Margaret’s nature; how wholly uncalled for her fears were; and when -she gave expression to this fear that was making havoc with her peace, -Wilbur who knew and understood the noble sentiments of his brave -Margaret answered the agitated girl: - -“Where is the usually clear-headed woman, the woman who has discussed so -often these questions of right and wrong? of individual liberty, of -universal liberty? the question of the emancipation of women from sex -slavery? the woman who has been claiming and agitating for herself, and -for her much wronged sex, the right to the indisputable ownership of -herself? In accordance with all this, would you now place all your -holiest and purest feelings and desires in a bondage most unnatural? -Would you not by such action admit the right of one person to dictate a -‘thou shalt’ and ‘thou shalt not’ to another? Look up, my sweet. You do -not think me, and believe me, still so far in the old ruts and so deep -in the old superstitions and prejudices that in order to love one girl I -must prove false and disloyal in my allegiance to another. - -“See! as yet we have not arrived at the point of action. We have not yet -the strength to stand and walk alone. As yet we are only theorizing. The -few advocates of Love in Liberty with whom we have been associating in -an intimate circle are not egotistic enough to expect our women, our -girls, to shake off the restraining hands of society and act in accord -with their beliefs and views. That would mean ostracism. We dare not -place so heavy a load upon weak shoulders without giving them the -assurance that at all events their future is provided for. Stern, -demoralizing poverty binds our hands, and until ways and means are found -which will show us in a clear light the road we are to travel we must -conquer nature’s desires and wait, patiently wait. But shall this -circumstance prevent us also from folding the sweet loved ones to our -hearts and from laying the kiss of pure and holy love upon their lips? -Never! Imelda, you would not ask it. What is it to us if the whole world -declares the human heart is capable of only one small dwarfed love. We -know better; we who have been developing under Nature’s teachings. We -will follow nature’s promptings and permit our hearts to expand in the -sunshine of their beauty, wherever and whenever this beauty bursts in -its glory upon us.” - -Placing his hand gently under and raising the tear-wet face until he -could look into the shining moist eyes, and bending low his lips pressed -hers in a long and lingering kiss, and by and by under the influence of -his caresses and soothing words a quiet peace stole over Imelda, only -that subtle pain that held her heart, as with an icy grip would torment -her and—well she knew what caused it. - -“But,—‘Harrisburg’”—Wilbur was speaking—“is not the end of the world by -any means. We will meet again, my love. I feel it. Probably when the -clouds have passed away, when we can see clearer and know what we can do -and ought to do. And then, who knows, in that unknown future into which -you are about to step, may be a work for you to perform. Your destiny -may be lying awaiting your coming. There you may find him who will prove -your best loved one. Nay, sweet one; shake not your head. I am not vain -enough, not conceited enough to think that I alone should possess the -power to sway your gentle heart. No! I hope you may prove yourself -stronger and greater than the common everyday woman, whose ideal of pure -love is centered in one poor, weak mortal with his one, two, perhaps -more, sterling good qualities yet who will prove himself lacking in -others equally good, nay, perhaps better qualities, which will be -represented in another man but which by her must be passed by unnoticed -because not centered in the person of her one love. No! my darling. I -hope the time will come when a grander passion will come to you than I -have inspired.” - -Wilbur smiled as he again folded her close and kissed the trembling -lips. “I appreciate the sweet tender love that fills and swells your -gentle breast, but I know, if you do not, that it will be another than -myself who will be able to shake this woman’s heart of yours to the very -foundation of your being. Under the influence of a mightier love than -you have yet felt you will awake to your full strength. Then will come -the time when you will arise to the height and glory of your work in the -cause of humanity, in the cause of womankind.” - -He spoke the words soothingly, smoothing the glossy dark braids, as if -thereby to cause the pain of the present hour to gently pass over. Did -he feel that his words would prove prophetic? With a swift motion -peculiar to herself she threw her head slightly back looking upward into -the earnest eyes, taking his face between both her hands, she said, -softly, gently: - -“Wilbur, you are a man among men! A friend whom any woman might well -count a priceless treasure. Whether or not it is true that my heart will -find another whom, in time, it will own king, this much I do know, that -I know of no place where I would rather rest than in your strong -sheltering arms, but the time has come that I must stand alone. I am -about to weigh the last anchor that holds me to the old life. In a few -hours I shall be speeding away, cut loose from all the old ties. I will -be brave now, and calmly look the coming time squarely in the face.” -Saying which she disengaged herself from the encircling arms. - -“Where is Margaret?” Scarcely had the question dropped from her lips -when the answer came just outside the door. - -“Here! I am late, I know, and that too when I wanted to be here early in -order to have one more hour with my darling girl, ere we are parted. But -mamma was quite sick this morning; something unusual for her, as she -generally has such good health. I left her sleeping, however, and -feeling much better.” This last in answer to the anxious inquiry that -fell from two pairs of lips at the same time. - -“O, my precious, precious darling, must I really lose you? I cannot -realize that it can be true that I am to lose my friend, my Imelda;” and -the two girls sank into each other’s arms, clasping each other in a -tender loving embrace, mingling their pain and tears. Wilbur stepped to -the window and studied the tops of the buildings upon which he gazed in -order to give these two tried and true friends an opportunity for a last -exchange of a multitude of thoughts and emotions that were thronging -their breasts and seeking utterance in incoherent speech. But time is -merciless in its flight. Wilbur turned to remind the girls that the -final moments were drawing very near. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - - -“Mrs. Westcot will be getting uneasy if we tarry longer and indeed we -certainly will have no time to lose if we wish to meet our little friend -at the appointed hour.” - -Thus admonished the girls made haste to prepare to leave. A few minutes -later the three were seated in a car hurrying toward their destination. -Imelda had bade Mrs. Leland farewell the evening before—at whose home -had been spent the last evening the three friends were together. She had -also found present there quite a number of her radical friends whom Mrs. -Leland had notified of the coming departure of Imelda Ellwood; and had -invited them to meet her at her home. All who had received an invitation -had come, for Imelda was a favorite and had found her way into many -hearts. All were sorry to lose the society of the intelligent young lady -friend and co-worker in the cause of humanity. None had expressed more -deep regret at the loss they were all about to sustain than our white -haired friend, Mr. Roland. He had taken Imelda by the hand, long and -earnestly had he spoken, giving her much fatherly advice, privately and -otherwise, as to the life she was about to enter upon. Among total -strangers the fact that Alice Westcot had been a girl friend in former -days did not weigh much with the old man. She was only one weak woman. -In the midst of these new surroundings Imelda would often find it -difficult to walk erect and self-reliant in the new path. - -“It will hardly be an atmosphere of truth,” said he, “with which you -will be surrounded, but rather one of deceit and falsehood. Your powers -of discerning the pure from the debased will be severely tried. There -will be work to be done, for the true worker is ever on the alert. You -must be an opportunist, ever awaiting the chance to strike while the -iron is hot. Ever keep your eyes open. Point out the defects of a rotten -system; the unholiness of an unmated marriage; the uncleanness of lives -united without love; the loathsomeness of keeping up the semblance of -love when it has long since become a putrid corpse. Keep your mind -clear. Never let lust—passion—in the guise of love, draw near your side, -tainting your fresh young life with sickening noisomeness. It is -difficult to see clear in the dark labyrinth of society customs, and you -may stumble and fall. And oh, the difficulty of rising after such fall! -If it requires almost unlimited strength to obtain a firm foothold at -any time in the whirlpool of fashion and custom, it will require -strength superhuman to rise in a struggle in which you have once sunk, -and it will take all your strength of will power, all your keen sense of -honor and justice, all your sweet natural purity and self conscious -pride to always hold that queenly head erect and walk firmly among the -slippery pitfalls that unseen may lie along your every path.” - -It was not a very pleasant contemplation that her aged friend had called -up before Imelda’s mental view, but probably a much needed and wholesome -lesson. “Forewarned is forearmed,” and if Imelda’s future was to escape -the temptation that so often besets the lives of beautiful women, so -much the better for her, as it would save her many little struggles of -the soul. But on the other hand it would never tend to harm her that she -knew something of the dark precipices of life. So she thanked Mr. Roland -for the well meant kindness that had prompted his words, and in bidding -him good bye she had permitted him to kiss her young fresh lips, well -knowing that only the most disinterested concern for her future prompted -the action. - -One and all of the many kind friends had a parting admonition, a well -meant advice, a loving word of farewell, all expressing the hope at some -future time to meet her again. Mrs. Leland had folded her in her arms -and held her there as a mother does her tired babe, and indeed Imelda -had been tired. The events of the evening had been full of conflicting -emotions. The taking leave of friend after friend was not a light task, -and it had been a drain upon her strength. She would have much preferred -to spend this last evening quietly in the close circle of her most -intimate friends, and yet she also knew that she owed it to these others -who had always shown themselves so appreciative of her friendship, of -her small endeavors to aid them in their grand work of humanity. She -felt the desire to see them all once more before forever stepping from -the enchanted circle, and above all she would have been sorry had she -failed to receive the parting clasp of Mr. Roland’s hand. - -When it was all over, the lips quivered and the eyes filled with tears, -as she laid her face to Mrs. Leland’s. The young matron gently passed -her hand over the dark head brushing the heavy waves of hair from the -white brow and in doing so discovered that Imelda was feverish. There -had been too much excitement and she feared it might prove detrimental -to the health of the young girl, so she had a nice fresh cup of tea -brought for her, then folding her close in a farewell embrace she kissed -her again and yet again, giving her much good counsel and many cheering -words. She had then sent her home, as she insisted upon going. More like -a sister than otherwise did Mrs. Leland seem to the parting girl as -indeed she always felt thus toward the young matron. The girls never -thought of keeping secrets from her; she was one of them, as she always -made it a point of being in the confidence of Margaret, which was given -voluntarily, as indeed it would have been difficult to be in the society -of this woman and not have full confidence and trust in her. She won it -from them and the girls knew only too well they could find no better -place for the safe keeping of that which they wished to entrust to her. - -But we have been devious and must hasten to rejoin the three friends as -they now meet the little lady so anxiously awaiting their arrival at the -depot. Her face lit up with an unmistakable expression of relief, the -words she spoke the next moment giving proof of the anxiety to which she -had been subjected. - -“O, at last! at last! I thought you would never come. I had all kinds of -visions—of runaway horses, of some great fire, of some accident wherein -you figured as the heroine. Then too I thought you might have changed -your mind at the eleventh hour. Indeed I felt quite miserable.” - -The whole company laughed. Imelda kissed the little excited woman. - -“You seem to have but a poor opinion of me. Don’t you know that -fickle-mindedness is not counted among my faults? We still have fifteen -minutes left I believe,” looking up at the timepiece in the central -waiting room, “so just please calm yourself. I am a fixture. You need -not fear that you can easily rid yourself of me now.” Imelda continued -in this light tone. The others imitating her example. The object to be -gained thereby was easily discerned, for neither wanted to display the -aching heart that lay hidden within the bosom, but for all that none was -deceived. The eye so eloquently speaks the language of the heart and -their telegraphy was sending swift messages back and forth. All too -quickly the passing moments flew. The train was ready and would not -wait. Both fair young travelers were safely seated in their Pullman car. -The last farewell had been spoken, and as the puffing engine steamed out -from the depot the fluttering of white handkerchiefs was the last view -the friends had of each other. With tear-wet eyes Margaret watched the -outgoing train, Wilbur’s face bearing almost as sad a look as her own. -When would they meet again? - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - - -Thus had come the beginning of the new life and the past lay enshrouded -in shadows. Almost at the threshold of that new life Imelda was met by -him whose coming Wilbur had, in last moments preceding the sundering -from the old life, prophesied. With Wilbur’s kisses yet warm on her -lips, every beat of her heart responding to the love he bore her, there -had been room in that heart to receive the impress of another’s image. -While still the memory of Wilbur’s caresses thrilled her the kisses of -the new-found lover sent the blood bounding in ecstacy through her -veins. Those precious friends of the past, would understand? But -Norman,—would she ever succeed in leading him to such heights of -progress as to enable him to see by the light of understanding the -glorious beauties of a boundless freedom? - -As yet she had not reached the topmost heights herself, was not yet -standing in the full glare of light that should show her the path that -lay in the direction of perfect freedom. But she had seen the brilliant -star in the distance and she knew of dark depths that were concealed, -the dungeons where prejudice and superstition held in bondage all of -nature’s pure desires. She vowed never, never to wear the galling yoke -of marriage. - -She was deliriously happy in this new love. She found their thoughts -blending in all things pertaining to nature. Only as yet Norman had paid -little attention to progressive thought on this particular subject. -Possessing an innate veneration for all women, he expected to find -heaven in the arms of one. That such a thing is not possible we would by -no means assert, for, contrary to the general rule that arbitrary laws -prove the ruin of loving hearts and sensitive lives, there are cases -where the one love has proved to be the happiness of a lifetime; but it -is time that we rid ourselves of the illusion that a compulsory marriage -law can command such fidelity and steadfastness that such cases instead -of the rare exception—as they really are—will be the rule. The knowledge -of perfect freedom—the freedom that means none may have the right to -say, “Thou shalt” and “Thou shalt not,”—with the power this knowledge -can give we rise to glorious heights, and in such knowledge is created a -love which in its abandonment to love, its power to achieve, its -strength to endure, a life opens before us that can never be attained -when fettered within prescribed limits. - -It was thus that Imelda felt, and to point out to Norman the way wherein -he would be enabled to obtain the same views was what she felt to be now -her task. But oh, the difficulty, the magnitude of her task! At least -such it seemed to her. - -Then, too, there arose another specter from the dark past. Norman -Carlton was the descendant of a proud family. In time past they had -ranked with the proudest and wealthiest of the country, and were still -reckoned among the first. His mother was a dainty aristocrat, his -sisters cultured and refined ladies. No doubt the pride of blood had -been instilled into his mind from early infancy. Would his love stand -the test of Imelda’s past? Her father? Yes, her father had been a man as -cultured and refined as ever a Carlton had been,—she felt that. But on -the side of her mother she knew it was different. Then like dark -apparitions appeared before her mind’s eye the forms of Cora and Frank. -These two were certainly living proofs (if they were yet living) of bad -blood in her veins. How would it be when this record of her gloomy past -was laid before him? Would he stand the test? - -True, Imelda understood, with the high ideals she possessed, that if he -did not stand those tests he was unworthy her love. But again, love in -its unborn glory fails to grasp such philosophy, and longs only for the -completion of the union of loving hearts. With all these difficulties in -mind Imelda was not looking to the distant future. It was rather the -near future with which she had to contend, the winning of her best loved -lover. - -After parting from Norman under the waving maple trees and after being -refreshed by a healthful sleep her mind wandered to those other friends -in their distant western home, and, grasping her pen, she spent two -hours in writing; at the end of which time two closely written sheets -lay before her. Having sealed and mailed the same she joined Alice and -the two little ones at the breakfast table. Lawrence Westcot had -breakfasted at a much earlier hour and had gone to his business. Usually -Imelda joined him, as she was an early riser, but this morning the early -hours had been given to her letter which had been directed to Margaret. - -“Rather an unexpected pleasure,” was Alice’s comment as Imelda made her -appearance and seated herself at the table. She generally came to assist -the little ones, as they were sometimes unruly and clamorous until the -hungry little stomachs had been satisfied. But that she should wait so -long ere satisfying her own physical wants was a new departure and Alice -looked as though she would like an explanation. Imelda smiled. - -“I have been writing letters,” she said. - -Alice did not seem wholly satisfied. The new sweet light that shone in -the young girl’s eyes could hardly have been produced by the doubtful -pleasure of writing letters in the early morning hours. (Alice always -found writing letters a task.) But she asked no questions at present, -though a troubled look shadowed the blue eyes as she turned her -attention to discussing the dainty meal before her. Imelda attended to -the wants of the little ones first and then sent them scampering off for -a morning romp. Scarcely had their childish forms disappeared from view -when an anxious “Well?” dropped from the lips of Alice. Imelda smiled. -Feigning not to understand, she repeated the “Well,” with an additional -“What is it?” - -“O, pshaw, Imelda,” she said, “You cannot deceive me; something has -happened, and you may as well tell me first as last.” - -Imelda’s laugh rang out merrily at this assumption of the little lady. - -“Your sense of perception is very acute this morning, but I will no -longer keep you in suspense. Norman Carlton made me an offer of marriage -last evening.” - -“You have accepted!” exclaimed Alice. For the moment it was hard to read -the pale, immovable features. - -“No I have not accepted.” Alice sighed, while a puzzled expression -settled upon her face. She found the young girl rather difficult to -understand. Why was she so slow in telling what there was to tell? - -“Finish your breakfast, Alice, and then I will tell you all.” Thus -assured a little more attention was paid to the tempting viands, but -Alice for some time was toying impatiently with her knife, waiting until -the imperturbable Imelda should be done with her breakfast. Presently -she folded her napkin, thus indicating that she was through. Then she -arose and said: - -“Come, Alice, we will go either to your room or mine where we can talk -undisturbed.” The proposition met the favor of the young woman and soon -they were seated in the cosy room of the fair mistress. - -Alice listened while Imelda took her into her confidence and told her -the story of her love. She knew of Imelda’s aversion to marriage. She -had come to understand some of her views and though she did not indorse -them yet she could not but recognize much in them that would prove an -everlasting blessing to humanity could they be put into practice. She -felt if it were opportune she would not hesitate to hold out her longing -hands for the tempting boon of freedom. Had she not told Imelda of -moments when she felt like cursing the fetters that bound her even -though they were golden? But Lawrence Westcot was known as an honorable -man; one who heaped upon his wife golden favors; who daily sought to -strew her pathway with flowers. All of this was true, yet time and again -the blue eyes would fill with tears. The merry sprite was not always -such when within her own chamber, and Imelda’s confidence called forth -no answering smile, and yet Imelda knew she always wore her brightest -smile when the handsome young man was a visitor at their home. With an -effort Alice banished the gloomy look and wished her friend happiness -when she would become the wife of Norman Carlton. - -“But,” said Imelda, “have I not told you? I will never be his wife.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXI. - - -“You will never—be—his wife? And yet you are happy—in his love? Imelda, -what do you mean?” - -“I mean,” Imelda replied, “to be wiser than you were, little one. I mean -to always keep my lover.” - -This was too much, and Alice burst into tears. That Imelda was surprised -was a mild way of expressing her emotion. A dim suspicion was born in -her mind, which, however, she tried to repress. No, no; she did not -believe it,—and yet it might be. She would watch, she would see. Taking -the excited little woman in her arms, Imelda kissed and tried to soothe -her, and after a time was apparently successful. Then she went to look -after her little charges. No sooner had the door closed upon her -retreating figure than Alice with trembling fingers locked it and -casting herself upon the bed burst into a storm of sobs, for which there -was no apparent cause, and which were so passionate that the merry -mistress of the beautiful home could scarcely be recognized. - -Surely a strange creature is woman. Of unfathomable depths her caprices; -whose moods are so various that it would prove an almost impossible task -to solve the pretty riddle. In some such way as this the conventional -novelist would doubtless comment upon the action of Alice, but we know -better than to judge her thus. It was neither a caprice nor mood that -caused the bitter sobs to shake her to her inmost being. She was no -riddle. It was all plain enough to those who would see. Nature’s voice -was clamoring for nature’s own. But man-made laws, with iron hand, stood -between. - -Alice had not known why,—why, spite of the disgust she sometimes felt at -the life surrounding her, she yet was light and happy. She had not yet -understood what it was that brought the sunshine to banish the clouds of -her life. But what had she to complain of? If you had asked her I doubt -if she would have been able to clearly answer the question, yet it was -all so clear, so apparent. - -Her husband was all that has been stated, but no special credit could -attach to him for that. Wealth was his to command. He never thought of -refusing any wish of hers that money could satisfy. If any one had -accused Lawrence Westcot of unkindness to his wife he would have opened -wide his eyes in surprise. Did she not have everything that heart could -desire? That she would turn from him when he approached her; that little -ripples of disgust shook her frame as he bent to kiss her; that her eyes -would flash in angry scorn when he attempted to secure to himself the -rights the law gave him—certainly was not his fault. That he was not -fine-grained enough to desist on such occasions could be no reason for -laying blame on his shoulders. Was she not _his_?—his by the wholly -rites of matrimony? And why should she not comply with his desires and -demands? - -And yet, handsome Lawrence Westcot was a favorite wherever he went, -especially with the fair sex. Strong, healthy, full of spirits, there -were few who stopped to look for traces of greater refinement, but -rather enjoyed the fiery look that would sometimes cause a rush of blood -to the fair face that came under its power. - -But we will leave Lawrence Westcot for the present and return to Imelda. -As nothing happened during the hours of the day that would be of -interest to us we pass them over until the shades of evening brought her -handsome lover to her side. She had donned a soft white cashmere. No -ornament of any kind, only a snowy rosebud nestling amidst the dusky -coils of hair. The flushed cheek and the happy light in the dark eyes -made a picture to gladden the heart of any lover. She was sitting in a -reclining position in a large arm chair, shading her eyes from the -bright light of the chandelier, with a fan artistically finished with -black lace, sparkling with diamond dust, a present of the fair Alice, -who was sitting at the piano, softly playing an accompaniment to a sad -little air that she was singing. A mass of pink gauze enveloped Alice’s -slender form like a cloud, from which the shoulders rose and gleamed -like marble. A beautiful picture, thought Norman, as he stood in the -open doorway. - -But another had also been feasting his eyes upon the fair form. From the -low French window which led to the balcony without, another pair of eyes -were gazing upon Imelda’s fresh young beauty. Lawrence Westcot was -standing there in the shadow of the night. Not a glance did he have just -then for the little woman who was his wife and who was softly singing to -herself. His whole being was thrilled by that other who now glanced -toward the door. The look which beamed from her face at that moment was -a revelation to him and the look on Norman’s face corroborated it. -Muttering a curse his teeth sank deep into his lip. Quickly he stepped -further into the darkness and was lost in the winding walks of the -beautiful garden. - -Intuitively Norman knew, when his eyes rested on Imelda’s figure, that -she had dressed for him. Never had she appeared anything but beautiful -to him, but tonight she seemed to surpass herself. He had never seen her -in anything but somber black, or at best in a soft, unassuming gray -gown; so that the effect of the pure white of her attire this evening -was a revelation. After greeting the hostess he seated himself at the -side of his loved one. Alice meanwhile, continuing her singing, -evidently trying in vain to hide the tears in her voice. But her fear -was needless. The world for these two did not extend to where she was -sitting. They were wholly absorbed in each other. - -Finding herself so utterly overlooked, Alice rose from her seat and -gliding to the open window soon found herself gazing up into the starlit -heavens. What was it that so rebelliously stirred her inmost soul? Had -the two in the parlor wronged her in any way? Were not both dearly loved -friends, and was it not her desire that both should be happy? Slipping -down from the balcony into the walk below which was flanked on either -side with blooming plants, Alice fled down, down until the splashing of -a fountain greeted her ear, beside which she now sank. Dipping her hand -into the cool water she let it play over the white fingers. Her bosom -heaved and in a little while the crystal drops from her eyes mingled -with the sparkling waters of the fountain. She was fighting out a -battle, here under the starlit heavens. How dare she own even to herself -what it was that moved her so? Was it the poisoned arrows of Imelda’s -views that had sunk deep into her soul? - -“No, no!” was the answer she made to this question; “Be truthful. When -you acknowledge so much, go farther and acknowledge still more. Remember -this man was your friend long ere Imelda came to be a pleasant companion -in your house; long ere you ever heard one word of the girl’s beautiful -doctrine. His voice was music, his smile heaven to you. - -“But oh, I did not, could not know,” continued the unhappy woman to -herself. “Only when she came and told me of what she had won, did my -heart awake and realize what its cravings are; what all this sunshine in -my life means. Now all will be darkness, utter darkness!” and as if the -climax had now been reached the white hand covered the quivering face, -and the pearly drops trickled from between her fingers. - -After awhile the storm in the heaving bosom was somewhat allayed; her -breathing became more regular, the sobs ceased and removing her hands -she was about to lave the tear-stained face in the cool water when she -became aware of the near presence of a man, whom she now saw was leaning -against a large fir tree and watching her every movement. - -The suddenness of her discovery almost caused Alice to scream. Although -the man had risen she could not for the moment decide who he might be, -as he was standing in the shadows, but seeing that he was discovered he -stepped out into the full light and—with a gasp Alice recognized her -husband. How long had he been standing there, how long had he been -watching her? A somewhat defiant air settled upon her countenance as -without a word she proceeded to lave her face, as she had intended -doing. - -“Rather a queer place for making your toilet, is it not?” he queried. “I -believe there could have been more suitable places found in your home.” - -Alice would rather not have answered, but felt it was not good policy to -pass his words over unnoticed. - -“I have a splitting headache, and came out into the open air and it was -very tempting to feel the cool water on my burning temple.” - -His lip curled. “I have not the least doubt,” he made answer, “that your -head aches. It seems to be the natural result when a woman indulges in -such a ‘good cry’ as I have witnessed during the last half hour. Was the -cry a result of the headache or the headache the result of the cry?” - -Alice detected the sneer underlying the words, but chose to appear -unconscious. - -“Whichever you please; my pain is great enough to cause the tears, and -tears again are liable to produce headache.” - -“Prevaricating!” he sneered. “But, my lady, I see deeper, and have been -seeing rather deep for some time past. But to change the subject, I have -had a revelation tonight. Our friends, your friend and mine, have -concluded to become more than friends; that is, if appearances do not -deceive.” - -His eyes were resting searchingly upon the face of the woman before him, -and his cunning was in vain. Not a line of the pale face moved. She -continued laving the aching brow and swollen eyelids and vouchsafed him -no answer. - -“You heard what I said?” - -“I heard what you said.” - -“Well, what do you think of it?”—this time impatiently. - -“Think of it? What could I think of it but that Imelda could not do -better. I must compliment you on having a friend whom I consider a -gentleman in every respect.” - -“O, indeed! It is quite a compliment I must acknowledge, but if you -think you have washed yourself enough permit me to remind you it would -now be in good taste to return to the house and pay just a little -attention to our guest.” - -For some reason he was pleased to be most sarcastic tonight. Such moods -she feared. His tongue was then sharper than a two-edge sword. So then -she drew the filmy lace handkerchief from her bosom and proceeded to -wipe the water from her face. Suddenly, and taking her quite unawares, -he bent and kissed the white shoulder. As if stung by an asp she pushed -him from her with such force that he nearly fell backward into the -water. - -“How dare you?” she exclaimed. His face was white to the lips. - -“I will show you how I dare if you dare to repeat such an action. A -pretty pass it has come to, if I may not kiss my own wife when I choose. -Return to the house with me at once. This moonlit show has been kept up -long enough.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXII. - - -Without a single word Alice turned and walked back to the house with her -husband at her side, but when they returned to the brightly lighted -rooms they found them empty. Norman and Imelda had disappeared. - -Alice, to avoid further persecution, fled to her own room where she -hastily disrobed and sought her couch, but her temples were throbbing in -a manner that did not promise sleep. She lay for some time pressing her -hands to the aching head, when she heard steps outside her door and -immediately after a quick rap. She recognized both step and rap. She lay -with bated breath, giving no indication that she heard, when the rap was -repeated more loud and forcible than before. Again no answer. A third -time the rap was repeated, accompanied by a loud demand to open -immediately. - -“Not tonight, Lawrence,” came in pleading, quavering accents. “I am sick -tonight.” - -“Open!” he demanded. - -“Please, Lawrence,” pleaded the voice within. - -“Will you open?” came threateningly from the outside. Trembling in every -nerve Alice rose and unlocked the door to admit the man she called -husband. - -“What do you mean?” he asked, grasping her arm in a manner anything but -gentle, “what do you mean by locking your door?” - -By this time Alice was wrought up to a hysterical pitch. With a quick -movement she threw off the hand that held her. - -“I locked the door to be safe from intrusion. I am sick tonight, and -wish to be alone.” - -“I dare say,” was the unfeeling response. “If it had been some one else -who wished admittance, our honored guest, for instance, the door would -not have been so firmly locked. Your husband, however, is not so -welcome.” - -“Lawrence!” almost shrieked the sorely tried woman. “How dare you!” - -“O, I dare anything, as you will soon find. Just now, I order you back -to your bed, and to keep quiet until I join you, in a few moments.” - -“Lawrence! You—do—not—mean to stay?” gasped the poor suffering woman. - -“Well, I—just—mean—to—stay;” mimicking her frenzied appeal. - -“But I am sick tonight, oh, so sick!” - -“The sickness then must be rather sudden. But madam, it is rather a -flimsy trick to rid yourself of your husband’s presence. I advise you, -however, to take matters more coolly. By this time you ought to -understand and to know who will come out victor.” - -And Alice did know who came out victor in this instance. But the morning -dawned upon a fever-flushed face, and ere the sun was many hours in the -heavens a doctor stood at the bedside of the little wife, who gravely -shook his head as he listened to the ravings of his patient, which—if -such utterances can be relied upon—revealed a tale of woe to the -attendants that ought to fill the heart of every true woman and man with -horror. - -The hours passed into days and the days into weeks, and yet the fever -raged unabated. Imelda, who passed the days and nights in sleepless -anxiety at the sick woman’s bedside was well nigh worn out, even though -an experienced nurse was there to share the responsibilities and care. -The little ones were banished to another portion of the house, so that -their childish prattle and laughter might not disturb the sick mother. -Lawrence Westcot came and went to and from the sick chamber, wearing a -gloomy countenance, but his presence there was not at all helpful, as it -invariable caused the patient to be very uneasy and restless, even -though he did not come within the range of her vision. She seemed to -feel his presence and the physician fearing the effect upon her nervous -system advised the husband to make his visits short. Sometimes he bent -above her, laying his hand upon her fevered brow. Unconscious though she -was she would with a quick nervous movement throw his hand aside, -muttering incoherent words. - -Both Imelda and the nurse observed that invariably the sick woman would -be worse after those visits of the husband; although of short duration -they were glad when they were over. - -Almost three weeks passed ere the much-feared crisis came. By this time -the patient was very weak and it was apparent that life hung by a -thread. Anxiously bending over the couch the two friends watched while -the clock ticked the hours away. Slowly they crept on; slowly, softly, -almost imperceptibly the life of the sufferer seemed to ebb away. - -Twelve, one, two o’clock, and still no change. Half past two, the door -of the room softly opened and Lawrence Westcot entered. Imelda’s heart -gave a bound. Why must he come at such a time? Stepping softly he drew -near. Imelda placed her finger upon her lips in token of caution. Coming -close to the side of the dying woman he stood gazing down upon her. What -his thoughts might be could not be known from the calm, unmoved -appearance of his countenance, but certainly they were not pleasant -thoughts. How could they be, when he so well knew what had brought his -wife so close to death’s door? If she should die, would not her death -lie at his door? Would he not be compelled to own himself her murderer? - -Five, ten minutes passed, then Alice moved. Imelda laid her hand upon -his arm and bent a pleading look upon him. Immediately he stepped back -into the shadows of the room and there waited the issue. Restlessly the -head moved upon the pillow. The eyelids quivered and fluttered open, the -lips moved, Imelda bent to catch the low whisper that was merely a -breath. - -“Water!” came faint, scarcely audible, from the fever-parched lips. With -a teaspoon a few drops at a time were administered, the patient -apparently gaining strength from the cooling liquid. The blue eyes -opened wide, but they were clear with the light of reason. Presently -they closed again, and soon a slow, even breathing told that sleep, -natural restful sleep, had once more come to the sufferer’s relief. The -nurse bent above her and listened, laying her fingers upon the -fluttering pulse. Presently, standing erect, she whispered: - -“She is safe for tonight. I will continue the watch. Miss Ellwood, you -had better retire and rest.” - -Imelda’s breast was heaving. The strain had been a severe one, and -feeling that it would be impossible long to control herself she hastily -left the room, followed by Westcot. Just outside the door he laid his -hand upon her arm. - -“She will be saved, you think?” He seemed to be anxious and serious. Had -not this man with his cruelty almost murdered the woman who was as yet -lying at death’s door? It cost Imelda an effort to be civil. - -“I believe so,” she answered. “According to the doctor’s statement if -she should safely pass this night there is every hope of her recovery.” - -For several moments he did not answer, then—“Thank you,” and ere Imelda -was aware of his intention he had taken her hand and lifting it he -quickly touched it with his lips. With a hasty movement she withdrew her -hand, but before she could speak he had said “Goodnight,” and swiftly -walking away left her standing there alone. - -Imelda stood looking at the hand he had kissed, and then with an -unconscious movement drew her handkerchief across the spot his lips had -touched. She shuddered. What did it mean? Without waiting to answer her -own question she turned and hastily sought her room. She was tired, O, -so tired. Never since Alice had been tossing in the fever had she known -what it was to sleep a whole night through. Snatching an hour, or two at -most, always ready at a moment’s notice to return to her post at the -side of the sick one, she had scarce found time to eat or catch a breath -of fresh air,—and now it was three o’clock in the morning. O, how -tempting looked the snowy draped bed. She felt as if she could sink into -its soft embrace, never to rise again. The night was already well -advanced; two or three hours at most was all she expected to sleep. The -faithful nurse was just as much in need of rest as herself. A moment she -hesitated. Should she risk it? The nurse was positive that for the rest -of the night Alice would sleep. She no longer hesitated, but hastily -disrobing and donning a snowy nightdress, scarce had her head touched -the pillow when she was already unconscious and in the land of dreams. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - - -For the first time Imelda’s mind was free. She had left Alice sleeping. -Not in a dull, feverish stupor, constantly interrupted with delirious -mutterings but sleeping, actually and really sleeping. And although her -breathing was only a gentle fluttering, it was so weak, it was a quiet -sleep, and she knew that for a few hours, at least, she could safely -trust her to the faithful nurse. So Imelda slept the sleep of the just. - -When the morning sunlight streamed through the open window, flooding the -room with its bright glory, a servant had softly entered and with deft -fingers closed the shutters, darkening the room so that the slumbers of -the completely exhausted girl might not be disturbed; the nurse -meanwhile remaining faithful and true to her trust. Now and then a maid -softly opened the door to listen, but Imelda slept on, and when the -doctor came he gave the order to let her sleep by all means, until she -should awake of herself. So the hours of the day passed and the evening -shades were falling ere that death-like sleep was lifted and Imelda -opened her eyes. The deep hush and darkness that prevailed left her for -a long time in semi-unconsciousness, a delicious drowsiness folding her -in its power, but by and by it passed away, leaving her brain more -clear, and presently, all in an instant, she knew and remembered. - -But how long had she slept? It was three o’clock when she sought her bed -and only two hours before the morning light would appear. It was still -dark, yet she did not feel as if she had slept only a short time, but -rather had the sensation of having slept a long while, she was so wide -awake, and—yes! she was hungry, very hungry. She reached out her hand -for her watch, which she remembered having placed upon the stand near -the bedside. It was there, but when she placed it to her ear she made -the discovery that it had stopped. Then she struck a light, having a -lucifer always within reach. By the flickering flame she saw that her -watch had stopped at twenty minutes of two. A puzzled look overspread -her face. What did it mean? Just then she thought she heard a footstep -outside her door; the next instant the door was softly opened. - -“Who is there?” she hastily inquired, her heart giving a bound, as she -was not in the habit of leaving her door unlocked. Could she have -forgotten it? A soft laugh answered her. - -“Is it you, Mary?” she asked, recognizing the voice. - -“Yes, Miss Imelda, it is I. Have you decided to return to life? I was -beginning to fear you were going to sleep right over into the next -world.” - -“Why, what time is it?” was Imelda’s next question, still surprised and -puzzled. - -“Almost eight o’clock.” - -“Eight o’clock! Why, Mary, you ought to have called me ere this. Mrs. -Boswell ought to have been relieved some time ago. But why is it so -dark? I thought I had the windows open.” - -“So you had. I made free to close them but will open them now,” saying -which the girl unfastened and opened the shutters. Instead of the bright -sunshine, as Imelda had expected, only a hazy twilight filled it with -dim shadows. - -“What does this mean?” she stammered. “Why, it is quite dark. Did you -not say that it is almost eight o’clock?” She was growing impatient. -Mary’s laugh again rang through the room. - -“Yes,” she said “it is eight o’clock, not in the morning but in the -evening.” - -Imelda was sitting bolt upright in bed now. - -“What! Do you mean to say that I have slept all day through?” - -“Just that, and nothing else.” - -“O, that was wrong! I ought to have been called long ago. How is——” she -stopped, a sudden fear holding her tongue a prisoner. - -“Mrs. Westcot is getting better,”—supplementing the unfinished question -and answering it at the same time. “She, like yourself, has been -sleeping all day.” - -“And Mrs. Boswell——?” - -“Has also had a nap while I sat with Mrs. Westcot, and if you will rise -and dress I will prepare you some—breakfast,” and laughing again she -disappeared leaving Imelda to her own reflections, but first having lit -the gas overhead. No hesitation now. Hastily she arose and quickly made -her toilet. Donning a wrapper she twisted the dark hair into a shining -coil, and in a few minutes descended to the dining room where Mary had -spread for her a tempting meal. - -Imelda was a favorite with the servants, who were always willing to do a -favor for this fair girl from the west, who was so considerate. It was -well known that Mrs. Westcot was also from the western metropolis, and -they often wondered if people in the west generally were so kind and -considerate. It would have been impossible for the gentle-hearted Alice -to assume aristocratic airs, therefore she could always depend upon her -servants, and all hearts were filled with fear while the gentle mistress -was raving of real or fancied woes, and when at last, after weary weeks, -the crisis was over, it was as if a heavy cloud had passed away, and the -gloomy faces were bright. - -Having done ample justice to the generous repast, and feeling much -refreshed, Imelda sped to the chamber above. Softly she opened the door -and moved to the bedside. Mrs. Boswell was sitting with her elbow -resting upon the bed, her head upon her hand. She never moved as Imelda -stepped to her side. Bending down she found that the nurse was fast -asleep. A pang smote her that while she, in the strength of youth, had -slept the day away the much older woman had continued at her post. True, -Mary had said that she had relieved her for awhile, but Imelda knew that -she, like herself, needed a good long rest, and she decided that she -should have it. Seeing that Alice too was sleeping, she gently touched -Mrs. Boswell on the shoulder and slightly shaking her the nurse awoke -with a start. Imelda held up a warning finger to prevent her from making -an outcry. But the woman was frightened. She felt guilty at having been -found asleep at her post of duty. Hastily reaching for her watch she -breathed a sigh of relief. - -“Only ten minutes,” she whispered. “She has been sleeping so long,” -indicating Alice, “that I suppose the quiet has overpowered me.” - -“And no wonder,” said Imelda,—“you are certainly in need of rest. I will -now take your place while you sleep all night and all day tomorrow, too, -if you wish. So just give me the directions for tonight, and then away -to your couch.” The woman smiled. - -“Thank you. I am only too glad to accept.” After giving the proper -directions she added: “And now if you will excuse me I will accept your -kind offer and sleep. Mary took my place for several hours or I fear I -could not have held out. In the morning I will be ready to take my place -again.” - -So the nurse withdrew and left Imelda alone with her sick friend, and as -she largely imitated the example of the young girl and slept until the -afternoon of the next day, Imelda had a long watch before her. - -But we are forestalling. While the nurse has gone to recruit her -strength in sleep we will remain with Imelda and follow the outline of -her thoughts as she watched her sick friend. Over three weeks have now -passed since the promenade of the lovers in the moonlight under the -silver maples,—the evening after that on which for the first time she -had discarded her mourning garments, when they had spent two happy hours -together, Imelda adroitly preventing a repetition of the pleadings of -the night before. She was happy, and was willing that Norman should know -it. He in turn had been content to drink the kisses from the dewy lips -and leave the morrow to take care of itself. - -Since that evening Imelda had seen but little of her lover. If he came -in the evening she scarcely ever had longer than a half hour to give -him. The cloud that hung above this house was too dark to admit of much -happiness or joy for them. On the other hand it did not give them the -leisure to discuss the question nearest their hearts, and Imelda did not -wish it just now. - -Long ere this, had the answer come to the long letter that she had -written to Margaret. But not alone in Margaret’s delicate tracing had -the answer come. A long letter had also come in the bolder handwriting -of Wilbur Wallace. Her heart gave a bound as she recognized the hand, -while the rich blood rushed in a hot wave to her face dyeing her -temples, ears and neck. What would he have to say? With a beating heart -she had opened it. Something impelled her to lay Margaret’s aside until -she first perused Wilbur’s letter. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV. - - -With Imelda we will read Wilbur’s letter: - - -“MY DARLING: The fact that I am writing this to you must of necessity be -proof that Margaret has laid before me your letter containing the news -that already the event has come into your life which I, in our parting -hour, prophesied would come. Though I still claim you as my darling, and -though my heart still goes to meet you with the same tender emotions, I -cannot do otherwise than say I am pleased. I am glad that that other has -so soon stepped into your life, and, building upon the past, I take the -responsibility on myself of giving the advice you ask of Margaret. - -“The fact alone that you love this man, that your heart has so fully -gone into his keeping, is to me the best evidence of his -trustworthiness. Not but that you, as well as many another, are liable -to make mistakes as to the character of any individual you may come in -contact with, but in a case of spontaneous love I feel and know that the -purity of mind itself, of which you are possessed, would intuitively -recognize that which is not equally pure. - -“That Norman should still be bound by old superstitions and creeds may -prove an obstacle to the speedy consummation of your love. It is here -your work begins; here your strength will be tested. If you would be a -priestess in our holy work you will be expected to remain true to the -sentiments you have so often expressed. Your soul must remain free and -unfettered, even though the man may be purity personified. Not a -semblance even of the power the law gives to a husband must you put into -his hands. If your love is great enough to trust him he will be generous -enough to trust you, or he is not the man he has represented himself to -be. If he is not generous enough to trust you, then your intuition will -have been at fault—the blindness of a common love has been laid upon -your vision. - -“Where lies the beginning of your work?—you ask. I will tell you. Your -first duty is one that you owe to him and to yourself. You say that in -your past life lie hidden many dark spots. It is your duty in this case -to lay bare these dark spots in the full light of day. It is thus you -will test his strength of character. As he comes of a long line of -Puritan ancestors this will be necessary. The old prejudices may be so -deeply rooted that, rather than take to his arms one who, although not -responsible for the actions of others, may by the ties of blood be -allied to those that are, he may be willing to crush out a love that -would leave his own heart mangled and bleeding. If such should be the -case, my little girl, I understand full well that bitter pain must then -for a while gnaw at the cords of your heart. But it will pass, and in -passing leave you purer and stronger than ever. - -“If, on the other hand, he stands the test I feel sure it will be only a -short time until his whole soul will come to understand the grand -sublimity of full and untrammeled liberty. Love cannot be fettered. Love -will always remain free; the greater his freedom the more certainty is -ours of retaining him to make bright our lives. Try to fetter him, he -unfolds his wings and mockingly takes his departure. Then, what are we -to do with our empty lives? - -“In justice to woman we must admit that she is at the greater -disadvantage, no matter in what light the case may be placed. In -marriage, it matters not how just may be the man whom she calls ‘lord,’ -she is, she remains, his property, according to the mandates of the law. -No matter how willing he may be that she shall enjoy perfect freedom, -society takes it upon itself to place a watch upon her. If her husband -has no sense of honor, or of what is due to himself, the stern finger of -the law points it out to him. Society prepares a code for her that she -is bound to respect and accept as her guide. The path which he is asked -to walk is not nearly so straight. There are many recesses and angles in -it, if he chooses to explore them. If he does so quietly nothing will be -said. - -“On the other hand, we know only too well if woman refuses marriage, it -is equivalent to throwing away all hope of ever enjoying life as nature -has designed. If she dares to thus enjoy she is ostracized from society. - -“At the present time we are still in the dark. But may we not hope, -sometime, to grow strong enough to defy the mandates of society? May not -love find a way that shall yet defy all the lynx-eyed agents of a -corrupt moral code? May we not hope that man and woman both may yet be -natural as the new-born babe, when it is first placed in the mother’s -arms—at nature’s fount? - -“Will you be strong, my Imelda? Think you, you can take your Norman by -the hand and lead him on until he stands upon your own sublime heights? -Until he stands at your side? Then side by side to explore the unknown -heights that still lie beyond your field of vision? - -“Be brave, my precious one; be strong, and when the time comes when we -shall meet again (and I feel that it will come), and I fold you to my -heart, pressing warm kisses on your lips, some prophetic spirit tells me -that your Norman will stand by and understand. - -“There must and will come a time when the full glory of a free love will -be understood and enjoyed. So look up to the goal in view; bravely work -on, and remember there is strength in the knowledge of unity of thought -and purpose of those who work in a like cause, even though your friends -with their supporting love are distant. Remaining as ever, loving you -with a love that is absolutely pure, I am yours for truth of purpose, -and for the best humanity. - - WILBUR.” - - -A long drawn sigh escaped the lips of Imelda as she laid the closely -written sheets upon her knees. Well she knew that he was right. In the -still hours of the night watches, by the side of the sick friend the -thought had come to her again that open truth was the only course for -her to pursue. But oh, how gigantic the task appeared. In all the three -weeks the subject had never been touched upon again by them. Few indeed -had been the moments she had been able to accord him, her strength being -tested to its utmost in her capacity as nurse. Being well aware of the -state of things Norman Carlton was far too noble to press for the reason -of the loved girl’s views at such a time. For the present he accepted -the boon of her love as a priceless jewel of whose possession he was -assured. - -But Imelda knew that the hour was coming when he would expect an answer -to his question, and, as Wilbur had stated, it was then her work would -begin. If she dreaded that coming hour, was she to blame? Folding the -letter she placed it back in the envelope and with the action there came -to her with overwhelming force, the realization of the grandeur of this -man’s character. What purity, what nobility! Even as the new love more -fully filled out her life so did she understand better the true worth of -the man who had first called her love into being. - -“O, Margaret darling,” was her mental comment, “when your heart chose -Wilbur as its best beloved, it made a grand selection; no one will ever -find his way into your life who will be able to look to you from a -loftier height than that upon which he stands.” - -Recalling her wandering thoughts she next opened the epistle from -Margaret, for such it proved to be. Such a long, warm, glowing letter; -overflowing with the love her pure young heart contained. She had filled -page after page, concluding with the words: - - -“And now my dearest girl, I think I have made my meaning clear. I have -given you the best advice that I know of. I know, however, that it is -the same as Wilbur’s, only perhaps in other words, and I feel that now -we shall not be disappointed in our brave girl. Let me add one thing. I -understand fully how difficult the making of such a revelation will -prove; and yet it _must_ be made. I can see nothing else you can do and -remain true to yourself and lover. Not the shadow of a suspicion, of a -deception, must lie between you. I will not say disgrace; that will -exist, if it exist at all, only in Norman’s _mind_. But now for my -advice: - -“Write the history of your life. That will be easier. You can tell him -all, everything, without the disadvantage of seeing in his face the -emotions that such a history might call into play. He will have time to -think and understand the full import of it all. You will not then -receive an immediate answer prompted by an impulse that might prove a -barrier to your love. Cool, calm reflection is necessary in such a case, -and as my own Imelda possesses her full share of common sense she can -but see the wisdom of such a course. - -“Be brave, my dearest friend, my own loved one. If this man is worthy of -your love he will stand the test. If he does not stand it, then I can -but say he was not worthy. And now remember—three hearts beat in love -for you, and the united strength of that love is bent on the success of -your heart’s dearest hope (for of course my mother knows), and hoping to -be reunited in a not too distant future, thus writes and advises your -most sincere and loving friend, - - MARGARET.” - - -This letter had been folded and placed side by side with that other one. -Long had Imelda sat with bowed head and folded hands. Yes! both kind and -loving friends were right. An inner voice told her this was the only -course to pursue. But the condition of the sick friend had not permitted -her to think of it. Every minute of her time had been devoted to her. -Her lover must wait until the dark, uncertain hours would be past; but -now as Imelda sat and watched the peaceful sleeper, she realized that -she could not spend the long hours of the night watch to better -advantage than in the performance of this duty. The dreaded hour had -passed; hope and sunshine were again seeking admittance at the portals -of this home, and Norman was waiting, patiently waiting, for his answer. -So when the morning broke, with its pale light, she folded the closely -written sheets. With trembling hands and beating heart she wrote the -address and sent them to their destination. Would he stand the test? -When tried by this crucial ordeal, would he prove faithful and true? - - - - - CHAPTER XXV. - - -The sultry summer day was at its close, and Norman Carlton had just -finished reading the letter that Imelda had written the night before. A -troubled look was upon the frank and honest face, as he stood at the -open window looking out at the falling shadows, but seeing nothing. In -one hand he still held the fateful sheets; the other hand he held to his -aching temples. He stood and gazed until dusky twilight faded into -starlit night. Ever and anon a deep sigh escaped the drawn lips as he -thought, and thought, and thought. - -But what was it he thought? Did that miserable tale of woe show him only -the impracticability of an alliance with a child of the people? A woman -whose mother had no right, according to the views of society, to the -title of “lady;” whose sister had made an outcast of herself; whose -brother might, even now, be occupying the cell of a criminal; whose past -life had been one long privation and struggle with fate. His own lady -mother and sister! Was it not his duty to first consult their views, -their feeling upon the matter? - -Or was it that he was made of more noble material? Were his views so -broad that it was of no consequence what the world might say? It could -hardly be expected, when we consider the training of his past life, that -he would now have no battle to fight. It was not pleasant to know that -the woman who had won his love should be so unpleasantly connected, but -while this knowledge was to him most depressing, it also had the effect -of raising, many fold, the respect he held for her. What could have been -easier for her than to keep these matters secret? It gave him a better -insight into the nobility of her character. She at least was truth -itself. She would prove trustworthy. She was above reproach. He was -doing battle with the old prejudices based on society codes, as they -rose, one by one, to assail his love. - -But to do him justice his love wavered not for one instant. If the -setting be tarnished, will that fact diminish the lustre of the diamond? -He knew that his jewel was of the purest; why should the setting trouble -him? But all was not yet plain to him. He remembered that night under -the maples; when she had refused him marriage—not love. Love she had -given then as freely as now. He saw it then, he knew it now. But now -again she makes the same refusal. “You understand now,” she wrote, “why -it is that I cannot marry you.” - -His noble manhood was all alert now. Does she think so meanly, so basely -of him as to suppose that he would add to the burden that had so many -years been resting upon those slender shoulders, by withdrawing his -proposal? If that is what she thinks, her opinion of him is not so -exalted as he could wish and—he must seek her—must see her tonight. With -him to think was to act, and a few minutes later finds him on the way to -the woman of his choice. It was with a dazed feeling that he stood upon -the marble steps awaiting an answer to his ring. What would be the -outcome of this night’s quest? - -His card again found her at the bedside of the patient preparing for -another long night watch by herself. Her heart beat high when the little -bit of pasteboard was placed in her hand. Mrs. Boswell had not yet -retired. She saw the flush steal over the fair brow and an understanding -came intuitively to her as to what it meant. It was not so many years -ago that she too had received a lover’s visit, and she knew so well that -since the illness of Mrs. Westcot the young girl had no time to spend on -friends or lovers. So she kindly said: - -“Go and see your friend. I am not tired tonight and can well remain -several hours longer.” With an appreciative “Thank you” Imelda accepted -the kind offer and descended to the drawing room, where but one jet of -gas was burning which but dimly lit the room. - -Scarcely had she entered when she felt herself folded with strong arms -to a wildly beating heart. Lips that whispered, “My own love,” were -pressed firmly to hers. Her heart was full, her bosom heaving. That he -held her thus was ample proof that to him she was just as lovable now as -before he knew her wretched story. Brushing the soft dusky waves of hair -from the flushed temples, he asked: - -“Will my girl have a little while to spare for me tonight? I would have -you walk with me under the maples. Will you come?” Without a word she -turned to the hallway and taking a soft white scarf from a rack, threw -it over her shoulders and said: - -“Now, I am ready.” Together they wended their way to the silver leaved -trees where once more they paced back and forth, his arm about the -graceful form, his head bent until it rested against hers. Every -attitude betokened the love they bore each other. O, how he talked, how -he plead. But the slender girl at his side was strong and firm. She -understood the ground she was treading upon. She met him at every turn. - -He loved her, and as he listened to her arguments, as he watched the -sparkle of her eye, as he got a better insight into her life, he felt -that here was indeed a woman of superior qualities, a woman possessed of -rare intellect. And as she met him, point after point, he began to see -things in a different light. Dim and hazy at first yet still he saw a -difference. Not that he showed an inclination to acknowledge the truth -of any of the pictures she painted. O, no! not quite so easy are -deep-rooted superstitions and prejudices uprooted. Yet she gave him food -for thought. - -She pointed out to him conditions as they exist throughout the country, -She showed him how one vexed question is entangled with another. She -drew his attention to the masses of workers who with their dollar a -day,—sometimes a little more, sometimes even less,—have no time for -self-improvement, no time for healthful recreation. That recreation -which is of an elevating character, is quite unattainable and that which -is within their reach is of the most demoralizing kind. The swilling of -vile drinks, with vile companions in dens still more vile. - -She spoke of the overburdened wife and mother, wearing away her life in -drudgery and loneliness. At the close of his day’s toil the husband -brings no love to the cheerless home. That which he had named and -believed love on their wedding day has long since fled; yet of this -union springs unwishedfor children; children gestated in an atmosphere -of hate; idiots and criminals ushered into being to fill our prisons and -insane asylums. The employer class, on the other hand, feast upon the -wealth these unfortunates produce, and by their excesses sow the seeds -of crime in their offspring. - -“On all sides,” said Imelda, “through the force of circumstances young -lives are lost in the sloughs of vice and shame. Woman sells her virtue -to the highest bidder; the one for a passing hour, the other for a life -time. Which of the two is the worse? The merciless and unnatural codes -of society demand the unsexing of woman by strangling nature’s desires, -then these codes permit one man to drive her to the grave or to the mad -house through the power given to him by the law. The woman that would be -true to her normal instincts, the woman that would practicalize her -natural right of being a mother, must first sell herself for all time to -some man, who, in return, forces upon her what at first was a pleasure -and a blessing but now a hundred-fold curse. To surrender herself in -love with holiest emotions is a sin, is a demoralization. To endure the -hated embrace of the man who long since murdered every trace of that -holy love, is a duty and virtue. - -“To escape such thralldom is to her an utter impossibility, as the only -way out lies through that most damnable of abominations, the divorce -court, where every pure instinct of a sensitive woman’s nature is -outraged to such extent that generally she prefers, of the two evils, -the marital outrage to that of the divorce court. - -“And yet the world goes on. Ignorant mothers bear and rear ignorant -children. From their birth nature is strangled. They are fed and clothed -in an unhealthful, unnatural manner, so that the wonder is, not that -there are so many small graves but rather that so many survive. The -little girl with propensities to romp is told she is a hoyden, a tomboy. -The boy with refined sentiments, that he is a ‘sissy,’ and so on -throughout the long category. We are bound, fettered, on all sides from -the cradle to the grave. No matter what misery, what woe, springs -therefrom, never go your own way but travel only that which is mapped -out for you by custom which has been foisted upon society. O, it is so -unnatural, so miserable, this binding, this fettering, this laying down -laws that are made only to be broken.” - -She had spoken rapidly, and had warmed in her enthusiasm. Her head -thrown slightly backward with a motion most graceful, her eyes shining -with a glory that was beautiful, and Norman did not fail to be struck by -it. - -“How can it all affect us, my sweet?” he asked. “Are we not far above -all the horrible pictures you have drawn?” - -“I hope so,” she answered. “I do, indeed, hope we are above it, but -don’t you see every picture has its ground work in the ‘Thou shalt not,’ -of some law? Every picture has its clanking chains and the heaviest is -always the marriage chain. Don’t you see, don’t you understand?” He -folded her close in his arms, an action which she by no means resented. - -“And must our sweet love be sacrificed because of those horrible -conditions? Have you not more faith in the voice of your heart?” Tears -sprang to her eyes. O, how hard it was to steel that heart to the -pleadings of the precious voice. How could she make him understand that -he possessed the unbounded trust, the most unconditional love of her -whole being? - -“I have all the faith in the world in you,” she said, as with trembling -fingers she caressed the fair locks that fell in clustering masses over -the open noble brow. - -“Can you not see, can you not understand that I love you with all the -strength of my being? Let us be happy now, in the present, in that love, -and trust to the future to lift the veil, to dispel the clouds,”—and he -could not dissuade her. He kissed the tears from the shining dark eyes. -His love for her grew with every hour. He realized that bitter suffering -in the past had sown the seed of the present strength of character and -growth of views to which until now he had given but a passing thought. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI. - - -But now? One thing Imelda had achieved. She had led Norman into the -realms of thought. She had made him think as he had never thought -before. He now began to see the real cause of human misery. Asking a few -well directed questions he soon had the missing links needed to -supplement Imelda’s life history. She told him of the fair-haired girl -whom she loved better than a sister; the girl whose mother’s life had -been blighted through that self-same marriage curse. She told him of -that cherished friend who through the same curse had seen a worshiped -mother laid beneath the sod—which tale she ended by requesting him to -write those friends; to become acquainted with them; to test their -friendship. Norman agreed to do this, and not many days later a letter -of his was speeding across the prairies bearing his worded desire to -know better those who had in earlier days befriended his Imelda, and who -wielded such influence over her. - -But to those enthralled in love’s golden fetters time speeds on rapid -wings. When Norman looked at his watch he found it pointing to half past -ten. A pang smote Imelda’s heart as she thought of the lonely watcher up -in the sick chamber, and hastily sought to disengage herself from the -encircling arms of her lover. A half dozen more love-laden kisses and -the young girl was bounding across the open grounds followed by the fond -eyes of her lover who watched her until she disappeared within the -portals of the house ere he wended his way homeward. - -No sooner had Imelda stepped into the hall, softly closing the door -behind her, than, from the open door to the right, leading into the -drawing room, stepped Lawrence Westcot. Imelda drew back. She did not -care to encounter anyone just now, least of all Lawrence Westcot. -Planting himself directly across her path, but speaking with faultless -courtesy he said: - -“Miss Ellwood will you grant me the favor of a few moments -conversation?” at the same time holding open the door for her to pass -through. Imelda paused, hesitating. What could Lawrence Westcot desire -to say to her? Besides it was already late. Her conscience smote her for -having absented herself so long from the sick room, and she certainly -felt no desire to be alone with this man at this hour of the evening. -But he was waiting, holding the door for her to pass through, quite as a -matter of course. Much as she was disinclined to do so she yet felt that -she could not refuse without appearing rude, and so, reluctantly passing -him she entered the room, while he closed the door after them. - -The room was dimly lit, as before when she had entered it earlier in the -evening. Imelda paused under the single burning jet. He came forward and -turned it to a brighter blaze, then wheeled forward a chair for her to -be seated, but which she declined, shaking her head in a positive -manner. - -“I beg your pardon, but I would rather not, Mr. Westcot. It is time I -return to Alice. Mrs. Boswell kindly relieved me this evening of several -hours of responsibility. I have already overstayed my time. I do not -wish to give it the appearance of an imposition, so if you have anything -to say to me I must beg of you to hasten.” - -She had taken a step or two backward and stood with her hand resting -upon the back of the chair Westcot had placed for her, the soft folds of -the white shawl that had been loosely thrown over her head and -shoulders, the glow of health and happiness upon her cheek and in the -dark brown eyes—Lawrence Westcot felt the magic beauty of the picture -before him. It was doubtful if he heard a word of what she had spoken; -certain it was that he paid no attention to it. Suddenly Imelda became -conscious of his burning gaze, and in a moment her face was dyed from -brow to chin with a hot wave of color, and again she spoke: - -“If you have something to tell me, Mr. Westcot, will you please do so -without loss of time? I do not wish that Alice should be waiting.” - -“Let her wait,” he said hastily, huskily. “She is not wanting for -anything. I have just come from there. Mrs. Boswell is with her and can -manage very well. Besides, why should you make such a prisoner of -yourself? The nurse is paid for her work; let her do it. A little while -longer will not hurt her.” - -Utterly surprised, Imelda for the moment was unable to speak, but almost -instantly recovering her self-possession: - -“Was it to tell me this you have asked me to come in here?” He heeded -not the withering scorn in her voice, but stepping nearer he possessed -himself of one of her hands. - -“Why should I not tell you that, and a great deal more if I choose? -True, you never gave me a chance, but can you not see that I madly love -you?” - -“Sir! You forget yourself!” Imelda snatched her hand from him and -stepped several paces backward. Nothing daunted the next moment he again -was at her side. - -“Why should I not tell you, and why should you not listen? Do I not know -your views on love and marriage? According to them you cannot deem my -love for you a crime because I am a married man.” With these words he -attempted again to take her hand, but she, by mustering all her strength -pushed him from her with such force as to almost unbalance him. - -“How dare you?” she articulated. The face that only a few moments ago -was dyed scarlet was now ashen in its pallor. - -“I dare it because I love you,” came in low, almost hissing tones from -lips that were now pale as hers, while his black eyes glowed like living -coals. - -“Do you think I will meekly surrender you to that—no! I will not call -names—to that so-called friend of mine? I tell you no! a thousand times -no! I acknowledge no barriers, as I know you do not, and I swear to you -that you must and shall be mine!”—and ere Imelda was aware of his -intention he had gained her side, his arms like bands of iron were laid -about her shoulders, and the next instant she felt his hated kisses upon -her lips. For a moment she was powerless, and only for a moment, when -with strength of desperation she tore herself from his embrace. - -“You are the most despicable creature upon this earth! I will tell you -what barriers stand between us. First and foremost your utter lack of -manhood. By whatever despicable means you may have obtained an inkling -of my views, let me tell you that you have failed, utterly failed to get -the least gleaming of the truth. Know that a creature so wholly devoid -of principle and honor may never hope to win the favor of a free woman. -Know you that love can neither be forced nor bought. When you come to -realize and understand this you may speak to me again—not until then.” - -With an imperious movement she swept by him, leaving him bewildered and, -for a moment, totally subdued. Had he failed to understand her? What a -glorious creature! and what superb scorn. Did she know what stood -between Alice and him? At the thought of Alice a dark frown swept over -his face. What was the meaning of that? - -Upon winged feet Imelda flew up the broad stairway and into the sick -room. Her strength was at an end. Staggering she would have fallen, had -not the nurse seen her condition in time and caught her in her arms. -Carefully she laid her upon the lounge. Alice was sleeping, as indeed -the last few days and nights she had slept almost constantly, which fact -enabled the nurse to pay all her attention for the next half hour to -this new patient. Finally Imelda returned to consciousness, but only to -break into an uncontrollable fit of weeping. For a little while the -nurse permitted this fit to have full sway, but when the storm had spent -itself and Imelda became more composed she stepped to the stand where -there was quite an array of medicines. Mixing a soothing draught she -handing it to Imelda, saying: - -“Take this,” and, quite as a matter of course Imelda drank the cooling -drink. - -“Now,” continued Mrs. Boswell, “go to your room and lie down.” But this -time she was not so readily obeyed. Imelda’s frame shook as with a -chill. - -“I would rather not. Please let me remain where I am. I shall soon -recover and be all right again.” - -“No! no! the sick room is no place to sleep. I insist that you go to -your own room and bed, if you would avoid being sick yourself.” - -But Imelda on no account would have traversed the lonely hallway again -tonight, for fear of meeting in some shadowy nook the man she had just -left below in such a storm of passion. Mrs. Boswell soon realized that -for some unaccountable reason Imelda seemed afraid, though this was a -weakness she had not hitherto noticed in the girl, but she understood -too well that she was in need of perfect composure and rest, and the -sick room was no place for these. Stepping to the bedside of the -sleeping patient she bent over her and listened for a moment to the -quiet breathing; then she said: - -“Come, I will go with you. It will be perfectly safe to leave our -patient for a few moments.” Then taking the agitated girl by the hand, -she led her through the hallway to her own room. Lighting the gas jet -she next turned down the bed clothes and quietly but quickly assisted -her to disrobe and helped her into the snowy night robe. She would then -have tucked her into her bed but Imelda refused, as she wished to fasten -the door after the retreating form of the nurse, who thereupon returned -to the bedside of the sleeping Alice to watch the night away when she -herself had expected to spend it in needed rest and sleep. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII. - - -Since recording the events of the last chapter, weeks of summer sunshine -have passed away. Alice, dressed in a soft fleecy white cashmere -wrapper, is reclining in her own cozy room, upon a comfortable lounge -which has been drawn closely to the open window from where she can watch -the golden rays of the setting sun as it disappears beyond the distant -hills. Pale and wan she looks, but the sparkle of returning health is in -her eyes as they rest now and then upon the forms of her two little -girls who are seated in childish fashion upon the floor, and with their -baby fingers trying to wind wreaths of ferns and flowers that are heaped -in a low basket that has been placed with its contents at their -disposal. - -Imelda in one of her soft gray gowns was seated in a low rocker. The -book from which she had been reading was lying unnoticed in her lap; her -eyes, too, were wandering through the open window to enjoy the golden -glory of the setting sun. For a while nothing was heard but childish -voices in childish glee. Both fair women were busy with their own -thoughts. Imelda had lost some of her wild-rose bloom. The clear-cut -features were almost colorless as marble. There was a constrained look -upon them; yet now and then they would brighten as with an inward light, -and reflect the happiness that she, in those moments, felt; but they -soon gave way again to that other look, a deep sigh betokening the -change of thought. - -As the last rays of the sun died out in a golden halo, Alice slowly -turned her head and for a while lay watching her friend. “A penny for -your thoughts, my dear,” she said with a smile, thus recalling her to -present things. - -“They are not worth it,” Imelda made answer. “They are but vague and -unreal dreams.” Alice’s pale face quivered. - -“Vague and unreal,” she repeated. “Ah, my precious, as long as they are -vague and unreal, you may count yourself happy. It is the real and -tangible that makes life a burden. Why have I returned to it? I am sure -I would have been many times better off had they laid me beneath the -green sods.” A pitiful quiver was in the sad young voice, and Imelda -felt a sudden pain at her heart as she heard and understood. The next -moment she knelt at the side of the invalid. - -“Why should you talk like that? See, that is why you should be here,” -pointing to the little ones. Little Norma was laughing and clapping her -chubby hands. She had just succeeded in crowning, with the work of their -childish hands, the elder and more stately Meta who was attempting a -dignified mien under the high honors. The dark-eyed elf looked so comic -that Alice could not repress a smile even though a tear trickled over -the pale face. Just then a step in the hallway was heard, and the next -moment a figure stood in the open doorway. - -“Papa! papa!” Norma’s baby voice rang out, and the next instant the -little one flew to meet him. He stooped and lifted the flaxen-haired -child to his arms. The baby arms were twined about his neck. But little -Norma’s welcome seemed the only one that was accorded him; even Meta -hung back, shy and quiet. She walked backwards to where the fair young -mother lay, who clasped the child to her fast beating heart. Imelda rose -quickly from her kneeling position and stepping to the open window -turned her back to the other inmates of the room. Lawrence Westcot saw -and understood. For just one moment his black eyes emitted a flash like -a smouldering flame and his white teeth sank deep into his nether lip. -But not one word passed those lips that would have betrayed what was -taking place underneath the quiet exterior. He had not seen Imelda since -that night three weeks ago, when his words had been like cruel blows to -the pure, proud girl. She had managed to keep out of his sight, and he -did not possess the courage or daring to force himself into her -presence. This lack of courage kept him also from the sick room of his -wife, which was probably most fortunate for her chances of recovery. -Never once, since her return to consciousness, had her eyes rested upon -his face. If she missed him it certainly did not cause regret. It is -more likely, however, that she did not think of him at all, in those -days. - -Certain it was that when he suddenly stood, unannounced, in her presence -her heart gave a great bound and then seemed to stand still. Could she -have thought that he would never come near her again? But the silence -was now becoming oppressive. Not a word from anyone only little Norma’s -cooing, caressing—“Papa, papa,” as the little hands patted the dark -inscrutable face. With the little one still in his arms he took several -steps forward toward the frightened little woman seated upon the lounge. -With a start and a gasp she drew Meta with one arm still closer to her, -while the other hand was uplifted in a manner intended to wave him off. -Seeing the gesture he instantly stopped. An indescribable look passed -over his face. Could it be pain? He hesitated a moment, then kissed the -baby face and set little Norma down. - -“Papa is not wanted here,” he said in a tone that sent a strange thrill -to the heart of either woman. Was it the same voice they were wont to -hear? No sneer, no sarcasm. How husky it had become! Did it not sound -like regret? Ere they could recover from their surprise he was gone and -they were once more alone. The excitement that those few minutes had -brought had been too much for Alice. The next moment she was sobbing -hysterically, and for the next half hour Imelda had her hands full in -trying to restore quiet and peace. For seeing the mother weep caused -both little girls to fling their playthings aside in true childish -fashion and join with their tears. Alice was still very weak, or this -episode could scarcely have affected her as it did; and to do Lawrence -Westcot justice, he had no intention of inflicting pain when he went to -his wife’s room that evening. - -Nevertheless Imelda felt bitter as she reflected what life must mean to -this timid, nervous little woman when the mere sight of the man to whom -she was bound could throw her into such a hysterical state. O, how wrong -it all was, how wrong! After a while, however, she became more quiet and -at Imelda’s suggestion she soon retired. Imelda mixed for her a soothing -drink and soon had the satisfaction of hearing the even, regular -breathing of the sleeper. Long ere this she had sent both little girls -away with their nurse, so she had the hours of the summer evening to -herself. It was quite warm, the evening shadows were deepening, and -following an inward prompting she soon found herself in the garden -walks, wending her way to the fountain. This was a favorite place with -her. Its cooling spray was so pleasant after the oppressive heat of the -day. She dipped her hand into the cooling liquid while her thought -strayed away to distant friends. - -The evening before she had spent in the society of Norman, who had that -day received a second letter from Wilbur Wallace. He had expressed -himself well pleased with the tenor of those letters as they showed to -him the writer as in a mirror of light, and of whose character he was -forming a high opinion, even though he could not yet second all the -ideas placed before him for inspection. Yet, although he found these -ideas impracticable in the extreme, as he expressed it, he could not but -pronounce them exalted and pure, beyond those of men in general. Imelda -longed to see these two men friends, and the prospects were that her -wish would be gratified. - -Another thing that had proved of interest to Norman was that Harrisburg -had been the early home of Wilbur Wallace, the discovery of which fact -was as much a surprise to Imelda as to Norman, as he had never made -mention thereof. He gave as a reason for not having done so that the -place held little of that which was pleasant to his recollection. It was -beneath the waves of the Susquehanna that his mother had found her -watery grave, and if it were not that his sisters still lived there he -would have been glad to forget that there was such a place. But, he had -gone on to say, in his last letter to Imelda: - -“Since you, my precious friend, have made your home in Harrisburg, I -have often desired to tell you that my idolized Edith, who is the -eldest, and the equally precious younger sister, my sweet Hilda, are -living somewhere at no great distance from your present home. So many -years have passed since I have seen them that they have grown almost -strangers to me. Do you think you could take interest in them sufficient -to visit them in my name? Both dear girls often send me long and -affectionate letters, wherein they tell their ‘stranger’ brother all -about their girlish affairs, and if there is any saving virtue in -thoughts transferred to paper I may hope to keep those blessed souls -pure and unstained through the strength of the love that they bear me.” - -“Could she be sufficiently interested in them?” Imelda smiled as her -heart warmed to those unknown girls. She would love them as sisters of -her own. Had she known she would long since have hastened to meet them; -now she must wait a little while longer until Alice would be stronger, -so that she could either leave her or persuade her to come with her. She -thought of them this evening as she playfully let the water run through -her fingers. In her mind she pictured the meeting with them and then she -thought of the report she should send Wilbur, and then her thoughts -strayed away to her own wayward sister, of whom she had never again -heard so much as one single word, or received one sign of life. She did -not know if she was still among the living. - -Imelda’s heart grew warm and yet sad. What had become of Cora? To what -depths had she sunk? or had there been enough latent good hidden -somewhere in her character to once more extricate herself and rise to -higher ground? “Cora, O Cora! where are you to night? Don’t you know -your sister loves you?” and as if in answer to the prayerfully spoken -words a voice at her side low and intense spoke her name. “Imelda!” As -though the voice had struck her speechless, she stood with stiffening -white lips unable to move or speak until her name was repeated. - -“Imelda!” Then—— - -“Frank!” broke from them in a husky whisper. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII. - - -“Frank! You? Where did you come from?” turning to the form that from the -darkness had stepped to her side. The old reckless laugh rang upon the -still night air: - -“Not afraid of me, sister mine, are you? I have come from somewhere out -of the darkness surrounding us, but I am not dangerous. I have never -done anything worse than steal when I was hungry; but as that happens on -an average about twice, sometimes thrice a day I have that unpleasant -duty rather often to perform. But what is a fellow to do? The world owes -me a living, you know, and exerting myself to the extent of taking -something wherever I can place my hand upon it is about as much work as -I care to do. - -“Say sis,” he went on in his reckless manner, to the horror-struck girl, -“you couldn’t give a fellow a little spending money, now could you? You -are in a pretty feathered nest here, you must admit. I always knew and -said such saintly goodness and beauty must have their reward. I knew too -you were not quite so innocent as you would have us believe. Say, now, -honor bright, how much is this most honored brother-in-law of mine -worth? To judge from the appearance of yonder noble mansion and these -surrounding grounds, he must command more than a few thousands, and as I -would like to put in an appearance at your next grand entertainment a -few hundred would not come amiss. You would not like to be ashamed of -me, eh?” - -Almost paralyzed with horror Imelda listened. Was this man, who was -scarcely more than a boy, her brother? Oh, shame, shame! Her brother, -born of the same mother! She understood. He thought she was married and -he asked her for some of that supposed husband’s money. Was it possible -that the man sleeping in his far western grave was the father of them -both? - -“Well, ’Melda, can’t you give a fellow an answer? I am waiting -patiently. Gad, but you have managed nicely. It seems I struck it -handsome when the brakeman found me snuggled away in a freight car, the -other night, and insisted that my room at that particular place was more -welcome than my presence. Think I shall remain here, instead of playing -tramp any longer. It will certainly be a change. Only I suppose I can’t -present myself in my present plight at the front door of my illustrious -brother-in-law’s mansion. So, sis, you will have to fork over some of -the shiners so’s I can make the desired change.” - -“Frank!” now broke in Imelda’s horror-struck voice. “Frank! Will you -stop? How dare you think any of all the terrible things you have been -saying? You seem to take it for granted because you find me here in the -grounds of a handsome home that it is my own. I am not married, as you -seem to think, but am only a servant in the house you see yonder. So you -see all your talk about a rich brother-in-law is the veriest nonsense, -and the sooner you leave here and find yourself some honest work to do -the better it will be for you.” - -“Look here, ’Melda,” he cried, catching her roughly by the arm, “you -can’t come any such chaff over me! I want money! I know you have it, and -I swear you are going to give it to me.” Imelda felt the blood in her -veins turning to ice, not from fear, but from the horror that her -brother had come to a level such as this. - -“Let go of my arm,” she said in a calm, even voice. “Have you ever known -me to speak a falsehood? I have no money, and what is more, if I had I -should not give you a cent. You know me well enough of old to know that -I never say what I do not mean; so I repeat, let go of my arm and leave -these premises as quickly as possible. Until the time that you can prove -yourself a man I forbid you ever to speak to me again. Go to the home of -our childhood and at the graves of those to whom you owe your being, -make the resolution that you will be a son worthy of your father, and if -you can keep that resolution a time may come in the future that you may -again call me sister. Now for the last time, go,”—saying which she -brushed his hand from her arm and turning walked quickly away. - -She had not proceeded a dozen steps when she ran into the arms of -someone standing there in the darkness. A cry broke from her lips. She -was almost overcome with terror. Were the grounds infested tonight? Her -heart throbbed with such force it seemed she would suffocate. She could -not utter a sound. Who was it? She only heard a heavy breathing and on -trying to extricate her hands they were held tighter. - -“Don’t fear,” spoke a voice which sent a new thrill of fear to her -heart, for it was the voice of Lawrence Westcot! - -“Don’t fear, you are quite safe. I have heard the greater part of what -transpired a few steps from here, and I will walk with you to the -house.” - -Imelda was too weak to protest much against this offer. She shivered as -he drew her arm through his and led her silently to the house, but in -spite of her terror and repugnance at his touch she could not but notice -that he treated her with profound respect. He led her to the entrance, -opened the door and held it for her to pass through. - -Without a single word she left him. Scarcely able to keep on her feet -she dragged herself up the broad stairway to her room; then without -removing any of her clothing, she sank upon the bed whereon she lay long -hours without moving so much as a finger. As the morning dawn stole -through the windows she rose and disrobed, a storm of sobs shaking the -slender figure while tears bedewed her pillow. - -On the following day, and on many following days it was difficult to say -which of the two, Alice or Imelda, was the paler, the more listless; -whether in the depths of the blue or brown eyes lay hidden the keenest -pain. - -Norman came and went. He saw the change in the girl he loved but could -not fathom the cause. He asked if she were sick; a shake of the head was -the only answer. It was all she could do to restrain the tears in his -presence. It would have been a luxury to sob her unhappy story out upon -his breast, but shame sealed her lips. So she bore her sorrow as best -she could, and in time its keen edge wore off. Frank seemed to have -disappeared as suddenly and completely as he did once before. Now and -then, as the memory of that evening more vividly rose before her mind’s -eye, she would whisper to herself. - -“O father! my ever dear father! how thankful I am you did not live to -realize all this. How thankful that your proud head has not been bowed -with shame such knowledge would have brought you,”—and as these thoughts -seemed to give new strength her own head would be uplifted, while a look -of pride could be read in that high-bred face. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX. - - -The events recorded in the last chapter had for a while caused to be -forced into the background the desire in Imelda’s heart to become -acquainted with the sisters of Wilbur. The affair with Frank was of a -nature so unpleasant that the remembrance of it seemed to crush out all -youth and life in the proud sensitive heart, but as time is wont to heal -all wounds so also did the effect of that dark night’s occurrence -gradually vanish. As the days and weeks went by on the ceaseless wings -of time Imelda again became interested in what was going on around her. - -Toward evening of a sunny day in August when Alice had been feeling -better, brighter and stronger than usual she expressed the desire for a -drive. Accordingly the carriage was ordered. Both little girls, sweet as -snowy blossoms, in fresh white dresses, looking dainty and charming as -two little fairies, were lifted upon one of the seats, their lively -spirits keeping busy the hands and mind of their young governess. Alice -leaned languidly back among the cushions and let her eyes rest -alternately upon the glowing landscape and upon the two restless little -elves. As it had been quite a while since they had the pleasure of -driving with their pretty mamma it was really a treat for the little -ones—this driving past pretty gardens filled with gorgeous flowers and -trees laden with ripening fruit. Soon they were passing through the more -thronged streets when suddenly,—no one knew just how it happened but -some boys were playing in the streets. Either in their play or because -they had been quarreling among themselves a stone was thrown. Then -followed a plunge and a rear of one of the horses, a piercing scream -from the inmates of the carriage, and then horses and carriage went -plunging down one of the busiest streets—the flying figure of a woman as -she hastened to get out of the way—a horrified cry at her having been -run down—the figure of a man standing in the path of the runaways, a -firm hand grasping the reins of the beasts as with an effort almost -superhuman they were brought to a standstill. Snorting, trembling, -restive, it was no easy matter to hold them, but the young man with the -almost boyish face was equal to the task. A crowd soon gathered around. -The carriage door was opened and the frightened ladies and children -lifted therefrom. Alice could scarcely keep upon her feet. Just then it -was remarked that someone had been run over and injured,—a young girl, -someone else added. At hearing this Alice would have fallen had not -Imelda caught the swaying figure in her arms. - -“Oh,” she cried, “I hope she is not killed or seriously injured. We must -find out who she is and how badly she has been hurt, and—oh, wait! Where -is the young man who so bravely rescued us, periling his own life to -save ours. Where is he? Who is he?” - -Upon looking round they found that he was still holding the horses, -patting and coaxing them, speaking to them as if they were intelligent -beings, while the driver was also busy trying to pacify them. Upon -request someone spoke to the young stranger, telling him that the ladies -whom he had just rescued wished to speak to him. A comic grimace for a -moment distorted the handsome face, then a merry smile played about the -ripe red lips, then quickly stepping to the sidewalk, he dropped his hat -and bowing asked if he could be of any further service. As he stood with -uncovered head awaiting the pleasure of the ladies a sensation flashed -through Imelda’s mind that somewhere she had seen this face before. The -poise of the head, a trick of the hand, even the very smile playing -about the lips seemed familiar, but she found it impossible to place the -resemblance. Alice in the old impulsive manner held out both small white -hands to him. - -“You will permit me to thank you, will you not, for the service you have -done us today? But for your bravery we might all have been killed.” The -boyish face dimpled all over with sunny smiles, as he tossed the fair -hair from the heated and damp brow. - -“I beg your pardon lady, but I think almost anyone would have done as -much. It was not so wonderful a thing for me to do. I am used to the -handling of horses, it was only a spicy adventure, that is all, and if I -thereby was of any important service, why, I am only too glad, I can -assure you.” - -“But will you not give us your name? I want to know to whom I am -indebted.” - -During all this time Imelda was studying the youthful face of this -stalwart young stranger. Where had she seen that face, or one like it? -Meta was clinging to her skirts, her great dark eyes staring at the -handsome boy, for he really was little more than that. Little Norma was -clinging to her mother and was still sobbing in childish fright. -Ignoring the question of the young mother the young man laid his hand -upon the head of the sobbing little one, which action hushed the sobs, -while she lifted her blue eyes in wonderment to the smiling face. - -“Never mind, little pet,” said he, “when you are a young lady you will -have forgotten all about the naughty fright you have had today. Don’t -you think so, little Dark Eyes?” - -This last to Meta who never for a moment had let her shining dark orbs -wander from the fair face of the young rescuer. - -“I don’t know,” was the naive answer the sweet childish voice made, -which provoked a merry peal of laughter from the boyish lips. Alice too -was smiling now, but if he thought to divert her thoughts from the -question she had asked he was mistaken, for as soon as she could again -recall his attention she repeated the request. - -“Well now,” the young man replied in a hesitating manner, “I really have -not done anything worth mentioning, and——” - -“Please,” interrupted Alice. “I want so much to know. As an additional -favor I ask it.” - -“Very well, then,” he answered with a sort of desperation, at the same -time hunting in the depths of his pockets and fishing therefrom a bit of -pasteboard. - -“I believe my name is scrawled on this. If that is of any value to you, -you are certainly welcome to it,” and with that he handed her the little -white card. - -“Osmond Leland,” Alice read. Like an electric shock did the words thrill -Imelda. Her hand caught the arm of her friend. - -“What is the name? Read it again. I fear I have not heard aright.” - -“Osmond Leland,” repeated Alice. “I am sure that is the name written -very plainly,” and she handed the card to Imelda. The young man began to -look with surprise at the beautiful agitated face of the lady who seemed -to find something queer about his name. She turned to him with a quick -imperious movement. All in an instant she knew why his face seemed -familiar. - -“I beg your pardon, Mr. Leland, but have you not a sister?” A flush -slowly mounted his brow, even to the roots of his hair. The surprised -look in his face deepened. Who was this lady that she should ask him -such a question? - -“I believe I have a sister. Yes, but how could you know of this?” - -“Her name is Margaret?” entirely ignoring the latter part of the young -man’s answer. - -“I believe that is her name,” he again answered becoming still more -mystified. - -“And her home is in Chicago, where she lives with your mother?” Again -the flush mounted to his brow. There was a little stiffening of the -lines about the mouth as he answered somewhat coldly. - -“She lives in Chicago with her mother,” placing a marked emphasis upon -the “her.” Imelda noticed it and a pained look crept about her lips. She -hesitated, scarcely knowing how to proceed. Alice was watching her. -Quickly she understood that the young man who had rendered them such -signal service must be the brother of the precious friend of Imelda, -whom she herself had learned to love in the short time she had known -her, for her own sake. Imelda had told her all the sad story. The boy -had been many years under the influence of that worthless father. Had he -instilled the poison into his heart? It would almost seem so. How would -Imelda proceed? She seemed to hesitate for a few moments, then -suddenly,— - -“I left Chicago only a few months ago. Margaret Leland was my most -precious friend in that great city. A woman pure as pure gold; reared, -instructed and cared for by her mother whose life is consecrated to -truth and purity. Margaret Leland and her mother are women whom any man -in the land might well be proud to own as sister and mother.” - -Imelda had spoken quickly, her words savoring just a little of -excitement. They sounded like a defense, with just an undercurrent of -pleading for justice for those loved ones, to one whom fate had placed -in a position where he was ignorant of that which ought to concern him -most in life. He seemed to understand her desire. After a slight -hesitation, his embarrassment growing greater every moment. - -“If the ladies will kindly permit I would be thankful to avail myself of -the permission to call upon them.” - -Imelda reached out her hand. - -“I would be so pleased. I will have much to tell you.” Alice, in her -turn, hastened to express her pleasure, giving him her card, and while -she clasped his hand in both of hers she gave him, as a parting -salutation: - -“Do not forget or hesitate to come. I, too, know both sweet ladies -referred to. Let me assure you they are ladies, pure and good.” Then -giving her driver orders to wait she again spoke to young Leland, -telling him that they were anxious to ascertain the truth of what they -had heard, that a young girl had been injured; whereupon he offered to -accompany them. They retraced their steps the distance of a square, -where they found quite a number of people gathered who were discussing -the accident. Upon inquiring they found that the girl had been picked up -bleeding and in an insensible condition, but that before she could be -taken to a hospital a young lady, opposite whose home the accident had -occurred and who had just returned from shopping, had opened her -hospitable door and had cared for the wounded girl. Some bystanders -remarked that in all probability her kind action would not meet the -approval of her father, or that of her stepmother. But Miss Wallace, it -was replied, had a mind of her own, and usually she followed its -dictates. The house was pointed out to Alice and Imelda, and to judge -from the outward appearance it was by no means the abode of poverty. -Mounting the steps they rang the bell. Upon stating their errand, they -were asked to enter. - -Young Leland here bade them farewell for the present, promising them -soon to call at the home of the Westcots. The anxious ladies were then -shown into the parlor and left to themselves. They could hear that there -was a commotion of some kind. There were hasty steps to and fro; voices -in the distance; orders given, etc. After a while the door opened and a -beautiful dark eyed young lady entered. In a voice full and rich she -said: - -“If I have been rightly informed, you ladies were in the carriage that -dashed over the unfortunate girl who has been hurt?” - -Both ladies had risen. - -“Yes! to our great sorrow, such is the case,” said Alice. “Some boys -were throwing stones and hitting one of our horses caused the sad -accident.” - -“And were none of you hurt?” looking from one to the other and from them -to the little ones. - -“No, thank you; not hurt at all. We escaped with only a terrible fright, -but the unfortunate young girl,—who is she? Is she seriously injured?” - -“Who she is we have as yet no means of ascertaining as she is still -unconscious. From appearance she is a working girl; she is very plainly -dressed, but there are evident marks of refinement, as though she might -have seen better days. How seriously she is hurt we also do not know. As -I have said before, she has not yet regained consciousness. We know, -however, that she has been hurt about the head. An arm also is broken, -but the doctor hopes she is not inwardly injured. She seems to be in a -weak condition of body as from recent illness. I have left my sister in -charge while I came to you, ladies, so as not to leave you too long in -suspense.” - -It was evident the fair speaker was desirous that her callers would take -their leave, as her attention was doubtless required somewhere else. -Imelda had not spoken. She experienced again the same sensations that -she had when she first saw young Leland. Again the face before her -seemed strangely familiar, but she was unable to place it. Was it to be -a repetition of her former experience of an hour ago? But how? Alice was -in the act of leave-taking, giving minute instructions as to her place -of residence in case of an unlooked-for development of the case, for she -said: - -“I feel as though we are in a measure responsible for the sad accident, -and I shall want to know if there are any serious results.” Ere the -young lady could give an answer Imelda could no longer resist the -impulse to speak what was in her mind. Laying her hand upon that of the -beautiful stranger. - -“I beg your pardon,” she said, “but will you kindly tell me with whom I -have the honor of speaking? I do so much want to know your name.” The -great dark eyes sparkled as she answered: - -“The favor you ask is but a small one indeed, and easily granted. My -name is Edith Wallace.” - -“Edith Wallace!” echoed Imelda. “Are you a sister of Wilbur Wallace?” - -For a moment a look of surprise rested on the face of Miss Wallace; -then, - -“Is it possible! can it be Imelda Ellwood?” - -“I am Imelda Ellwood.” In a moment the hands of both fair girls were -joined in a firm clasp and, as if drawn together by a strange magnetism, -their lips also met. - -“Wilbur has told me all about you, but as he did not send me your -address, my sister and I had to wait patiently for you to come to us. -And this, I suppose,” turning again to Alice, “is the lady with whom you -make your home?” An introduction followed and instead of dismissing the -two, Miss Wallace now insisted that they should remain awhile longer. -“That is,” she added, “if you can pardon my seeming neglect, as my -attention will have to be a divided one. My sister Hilda is with the -patient and the doctor at present and to them I must soon return.” - -“Take me with you,” pleaded Imelda. “I have had a great deal of -experience with the sick and maybe shall be able to be of some help to -you. Besides, I feel curious to see this girl. I feel somewhat guilty as -to the cause of her suffering, although we were the unconscious and -unwilling cause. Yet I feel we owe her more than the wornout phrase, ‘I -am sorry!’” - -Protesting yet consenting, Edith after having again excused herself to -Alice, who was by this time reclining in a large easy chair, and having -supplied the little ones with a charming picture book, she led the way. -Leading her guest up a softly carpeted flight of stairs she noiselessly -opened the door into a large airy chamber furnished in light refreshing -tints. Snow-white curtains draped the windows while the bright light was -toned to a mellow glow by wine-colored blinds. - -A sweet-faced young girl was sitting at the side of the snowy draped -bed, watching the pale face on the pillows. So intent was she that she -never turned her head at the entrance of the new comers, thinking it was -her sister alone that was returning. The light brown hair was a -struggling mass of curls that, although brushed and combed, constantly -escaped from their confinement. The face was almost colorless, the brow -rather low, and the eyes a deep, dark gray. Tender, loving, with a full -share of animal spirits, Hilda Wallace was loved wherever she went. Not -quite so beautiful as the elder sister, Edith, she was just as -attractive in her way. - -In the one quick glance Imelda gave her she understood her fully. Before -the watcher and obstructing the view, stood the doctor with the -forefinger of his right hand resting upon the wrist of the girl’s left -and uninjured hand. With his left hand holding his watch he was counting -the pulse beats. At the foot of the bed stood a woman of about forty -years, apparently the housekeeper. Her eyes were bent as intently upon -the quiet form as those of the others in the room. Edith stepped up to -her and for a few moments whispered in her ear. Nodding assent and -softly tiptoeing the housekeeper slipped from the room. Edith gently -moved around to the other side of the bed and bending over the sufferer -listened to the almost imperceptible breathing. - -“How is she, doctor? Do you apprehend any danger?” - -The man of science shook his head. “Not immediately,” he said, “but she -will require careful nursing. She has an ugly cut upon the head and we -will have to prevent inflammation or brain fever may set in. It is -important to keep her head cool. Do not forget to change the ice bandage -every few minutes. The broken arm is nothing serious in itself and will -soon be all right, but it may add to the fever the first two or three -days. She ought to have been taken to a hospital instantly. I am afraid -it may be some time now before she can be removed.” - -“That is not to be considered,” said Edith. “We have room enough and -also willing hands that it will do good to get some practice in the art -of relieving pain, and if it should prove necessary we can call in the -help of a professional nurse. But I wish I knew who she is. I am sure -her friends must be very anxious about her.” - -The doctor merely nodded his head in a grave manner, giving vent to some -very expressive grunts. “Very well,” he said, “very well; if you are so -willing I am sure I am more than satisfied. I know I can trust the -patient in your hands, Miss Wallace. You and your sister are a host in -yourselves; so in your care I leave her. My part of the work being done -for the present I will now go. Should there be an undesirable change, -let me know;” and with a few more general instructions he bowed himself -out. Edith would have followed but he prevented her from doing so. - -“No; I can find the way myself while your place is here—and—good -evening, ladies,”—and he was gone. - -Until now Hilda had not spoken a word. Her whole attention was directed -to the care of the sick girl, every few moments lifting the cloths from -her head and replacing them with others taken from a vessel of ice -standing by the bedside. All this time the sufferer never spoke, never -moved. Imelda could not see her face as it was turned partly away, and -partly concealed in a deep shadow. Edith now spoke. - -“Hilda, do you see this lady?” whereupon the girl’s head quickly turned. - -“O, I did not know that there was anyone here,” she said in tones of -liquid music. Hastily turning to Imelda, “I beg your pardon”—then to -Edith. “Whom did you say? I don’t understand.” - -“Which is quite natural,” answered Edith smiling, “as I have not said -who; and as I know you will never guess I may as well tell you. It is -Imelda Ellwood; the young lady Brother Wilbur has so often told us -about.” - -“O! Imelda Ellwood!” exclaimed Hilda, with a glad little cry, her face -brightening with a sudden joy. “I am so glad,” and impulsively extending -both hands she kissed her in greeting. - -Just then a smothered sound was heard from the bed. With her well hand -the wounded girl grasped the cloth from her head and dashed it across -the room. - -“Who said Imelda? Where is she? I know of but one Imelda, and she is -far-away. Ha! ha!” laughing wildly. - -“I wonder what Imelda would say? my beautiful and good sister Imelda, if -she could see me tonight. Would she soil her pure hands to wash mine? I -thought I heard someone speak her name. Say, do you know her?”—and her -glance travels unsteadily from face to face. As her eyes rested upon the -white face of Imelda they settled there in a stony, set manner. Her lips -twitched convulsively as she slowly raised herself upon her well arm. -With a quick movement Imelda now cast aside the hat that she still wore. -The next instant she had caught the weakened but fever-flushed form in -her arms. - -“Cora!” She spoke the name calmly, and in a tone of voice tender and -gentle, as if the meeting and finding of the wayward sister here was a -matter of course. Laying her cool hand upon the heated brow and gently -brushing the tangled hair therefrom. - -“Cora, be calm and quiet or you will harm yourself. Come, lie down and -go to sleep.” From the manner in which these words were spoken one would -scarce have thought that anything unusual had happened. The influence of -both words and manner was instantly felt by the suffering girl. -Obediently she permitted herself to be laid back upon the pillows. Her -eyes closed. Her hand went up to her head; then to her injured arm, thus -indicating where the pain was that tortured her. Hilda had by this time -replaced the cold cloths. Low moans escaped the lips of the patient and -soon two large tear drops stole from beneath the closed eyelids. Imelda -gently brushed them away, now and then murmuring a caressing word so low -that only the prostrate girl could hear. Her hand passed back and forth -across the fevered brow. The magnetic touch seemed to do her good. -Gradually the sufferer became more quiet, and when the parched lips -asked for water it was Imelda’s hand that passed the cooling drink. In a -little while the breathing became more regular, and presently Cora was -asleep. - -In all this time there had not been spoken one word of explanation. -Whatever of curiosity the sisters may have felt none was expressed. -Quietly they waited until their guest should of her own accord explain -what seemed so strange. When Imelda felt certain that her sister was -fast asleep she gently withdrew her hands and raising her eyes to those -of Edith she indicated that she wished to speak to her. Not wishing to -make the least sound in the sick room the two went out together, leaving -Hilda once more to watch with loving care at the bedside. - -As soon as the door was closed upon their retreating figures Imelda -turned and looked Edith Wallace full in the face. It was an ordeal she -felt called upon to pass through, and though a severe one she resolved -to meet it bravely. - -“Do you understand what that girl is to me?” pointing to the door of the -room wherein the sick girl lay. - -“I have an inkling,” replied Edith, “but do not quite understand.” - -“She is my sister!” Like a wail the words came from Imelda’s lips. She -had managed to hide her real feelings while in the atmosphere of the -sick room, but now she was in danger of losing control of herself. - - - - - CHAPTER XXX. - - -“Come with me,” said Edith, and she led the way to a room at the other -end of the hall. - -“Here we will be undisturbed, and you can tell me all you wish to -impart. But I wish you to understand that I expect you to say nothing -that may cause you pain to recall. The fact that this girl is your -sister makes her much less a stranger to me than she would otherwise -have been. Come, sit here in this chair, here where you will be shaded -from the rays of the setting sun. Now, if you are comfortable you may -proceed.” - -What a cozy, homelike room it was. A bright glowing red was the -predominating color, softened by the lace curtains and snowy draped bed. -Here and there was a dash of gold. The warm hues seemed just suited to -the glowing beauty of the girl who sank into a seat opposite the chair -wherein she had placed Imelda, and here, in the cool half-dark room, was -told the sad story of how this wayward sister had left the home of her -childhood to go with her lover. - -Of her own suspicion, however, that Cora had never been a wife Imelda -could not bring herself to speak. How could she know how these sisters -would judge? She only told that from the hour that Cora had left her -home until now they had never seen her; never heard from her, “and now I -am afraid,” added Imelda, “she will be a burden upon your hands, an -imposition upon your kindness for an indefinite length of time.” - -“Hush! Not so, my friend,” interrupted Edith. “I may call you friend, -may I not? Would I not have done as much for an utter stranger. Why then -not do it for one whom my brother holds most dear, meaning yourself, of -course; and I can not help accepting your sister in the same light. -But,” she added smiling, “do you not think we have treated your friend -Mrs. Westcot, rather badly considering it is over an hour since we left -her alone to pass the time away as best she could,—and now the shades of -night are beginning to fall.” - -Imelda uttered a little frightened cry. “O, I had forgotten! Poor Alice. -I must go to her at once. But first, if you will permit, I must see Cora -is still resting.” So, stopping for a moment to inquire of Hilda as to -the condition of the patient, and being assured that she was still -asleep and perfectly quiet, the two found their way down the wide -stairway to where the little woman had been left to entertain herself. -Here they found that that tired little morsel of humanity had fallen -fast asleep in the depths of the large arm chair wherein she had settled -herself, while the little girls seeing “Mamma” asleep and having been -taught at such a time to be very quiet had climbed into a chair, which -Meta had pushed up to a window, and were watching the stream of travel -and traffic on the street. - -As the door opened little Meta turned her head and seeing Imelda uttered -a glad cry. It had been a tiresome task to entertain the baby mind of -Norma, and the little heart beat joyfully at the prospect that the -charge was over. The cry woke Alice who started up a little confused, -but immediately she remembered where she was. Edith apologized for her -seeming neglect, but added: - -“I am sure you will excuse me when you fully understand. I will go now -and see to arranging our simple evening meal, for of course you will -take tea with us. In the meantime your friend will make the necessary -explanation.” With these words, having first lit several gas jets, and -ere Alice could formulate a protest she withdrew and left the two -friends alone. - -But Imelda spoke not a word. Exhausted and broken-hearted she sank into -the nearest chair and bowing her head upon her hands her overcharged -feelings gave way. Breaking into an uncontrollable fit of weeping, sobs -shook the slender figure while tears trickled fast through her fingers. - -Alice was speechless. Surprise at this seemingly uncalled for outburst -of feeling, seemed for the moment to rob her of the power of utterance. -The little ones stood with eyes wide open, wondering why “Aunty Meldy -should try!” as little Norma expressed it. By and by Alice collected her -wits sufficiently to take the hands of the weeping girl and drawing them -from her face asked her what it all meant. When Imelda had somewhat -conquered her emotions she said: - -“Alice, you have been a true friend to me always. You have made me your -confidant in many things. You know much of my earlier life, but not all. -You knew I had a sister and brother; you think they are dead, as I -simply told you that I had lost them, but the inference is not true. -Both have stepped out of my life and have been as dead to me, for -several years. I have sometimes almost wished they were indeed dead. -Wild and wayward they had cast aside the restraining influence of home -and had gone—we knew not whither. Never a sign of life did they give, -and my mother went to her grave calling vainly for her absent ones. - -“Within the last few weeks, however, the knowledge has come to me that -both are alive. Several weeks ago I encountered Frank in the grounds of -Maplelawn. Laboring under the misapprehension of believing me to be -mistress of the handsome mansion he asked me for money. Finding I -occupied only a servant’s position he had no further use for me, and -disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared. I know not what has again -become of him; and”—with a choking feeling in her throat—“upstairs with -a broken arm and a bleeding head lies my sister Cora! Do you now -understand?” - -Imelda turned and going to the window gazed blankly into the darkening -night. She had spoken hastily and in broken accents, as if ridding -herself of a very disagreeable duty. It was not pleasant to speak of -these family affairs. For her they meant shame and disgrace, even though -her whole being recoiled from word or act impure. Her burning brow was -pressed against the cool glass and her hand upon her aching heart. Many -indeed had been the trials she had been called upon to bear. Had it not -been that such rare and true friends had been hers to smooth her rough -pathway, and had it not been for the love of a true man’s noble heart, -she would often have found life not worth the living. As she stood there -waiting she knew not for what, a hand stole softly into hers and a -gentle voice said: - -“Imelda! I am sorry, so sorry for you, but—I wish I had a sister! I have -no one in all this wide world that has a claim upon me except my -children. There was a time when Lawrence was my heaven, but now—you know -and understand—that time belongs to the past. You have a sister. Let us -hope that the finding of her will prove a blessing to you. The same -blood flows in your veins. It were strange indeed if some of the same -noble emotions did not also move her heart.” Imelda was moved. She had -never heard Alice speak with so much depth of feeling. She had not -thought her friend possessed so much real character. - -“Thank you,” she said. “I hope so, indeed; but do you understand? I will -now be compelled to remain here for some time to come. The doctor says -it will not be advisable to have her removed; so I am in a manner bound -to remain, which means that you will for a time have to do without me.” - -By the sudden pallor of Alice’s cheek it was very plain that she had not -thought of that, but bravely she put down all feelings of self. - -“Very well, we will get along without you until such time as your sister -can with safety be removed; then we will have her brought to Maplelawn -where you can nurse her until she shall have perfectly recovered.” -Imelda started. - -“Oh, no! That would be kindness too great to accept. It would be too -much; besides how would Mr. Westcot accept the situation? It would be an -imposition; there is no gainsaying that. No! no! Alice. I cannot accept -your kind offer. As soon as it is safe she will have to be removed to a -hospital where I shall make arrangements, if at all possible, to have -the care of her. If that cannot be done, why then—I shall have to do the -best I can for her.” - -“Nonsense, Imelda, do not speak like that. Lawrence has never yet -refused me an expressed wish and I certainly do wish to have you near me -as much as possible. But there will be time enough to discuss these -matters later, for the present it is undoubtedly understood that you -remain here. The rest we will trust to future developments. Just now,” -she said, in order to change the subject, “I wish you to help me lay -this sleeping child upon the tete-a-tete, as she is becoming quite -heavy;” and while Imelda was arranging an easy position Edith returned. - -Alice was more anxious to return home now, as she would have to do so -without her trusted and faithful companion, but Edith insisted on -refreshments first, and while they were being partaken of she sent out a -servant to have Alice’s carriage brought up to the house. But the -carriage was already waiting for them, and had been for some time. -Osmond Leland had been possessed of forethought enough to attend to that -matter. Edith explained to her guests that when she and her sister were -alone they dispensed with the culinary art to a great extent, as they -were both fond of fruits, and in the summer it was no difficult thing to -have a variety of fruits on hand. - -“Maybe I am a little indolent,” she explained smiling, “but I do not -like to roast my brains above a great fire, and by the same token I do -not like to see someone else do it either; so this is the result.” - -There was no occasion, however, for Edith to make excuses. The ladies -found the simple meal very refreshing. After it was over Imelda told -Alice what few articles she deemed it necessary that she should send -her; for as a matter of course she would remain for the present, and -take upon herself the chief care of the wayward but now suffering -sister. With the two sleepy little girls Alice was then snugly tucked -away in the carriage and the driver being cautioned to be very careful, -replied there was positively no cause to fear. It was not likely that a -similar accident would again occur; had it not been for the throwing of -that unlucky stone the trustworthy beasts would never have played such -pranks. With a wave of the hand Imelda saw the carriage disappear, and -with a heavy heart she again ascended the stairs to relieve the patient -Hilda, and to take upon herself this new duty of nursing back to life -wayward, erring Cora. To life? and what else? The sequel will show. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI. - - -In the days and nights that followed Imelda had every opportunity for -studying this sister pair, with whom her manner of becoming acquainted -was so different from that she had pictured. The first week was a trying -time. Fever flushed the cheeks of the injured girl, tossed her head upon -her pillow, and in her delirium she spoke of many things that caused -Imelda’s face alternately to pale and glow. - -If any reliance could be placed upon those wild utterances, “storm -tossed” would rightly apply to the life she had been leading. In her -troubled dreams she was living in an atmosphere that was strange to the -much tried sister. At intervals she would recognize Imelda for a few -moments; then there was a subdued light in the feverish eyes, a nervous -twitching about the lips. Her hand would come creeping in a hesitating -way, groping for that of her sister. Imelda thought she understood. -Gently pressing the groping hand she would lay her cheek to that of the -suffering girl and whisper, - -“It is all right, Cora, never mind.” Sometimes in lucid intervals, tears -would force their way from under the closed eyelids and roll down the -faded cheek. Imelda would gently wipe them away and kiss the parched -lips. But invariably the next moment wild fancies would hold sway and -she would talk of things the patient sister could not understand. - -Edith and Hilda were of the greatest help to Imelda. They would insist -upon relieving her that she might refresh her tired frame with hours of -balmy sleep, and also insisted that she should occasionally take a walk -in the evening or morning air. Hilda more particularly proved herself a -valuable assistant. The soft magnetic touch of her hand seemed to give -ease to Cora in her most restless moments. - -For more than a week her life hung in the balance. But her strong youth -conquered, and after the ninth day reason returned to its throne. The -gash upon the white forehead would be a disfigurement for life. Happily -the prevailing fashion of hair dressing would almost completely hide the -disfiguring mark. The cruel wound was yet far from being healed, but the -danger was past. It now only required time for her to gather strength. -Already she could sit daily for a few hours in a comfortable arm chair -and enjoy the sweet pure air at the open window. - -The Wallace sisters had positively refused to listen to any arrangement -for removal of the patient. “She will remain,” they had said, “until -quite well.” And here she still was, after two weeks had passed. A -marked change had come over her. Imelda saw she was no longer the -reckless, daring Cora of old. A spirit of refinement rested on the white -brow, and shone in the no longer defiant eyes. There was a story in the -pained lines of the decidedly pretty face. The loss of blood, the -ravages of fever, and the pain of the broken arm had robbed her of every -vestige of color. The ugly gash upon the white forehead had now healed -enough to remove the bandage, and only a narrow strip of court plaster -was needed to cover the still festering edges. - -As she was somewhat of the same build and size as Hilda, that maiden had -robed her in a pretty pink tea gown with a white silk front, trimmed at -the neck and wrists with a soft fall of rich lace, a white silk cord -encircled the waist. The heavy light brown hair had been combed school -girl fashion, and hung in two plain braids over either shoulder. With -the front hair Hilda had gone to some extra trouble to have it look -nice. It was a mass of fluffy, curling ringlets, only at one end peeped -the court plaster, merely indicating what was hidden. With that look of -sadness, that was so new to the elder sister, and which softened every -line of her face, Cora was far more than merely pretty. - -As yet the time that intervened since the sisters had seen each other -last had not been touched upon. Both seemed to avoid it as if by mutual -consent. Today Cora lay back in her chair, her gaze fixed intently upon -the outside of the window, but it was doubtful if she saw what was -transpiring there. Imelda had been reading, now she also was resting. -The book lay in her lap while she too permitted her gaze to wander. -After a time, however, she recalled her wandering looks and directed -them upon the face opposite her, and in doing so she saw that two pearly -drops had stolen from beneath the half-closed eyelids and were slowly -trickling down the white cheeks. Imelda noiselessly sank on her knees at -her side, and taking the well hand of the girl in both of hers, she laid -it against her cheek. - -“What is it, Cora?” she asked gently. “Can you not trust your sister and -tell her all?” But as if the words had loosened the flood gates of her -soul the tears gushed forth in torrents from the hazel eyes; the white -teeth sank deep into the quivering lips, as if to quell the sobs that -broke from them. Drawing her hand away from Imelda she covered her face -while she sobbed as if her heart would break. For a while Imelda did not -speak, but permitted the storm to spend its strength, knowing full well -she would feel all the better for it. When she had become more calm -Imelda passed her arm about her waist and leaned her head against Cora’s -arm. - -“Won’t you tell me?” she again pleaded. Again the lips quivered and the -tears flowed. - -“Oh, Melda, Melda, how can I? You in your purity cannot understand. If I -tell you all you will withdraw your clean immaculate hands from me -and—Well, what matters it? I have chosen my path and no doubt can -continue to walk in it. When a girl once steps aside from the straight -way it is not supposed that she should ever wish to return. That -circumstances rather than desire could send a woman on the downward -course to ruin is not considered at all probable. I may have been -wayward and wilful in the past. I know I was not good and gentle and -dutiful as you were. But I was not possessed of the same strong nature, -and if I have done wrong, believe me, Imelda, I have also suffered.” - -There was bitter pain in the words that seemed to dry the hot tears. Her -mood was changing. She was at this instant more like the Cora of old -than she had been since the accident. Imelda did not like it; she feared -it might lead her back to the old defiance, but she hoped not. It should -not, if womanly ingenuity could prevent it. So she determined not to -notice the underlying bitterness. She pressed the unhappy girl’s hand -and said: - -“Don’t be too sure of so easily ridding yourself of your sister. I do -not intend to lose you again. Do you think it was for the mere pleasure -of the thing that I have been watching with you night and day for the -past two weeks? Oh, no! Since I have found you I intend to keep you with -me. An only sister is not lightly lost sight of.” - -This last caused Cora quickly to turn her head. - -“An only sister? What about—little Nellie?” - -A sharp pang pierced Imelda’s heart. The question showed her that Cora -did not know of the changes that had taken place. But as she hesitated -Cora seemed to understand. - -“Is little Nellie dead?” she asked. - -“Yes!” softly answered Imelda’s voice, as her arms tightened about -Cora’s waist. “Little Nellie is sleeping in our mother’s arms.” - -Imelda felt the tremor in the weakened frame, but no answer came from -the pallid lips. But when she looked up she observed the tears again -stealing from beneath the closed lids. - -“Dead! dead!” she whispered, “and I was not there. Maybe it was better -so. If she had known all that had taken place in my life it would only -have added another bitter drop to her already overflowing cup. But you, -Imelda! What are you doing here so many miles from our western home? How -came you here?” - -“Do you remember Alice Day, who used to work at the store where we were -both employed?” - -“Yes.” - -“Well, you also remember that it is long since she is no longer Alice -Day but Mrs. Lawrence Westcot. Lawrence Westcot’s home is in Harrisburg -and I have the care of her children, two sweet little girls.” - -“Here in Harrisburg?” - -“Yes, here. And just here, I may as well tell you of another -circumstance. On the day which came so near being your last our old time -friend with her two little girls and myself were out driving in her -carriage when through the throwing of a stone our horses took fright, -and like mad they dashed through the streets and—Well, do you understand -the rest? I was in the vehicle that caused you a broken arm and an -almost broken head.” Cora smiled sadly. - -“A pity it was not wholly broken,”—for which she was reproved by Imelda. - -“Don’t let me hear such words again. I will not listen; but first tell -me why you should use them and then let me judge.” - -“Let you judge,”—fell in bitterest accents from Cora’s lips. “Chaste, -honest, truthful, will you be able to judge me?” - -“I hope so, and as I hope that I am all that you say, you must not -forget to add ‘just.’ That is another attribute to which I aspire. Now -trust me, little sister, and ease that aching heart. You will feel -better when it is all over; I am very sure.” So at last Cora gathered up -courage and began the confession that in the last few days so often had -hovered upon her lips. - -Cora told how short the dream of happiness had been that had enticed her -to leave home and listen to the tempter’s words. How the promised -marriage had been put off from day to day, and from week to week, until -the truth burst upon her that he never had had any intention of making -her a wife. A scene similar to that recorded somewhere near the -beginning of this narrative was again enacted. Cora was no less emphatic -in her demands than her mother had been before her. But there was a -difference: Herbert Ellwood was a gentleman; one of nature’s noblemen. -But Tom Dixon did not know the meaning of the word “honor,” and when he -was tired of his plaything he simply cast it aside. Neither threats, -tears or prayers could avail anything. Alone, a stranger in a strange -city she was helpless. He had taken her as far as New York, and for a -while the disgraced girl was tempted to end her life in the quickest way -possible. Desperate indeed was her position; without money; awaiting an -event which, if nature had justice done her, should be the crowning joy -and glory of a woman’s life, but which, instead, made her a wretched -outcast, a homeless, friendless wanderer. - -Her voice was husky and her cheek fever-flushed as she proceeded with -her story, not daring to meet the eye of her sister. - -“I had been considered pretty, I know, both of face and form, and these -drew the attention of a man who had protected me from the brutal insults -of some roughs, and who, noticing my condition and circumstances, and, -attracted by something that even now I cannot account for, took me under -his immediate care and protection. I soon discovered that he possessed a -tender heart, as well as a well filled purse. Placing me in the hands of -a skillful physician he procured a nurse, and, when my baby was born, -saw that I had every attention. - -“At first I hated the little innocent because of its father, but after -it had lain in my arms and at my breast the unnatural feeling gave way -to one that might have brought me some happiness if I had been permitted -to keep it. But just two weeks from the day I first felt the touch of -the baby lips the little unwelcome life went out, and I was left more -wretched than ever. - -“I did not love my new lover, (for such he was). I don’t think I was -then capable of love. My heart was so full of bitterness. But Owen -Hunter had been kind to me when he who according to nature ought to have -protected me had cast me off. This stranger had cared for the despairing -outcast and tided her over the stormiest waters. But there came a day -when he seemed to expect a return, a compensation. - -“He came to call upon me one evening about two months after my baby was -born. As he often came this fact was nothing new, and his coming always -brought with it a certain degree of pleasure, but on this particular -evening he drew me upon his knee, fondled me, paid me pretty compliments -and ended by making me the blank proposal to become his mistress. - -“I had been passive under his caresses, never thinking what it all -meant, but now it burst upon me like a thunderbolt, and I saw only a -repetition of past experiences. I cast off his encircling arms and -tottering to my bed threw myself down and gave way to an outburst of -tears and sobs. For a while he let me have my way; then came and sat -beside me upon the edge of the bed and talked to me for some hours. He -was enamored of my pretty face; called me beautiful, and wanted me all -to himself. He promised me a life of ease; lots of money and pretty -clothes. He said he could not understand how a man could be so heartless -as to cast aside a girl so pretty. He loved me well enough, he said, to -have cared for my little babe had it lived. He thought he had proven to -me that he was trustworthy, and if I was but willing to try him he was -sure I would never rue it. - -“As I said before, I did not love him, but I felt a kindly feeling for -the really handsome man, which feeling I tried to persuade myself was -love. I was cast adrift without a friend or a dollar. What more natural -than that I should give heed to the sympathetic voice? Then the thought -came to me: If he so loved me he might be willing to make me his wife. -So permitting him to take me in his arms and kiss me I took his face -between my hands and asked him, would he not marry me? He laughed, as if -it were some good joke, but held me all the closer, and still laughing -shook his head. - -“‘Make you my wife, little girl? No! no! It is not a wife that I want, -but someone to love me; someone to whom my coming will be sunshine; -whose laugh will be music to me; who will be sure to make the evenings I -am with her happy ones, and wives don’t generally do that!’ - -“I did not understand then what he meant though I did so later. What I -did understand was that he refused to marry me. Whatever else the offer -contained it was not fair promises that he did not mean to keep. Well, -why should I continue? I felt that here was a haven of rest, what else -was open to such as I? My past would always be a barrier to my moving -among so-called respectable women, and I was desperate. - -“To make a long story short I accepted his offer. But this man was truly -kind to me. Through it all he never once attempted to take a liberty I -had not first granted to him. He never forced his attentions upon me. He -soon seemed, however, to understand better how matters stood. A change -came over him. Although many were the evenings that he spent with me he -was not the same. I missed the joyous happy laugh, and his impulsive -caresses were toned down to a light kiss, given at his coming and going. -He no longer remained very late. He brought me books and flowers; he -prevailed on me to take an interest in many studies, offering to be my -teacher. A handsome piano found its way into my rooms on which he taught -me to play. Having made the discovery that I possessed considerable -talent in music and also that my voice was above the common, he did not -rest until a competent vocal teacher was procured for me. Evening after -evening he was at my side aiding me in my studies; leading me on and on -until I was surprised at the capabilities that had lain dormant in my -nature. I awoke to a hunger and thirst for knowledge, and day by day I -applied myself more diligently to my studies. I was beginning to be -ambitious, the wellspring of which I did not as yet understand, but I -would see the smile of pleasure and approval light up his face and I -felt rewarded. One evening when about a year had passed he paid me this -compliment: - -“‘My little girl is quite an accomplished lady now.’ - -“I can yet feel the flush of pleasure, the blood mounting to my brow, as -he laid his hand with caressing touch upon my head, lightly brushing -back my hair. The action was new. Long ago he had laid aside the lover -and was merely the friend and teacher, and it puzzled me to understand -the meaning of it at first. I had not heeded it much, but gradually my -feelings had undergone a change. He always treated me with such perfect -respect just as if I were some high-bred lady. I learned to admire him -first and then a warmer feeling crept into my heart. When evening came I -counted the moments until he would arrive. Sometimes it would be late, -then a spirit of unrest would make me miserable with the fear that he -might disappoint me, and when such would be the case, as it sometimes -happened, the spirit of unrest and disappointment would not let me -sleep. I awoke to the knowledge that I loved him now if I had not done -so during those first weeks of our acquaintance, and with this knowledge -another feeling made itself apparent. I felt that I was under obligation -to him. He was keeping me as a lady when I had no right whatever to -accept anything from him. One evening I electrified him by telling him -that I was going to look for work. For a moment he looked at me as if he -thought I was not in my right mind, then he peremptorily asked: - -“‘What is the meaning of this foolish notion?’ - -“‘I have been a burden on your hands long enough.’ - -“He laughed, - -“‘A burden? Well! well! What put that idea into this little dark head?’ - -“‘Is it then so strange that I should desire to turn to practical -advantage all the knowledge I have gained through your kindness? I am -sure it is time I sought, in some measure, to repay you, and how better -can I do that than by doing something practical?’ - -“A troubled look rested on his face as his eyes searched mine. - -“‘Will you believe me, little one, that the evenings spent here are the -one pleasure in which I indulge? the pleasure to watch your mind expand -and grow; the one pleasure which nothing else can replace? And what of -your studies? They are as yet by no means complete. What is to become of -them while you work to earn a living?’ - -“The sound of his voice changed. ‘I do not want to hear such foolish -words again. Until your studies are mastered you are to think of nothing -else.’ That vibrating voice robbed me of all power of resistance; and so -no more was said on this subject, but I felt my heart go out to him more -and more. - -“But why did he never caress me now? Did he no longer love me? -Considering our relations in the early part of our acquaintance it was -strange; but I felt a restraint that would never permit me to show what -I felt. The day he paid me the compliment of being an accomplished lady -I felt my heart leap with joy. O how I longed to throw myself into his -arms and repay him in a warmer manner than I had ever dared show him. -But this indefinable something stood between us and held me to my place. -The next evening, and every evening after that, I took extra pains with -my dress. I wanted to look nice when he came, and with greater -impatience than I had ever known I awaited his coming. Often I succeeded -in drawing a word of praise from him which would send the blood bounding -through my veins. - -“One evening about a week after he had so effectually overruled my -intention to seek work I arrayed myself in a soft gown of purest white, -a color which Owen most particularly admired. But on that evening I -waited in vain. The hours came and went but they did not bring Owen. The -next evening the same experience was repeated and every evening for a -week, but the man who had become so dear to me did not come; and the -thought was slowly forcing itself into my mind that he would never come. -If in the past there had been hours of despair the prospect of the -coming time seemed so much darker that truly life would not be worth the -living if I was again to be forsaken. - -“With weak and trembling hands I once more arrayed myself for his -coming. I wore a loose robe of creamy silk fastened only with a white -silken cord at the waist. My last week’s experience had robbed me of the -roses that the few previous weeks had called to my cheeks. It was Sunday -evening and I hardly dared hope that he would come that night. It was -the sweet Maytime and a great bunch of lilacs filled their room with -their fragrance. The evening was warm. Doors and windows were open, and -I think I must have fallen asleep in my rocker for I heard no sound, yet -was aroused suddenly by the feeling of a face close to mine. For a -moment I was frightened and involuntarily uttered a cry, but the next -moment seeing who it was, and forgetting everything but that he, my -friend, my lover, had returned, I sprang to my feet and with the cry, -‘Owen! Owen!’ I cast myself upon his breast and twined my arms about his -neck. In that moment I knew that he had not ceased to love, as I had -feared, for holding me close in his arms he pressed me to him and almost -smothered me with his kisses, whispering again and again, - -“‘My little girl, my own little woman, you love me now, my sweet? I have -not waited in vain?’ I answered him only with a happy laugh. My heart -was too full for anything else, but he understood, for he again rained -kisses upon my face calling me by every endearing name that love had -ever invented. He never rightly explained why he had remained so long -away, but I understood then that circumstances over which he had no -control had caused it, and little did I care in my new-found happiness, -for I was happy,—happy as I had never thought I could be. I sat upon his -knee with my arms clasped about his neck until away into the night. We -had not struck a light; he would not let me be free long enough to do -so. There was no need, he said, and I know that not one softly whispered -word of love was lost, and with the most perfect ease his lips found -mine. The hour had come and gone that he was wont to leave me, but as -midnight approached he laid his lips to my ear and whispered words that -for a moment caused my heart to stand still; and then to bound as if to -break its confines. The past year had made a different woman of me and I -now, as never before, wanted the respect of the man whom I loved. He -felt my heart beating so madly and I know he guessed the cause. He laid -his face to mine and pleadingly, tremblingly spoke: - -“‘Darling, can you not trust me? my timid fluttering birdie? I would not -harm one shining hair upon this precious head.’ And I did trust him, for -O Imelda, I loved him, I loved him. You, looking down from your pure and -lofty heights can not understand it, but it was all so different from -that first experience that I had. I tried to realize the enormity of my -wrong-doing but I could not feel impure when I was in his arms. My love -for Owen was something different from what I had hitherto deemed love to -be. I felt myself lifted above everything sordid, everything unclean. -Every feeling, every thought connected with him was as something holy, -and now, as then, the thought will force itself upon my mind: How is it -possible that true, pure love can ever be deemed impure! when its fires -are so purifying only holy emotions find room in the heart. - -“But our love was without sanction of either church or state and -therefore the world would place its seal, its stamp of ‘outcast’ upon -the brow of such as I. But is it not somewhere written that much shall -be forgiven to those who love much? And the short time that followed I -was madly, intensely happy, while Owen seemed to be no less so. He would -catch me in his arms and lift me up as if I were a baby while his blue -eyes shone with a light as of heaven. - -“‘My own darling! my precious one!’ O, how often did he say these words -while I pressed his fair head to my heart and thought heaven was in his -arms.” Cora broke off with a choking sob, while the tears once more -rolled down the pale cheek. Imelda was still upon her knees at her side, -was still fondling the white hand when Cora again turned to her: - -“Why don’t you turn from me? I who have been a mother, who have granted -to man the greatest boon of love a woman can bestow,—without first being -a wife! Why are you not angry with me? I am sure I deserve it!” - -“Why, my poor, dear Cora! Why should I be angry with you? For loving a -noble man? I hope I am not so narrow, and that I am able to judge you -more fairly.” - -Cora’s hazel eyes expanded to their utmost extent. - -“Melda, what do you mean? I do not understand. Do you not curse him and -despise me?” - -Imelda shook her head. - -“Neither,” she answered. “Although I do not quite understand, yet -according to your description of the man I get the impression that he -was noble and good. Nothing at all to warrant a judgment so cruel from -me. But now you must keep calm or I shall not permit you to speak -farther. I insist that you lie down and rest, as this excitement may -prove injurious to you.” - -“And if it should make an end of my miserable life it might be the best -thing that could happen to me. I have been of but little good in the -world,—only to bring pain and sorrow into the lives of others.” - -“Now, now, Cora! Is it right you should talk like this when you have but -just finished telling of the love of your Owen and the happiness you -have brought to him?” Cora put her hand to her head. - -“You confuse me,” she said. “To hear you speak like this causes me to -doubt my senses. I do not understand.” Imelda smiled. - -“But you will understand, by and by, when you know all. Now I am waiting -to hear the rest of your story.” - -“The rest of my story? Would that it ended there; then, maybe, I might -still have some faith that my life is not all in vain. But to return and -finish. My dream was too bright and beautiful to last. Such intense -bliss is not for this world. I ought to have told you before how I -lived. Owen had furnished a small house for me in princely style. It was -far up town and stood in a grove of trees and isolated from the -neighborhood. A most beautiful garden was attached to it with richly -scented flowerbeds and vines and ivy-covered arbors. Certainly a lovely -spot and a perfect lovers’ home. From the windows I could see the blue -waters of the Hudson and often I watched the stately steamers proudly -sail up and down its silver-hued bosom. As I stated once before, Owen -had procured a nurse to attend me in my hour of trial, a faithful -colored woman, and she had lived with me from that time on, keeping my -nest a bower of beauty. She always thought I was Owen’s wife and he said -nothing to dispel that belief. She probably often thought it queer that -during all that year he had spent only a few hours in the evening of -each day with me, but she never said anything. - -“One day when I was more happy, if that were possible, than usual, a -carriage drove up to my little heaven. A footman opened the door and a -richly attired lady stepped therefrom and slowly came up the shaded -path. Old Betty met her at the door; I heard them speak but could not -understand what was said. The old woman led the lady into our cosy -little parlor and then came to me in my own pretty bed chamber upstairs. -She brought me a card upon which I read, ‘Mrs. O. Hunter.’ She was a -woman of perhaps twenty-eight or thirty years of age, very tall, a -decided brunette with flashing black eyes. Her features were sharp, and -a look indicating that her tongue could be as sharp. I looked helplessly -at her and then at the card in my hand.” - -“‘Mrs. Hunter?’ I said, bowing—but her stiff head never inclined. In a -haughty, heartless manner she spoke, - -“‘If you are able to read you ought to find that correct. Mrs. Owen -Hunter,’—with a decided stress upon the ‘Owen.’ I was beginning to feel -dazed. ‘Mrs. Owen Hunter’! My Owen’s name. Who could she be? - -“‘Well?’ I asked. - -“‘Well!’ she repeated. ‘Does not that speak for itself? If not I will -endeavour to be still more plain. I am tired of having my husband spend -his nights away from home. I warn you, girl! Owen Hunter is my husband, -and the father of my children. If I still find, after this, that he -continues coming here, I shall find means to put an end to it, and to -make it go hard with you!’ - -“I was as if stunned! My head swam, as I listened to this threat. My -Owen the husband of this woman! Impossible! Surely, surely, there is -some terrible mistake here. Not for one instant did I permit myself to -believe the cruel accusation that had been hurled at me, but without -deigning me another look she turned in haughty scorn to leave the room -when her eye caught sight of a crayon picture—Owen’s picture, my most -especial pride, which had been placed upon an easel. A look like a -thunder cloud passed over her face, and before I could think what her -intention might be she had swooped upon it, knocked it down, and setting -her foot upon it crushed the glass into a thousand pieces, cutting and -hopelessly ruining the precious picture. With a cry of dismay I stepped -forward, but it was too late, and with a mocking laugh she swept from -the room, leaving me in a heart-broken condition. - -“I had not known that Owen had a wife, and as yet I could scarcely -believe it true. If such was the case I knew full well it was to her he -belonged and not to me. How I managed to live through that day I do not -know. My heart felt like stone in my breast; no tears came to ease or -quench the aching, burning pain. - -“In the evening Owen came whistling up the garden path, his handsome -face all aglow with the sunshine of happiness. He came bounding into the -room where I was sitting and the next instant he had caught me in his -arms and was madly straining me to his breast, smothering me with -kisses. But suddenly he seemed to discover something amiss in my manner. -Holding me away from him the better to look at me he said, - -“‘What is it, birdie? not sick are you?’ - -“‘Yes,’ I said, struggling with the tears,—‘heart-sick.’ - -“All the sunshine, all the laughter was gone from his face in an -instant. - -“‘Explain, sweetheart, what is it?’ For answer I pointed to the ruined -picture. - -“‘Why’——he stammered. ‘What has happened?’ - -“To speak would have been impossible. I felt as if a cold, unseen hand -was clutching at my throat. So I merely handed him the card with the -name of ‘Mrs. Owen Hunter’ upon it. I shall never forget the look of -dismay that passed over his face. - -“‘Do you mean to say she has been here?’ he articulated. I merely -inclined my head. His arms fell slowly away from me and stepping to the -open window, he stood looking out into nothing for a long time,—so long, -indeed, that I thought he had forgotten that I was there. When he turned -back to me his face looked in the gray twilight as if it had aged ten -years. - -“‘And will my sweet love send me away because of this woman?’ He asked -the question holding my hand in both of his, closely pressed to his -cheek. His voice did not sound the same. All the laughter, all the life -had left it. I saw he was suffering, and the knowledge did not tend to -lessen the pain that was tugging at my own heart. I answered his -question with another. - -“‘She is your wife?’ - -“‘She is. But what of that?’—doggedly. - -“‘Only that you belong to her, and not to me.’ Then he caught me in his -arms and held me so fast he almost crushed me. - -“‘No! no!’ he huskily said, ‘it is false. I do not belong to her. It is -you that holds me, body and soul. That woman never married me,—only my -money!’ - -“‘But your children?’ - -“‘What children?’ - -“‘Why, yours—and hers.’ - -“‘There are none!’ - -“My head swam; she had said, ‘The father of my children,’ and he said. -‘There are none.’ I looked into the clear blue eyes and believed him. -But in spite of that I knew my dream of bliss was ended. In his madness -he made the proposition that we should leave together,—go to some -distant city, to Europe, anywhere where we could remain together. The -world was wide and in some small corner we would find room where we -might be happy. - -“But to this proposition I would not listen. My mind was already made -up. I would leave—leave without saying a word about it. I could not bear -the thought of being the cause, perhaps, of his ruin. If I told him I -knew he would never consent; but this one last night he was mine, and -with that shadow threatening to engulf us we loved with the intensity of -despair. But before the night had waned, clasped closely in his arms he -told me the story which had wrecked his life.” - - * * * * * - -With a weary movement Cora leaned her head against the bolstered back of -her chair. Imelda saw that her sister was exhausted. Reproaching herself -for having permitted her patient to do so much talking she gave the -order, “Not one more word!” and helping her to disrobe she gently -assisted her back to her couch. With a new tenderness she arranged the -pillows and then insisted upon perfect quiet. - -“Tomorrow will be another day, and time enough to proceed.” - -Cora did not protest, and soon the weary eyes were closed in slumber. -Long did Imelda watch the sleeping girl while she was conscious of a new -feeling toward this erstwhile wayward sister. Her heart went out to her -as it had never done before, and henceforward she knew she would not be -quite alone in the world as she had been. She felt that she had now -found her sister, in more senses than one. - -Just here it might not be out of place to make mention of that other -pair of sisters to whom these two were at the present time under such -heavy obligations. It had seemed rather queer to Imelda that the two -should be all alone in this large house, as she had understood from what -Wilbur had told her that the sisters lived in the home of their father -who with the second wife had quite a family of children, but of whom -there was not a trace to be seen. Only a day or two ago, however, Edith -had explained to Imelda how matters stood. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXII. - - -From this explanation it was evident that neither of the two elder -daughters had any too much love for the stepmother, who was domineering -in character. Of late years the freedom-loving Edith had refused to -submit to her many dictations. She absolutely refused in any manner to -be a subordinate. When Hilda found her sister making such a brave effort -to free herself from the domination of the stepmother she was not long -in following her example. The stepmother appealed to the father, who in -turn ordered his daughters to explain. - -Edith did explain. She said that Hilda and herself were now old enough -to judge for themselves in all personal matters. They demanded freedom -in all their actions. If it were refused them at home they would seek a -home elsewhere. With youth and health they were confident they would not -starve. - -But Edmund Wallace was a proud man. After the disastrous ending of his -first marriage, with the second wife, brilliant and fashionable, at his -side,—a woman who seemed better to understand how to manage her husband -than did the timid Erna before her, Mr. Wallace had been more successful -financially. Dabbling in politics he had secured to himself political -and social position and hence the idea that his daughters should leave -his house to find a home elsewhere was not at all to his liking. Such a -thing would draw attention, and cause unpleasant notoriety. So, for -once, he sided with his daughters and gave his wife to understand that -they were at liberty in all personal matters to do as they pleased. - -The haughty woman was almost strangled in her anger, but found herself -forced to submit. But if she could no longer domineer there were a -thousand other ways in which she could make the lives of the girls a -daily torture. The result was that Edith again turned to her father, -telling him that under existing circumstances they could not and would -not longer remain. So another and more decided change was made. A room -was assigned to Edith and Hilda as their “sanctum.” Through the -political influence of the father positions were secured for both girls, -which furnished them with pocket money to spend as they saw fit. The -salary of each was sixty dollars per month, twenty of which each -contributed toward keeping up the establishment. This arrangement made -them independent, and from the day it was made both refused to take part -in the household duties. Mrs. Wallace had to procure hired help. Then it -was she came to realize the full value of these despised stepdaughters. -But as she considered it beneath her dignity to unbend towards the girls -there was a constant frigidity between them. - -There were four children from this second marriage, two girls and two -boys; the girls being the eldest. All four were away at school. Mr. and -Mrs. Wallace were away spending the hot summer months at some mountain -resort. The girls having vacation, nothing averse, took charge of the -house, expecting later in the season to spend a week or two on some -quiet country farm. To the circumstance of the absence of the rest of -the family was it due that Cora had found such a haven of rest under -this roof prepared by the kind and loving hearts and hands of this -sister pair. That she herself was the sister of one who had such a warm -friend in that absent brother who to them personated the whole of manly -graces and perfections, made it to seem more like a privilege than -otherwise that they should have been permitted to lavish their tenderest -care upon her; besides the sufferer had won for herself a place in these -sisterly hearts that was all her own, a place that no one would be able -ever to deprive her of. - -Alice had often called during the past two weeks but as yet had not seen -the injured girl. Somehow Cora had always been asleep and it was deemed -unwise to awaken her. Norman also had found his way several times to the -Wallace abode, as indeed it would have been strange if he had not. When -making his first visit he said: - -“It seems we are destined to love under difficulties—always someone -claiming the love and attention of the woman that I would fain -monopolize.” When he heard that in this case the claim came from the -lost and erring sister a cloud had for a moment rested upon his manly -face. Then gravely and tenderly he had said, kissing the pure forehead -of the girl he loved, - -“Do what you think is your duty, and what you think is best, my -sweetheart. I would not have you do otherwise,”—and then Imelda had gone -back to her sister’s bedside with a much lighter heart and with a new -sense of happiness. Today, as she stood watching the face of the -sleeping sister, thoughts and feelings came crowding upon her that she -herself might have found difficult to analyze. Poor Cora, thought -Imelda, how manifold and how oft painful had been her experiences. If -she had dealt many a cruel blow to others, in the thoughtlessness of -youth, it was very evident that she had suffered much and keenly, and -yet—looking at her experiences without prejudice, was she not, in some -respects, more to be envied than to be pitied or condemned? This very -reckless daring that was Cora’s chief characteristic, had secured to her -a term of such intense, such exquisite happiness that Imelda, with her -high strung morals, could never hope to attain, and as she bent to kiss -the sleeping girl she whispered: - -“You possess more courage than the sister you think so pure. You are -more true to nature and to yourself than I.” - -When Cora awoke, refreshed from a long sleep, she would have resumed the -recital of her story but Imelda positively refused to listen. Instead -the invalid was again arrayed in the pretty wrapper and, with the -assistance of Hilda, was led down the broad stairway to the handsome -parlor. Here the trio of girls read, played and sang for her amusement, -and several times during the evening Cora’s clear, sweet laugh rang out, -making music in Imelda’s heart. An unbroken night’s rest followed, and -the next morning found the sisters once more seated by the window and -Cora ready to take up the thread of her narrative where she had left off -the day before. - -“Owen Hunter was the only child of very wealthy parents. They were the -possessors of millions. All the advantages that wealth can procure had -been his. At college he had graduated with the first honors. He was -gifted with talents of high order—a poet born; a musical genius, and his -gift of song alone would have made him famous, had he so desired. But, -as is so often the case with natures of this kind, he was very -impulsive. The blood in his veins was extra hot, and at the early age of -eighteen he had got himself entangled with a dark-eyed southern beauty, -whom he deemed the perfection of all womankind. His mother had died when -he was sixteen, else she might perhaps have been able to guide him with -loving gentleness where reason and parental commands failed. The girl -with whom he had fallen so madly in love was also wealthy, and had had -the benefit of a thorough education—that is, a fashionable one. She knew -how to dance, how to bow gracefully. She possessed an exhaustless supply -of small talk, quick of repartee, brilliant and witty. She knew how to -haughtily snub a social inferior—and so on through the long list of -fashionable accomplishments. - -“Owen saw only the fascinating smile and the wild, witching beauty that -had set fire to his brain. For some reason his father was opposed to an -alliance with Leonie Street. Perhaps he better read beneath the -attractive surface. But Owen was determined, and when he was scarcely -twenty he married the girl who had so completely bewildered his senses. -Young as he was he was at the head of a large business firm. His father -of late had been in poor health, and upon the young man’s shoulders was -laid the burden that had become too heavy for those of the older man. -And when his father died, stepping into his inheritance he found himself -worth some twenty millions of dollars. - -“Long ere this, however, Owen Hunter discovered that he had made a grand -matrimonial mistake. The woman he had married was only a fashion plate, -with this difference. A fashion plate is called inanimate, whereas Mrs. -Hunter was possessed of a temper so fiery that she became quite -dangerous when something occurred to arouse her ire. In her passionate -moods she was so vulgar as to be disgusting. One babe had come, but as -if her passion was a poison that killed, the little thing lived only a -few days, and none other ever came. - -“Of short duration had been their honeymoon. She managed soon to -thoroughly disenchant her boy husband—to cure him of the infatuation -that had led him to brave even his father’s displeasure; displeasure -which might have meant a great deal to him, as his father was noted for -a certain bull-dog tenacity or stubbornness. When once he took a stand, -either for or against, he would hold to it, to the bitter end, no matter -if later he found that only he was in the wrong and all others in the -right. - -“Since there was no sweet baby smile to woo and win the hearts of these -two, Owen and Leonie Hunter daily drifted farther and farther apart, -neither caring, or little caring, what the other was doing. His millions -were at her command wherewith to satisfy her every whim, and this wealth -enabled her to worship at the shrine of fashion, to her heart’s content. -Their ‘home’ was a mansion; one of the most beautiful of homes but Owen -Hunter only went to it to sleep, and not always then. Sometimes home did -not see him for weeks at a time. The clubs suited him better than the -princely mansion which contained his dark-browed wife. His wedded -experience had made him reckless, and he made the most of what his -wealth would buy him. He was not by nature bad; not by any means. He was -only what circumstances had made him. Deep down hidden in the innermost -recesses of his being were the germs of a noble manhood, but those germs -were fast going to decay for want of the magic touch which would waken -them to life and growth. Sometimes he felt heart-sick and soul-weary -when he realized that with all the wealth at his command there was none -so poor as he; that his bosom bore a starving heart. In all the vast -multitudes of the great city there was not one face to brighten at his -coming, to smile a welcome at his return to the place he called home. - -“In a mood like this, one evening as he was passing a deserted -thoroughfare he was attracted by a woman’s cry. A woman was struggling -in the grasp of a man. A well directed blow felled the ruffian to the -earth while the rescuer caught an almost fainting girl in his arms. - -“That was the way in which I became acquainted with Owen Hunter. He -offered to see me to my home. I told him I had none. He seemed to -understand it all in a moment, and afterwards he told me that he did so -understand. A young woman whose condition was so apparent, and no home, -could have only one story to tell,—a very common story, and at that -moment he felt, as he afterwards explained, just as forlorn and alone, -just as hopeless and homeless. It was as if I had touched a hidden -wellspring. He drew my arm through his and said: - -“‘Come.’ - -“I was trembling in every nerve. The terror I had undergone almost -paralyzed me. He saw I was almost unable to stand.” - -“‘Will you trust me?’ - -“One look into the clear eyes told me that it would be safe, and I only -nodded my head. I could not trust myself to speak. I hardly knew how it -happened, but in a few moments more I found myself seated in a closed -carriage, and that night I slept safely housed, with a little confidence -in mankind restored. - -“You know the rest. I told you the story yesterday; of how he came to -love me and I him, until our love glorified our lives. Never until the -darkly passionate woman stood before me did I know that another had a -stronger claim upon him than I. He did not know through what chance she -had become possessed of his secret. He felt sure she cared little, only -it gave her a chance to empty the poison vials of her temper and spleen -in a manner that she was conscious would strike me in a vital spot. - -“‘She thinks to part us, loved one,’ he said, ‘but she shall not -succeed. I will not sacrifice the only bright spot that makes my life -worth living. You, my darling, have redeemed me. You have taught me the -bliss of the love of a true woman. You have made a new being of me, and -to you I belong; while you are mine by the might and power of that holy -love that you bear me.’ - -“O, Imelda, forbear to judge me from the high pinnacle of morality and -purity upon which I know you stand. Although I had made up my mind to -disappear out of his life—that he should not know what had become of -me,—but this one last night I wanted to be happy, happy in the present -hour and in the feeling that he was mine and I his. I would not think of -the morrow and what it would bring. I only gave myself up to the hour -and to my love, and when the bright sun of another day had risen he -still held me so closely in his arms that it seemed he meant never to -release me. - -“‘Have patience, my own one,’ he said, ‘if you should not see me for -some time. I will have much to arrange, but when all shall have been -attended to I will fly to you, never again to leave you; for I cannot, I -will not give you up.’ - -“I thought my heart would break, as he held me in his arms, whispering -to me his plans of hope and happiness. But I forced back the scalding -tears and with smiling lips kissed him goodby. I stood at the doorway -and watched him out of sight. - -“‘Out of sight!’ Could it have been out of mind as well, it would then -not have been so hard to bear. I re-entered my room, threw myself upon -my bed and wept myself to sleep. - -“Long hours I lay thus. When at last I awoke the sun was high in the -heavens; my limbs were weary and my heart heavy, but I knew I had work -to do, the hardest part of which was to write Owen a letter wherein I -should bid him farewell, as I thought it better to part than that I -should be the cause of his ruin. I had some money, money he had given -me, and many valuable jewels and trinkets. To me they were possessed of -a double value as they were the gifts of his love. I packed a trunk with -such things as it seemed necessary that I should take with me; selecting -the plainest of my dresses. Then having sent old Aunt Betty on an -errand, I managed to procure a wagon to take my few belongings to the -ferry and thence to the depot and—I have never seen him since. - -“It is only two short months ago, but to me it seems ages. Not caring -whither I was going, as all the world was alike to me, I procured a -ticket with scarce an idea where it would take me. My trunk checked, I -patiently waited for my train. For two hours I never stirred, gazing -fixedly at my tightly clasped hands. Had not the strangeness of my -demeanor attracted the attention of an old gentleman who kindly asked me -where I was going, I might have missed my train. He doubtless saw -something in my face that was not quite satisfactory for he asked to see -my ticket and found that my train would be due in a few minutes. Taking -me under his immediate care he saw that I was made comfortable, as, -fortunately, he was to take the same train, and was bound for the same -destination. - -“How I reached Harrisburg I suppose I shall never know, for one day I -awoke to find myself in a hospital bed, my face wan and thin and too -weak to lift my head. I was told that I had been brought there four -weeks before, delirious with fever, and that I constantly required the -care of several nurses. But youth was in my favor and I soon regained -health and strength, and in two weeks more I was discharged. It was the -old gentleman who had befriended me on the train who had also caused me -to be taken where I would be cared for during my illness, and through -his kindness it was that I found my belongings when able again to care -for myself. - -“It had been just two weeks since my release from the hospital when the -accident occurred that brought me here. If my thoughts had been with me -I don’t think it could have happened. But Owen’s image still lives in my -heart. It is not so easy to obliterate it therefrom, right or wrong. I -still love him.” - -Here Cora’s overwrought feelings again gave way, and she sobbed as if -her heart would break. Imelda gently placed her arm about the weeping -girl’s neck and pressed her against her own bosom. Tenderly she brushed -her hair and kissed the tear-wet eyelashes. With a quick unexpected -motion Cora caught the hand that was caressing her cheek and pressed it -to her heaving breast. - -“Can you still find room for me in your pure and stainless heart? Can -you still love me? But oh, you can’t understand how hard it was to give -him up. Indeed! indeed! I have tried so hard to overcome this love, but -it is stronger than I. It overcomes me.” - -Imelda bent and kissed the quivering lips. “Poor little sister! Have I -been so cold and merciless in the past as to cause you to believe that I -am so small and narrow as to heap censure upon this bowed head? to still -farther lacerate your bleeding, aching heart? No, no! you poor child. If -in the past you have been childishly wayward I may not always have -rightly understood you. If you have dared to fly in the face of society, -of man-made laws, it is you who have been the sufferer, and when the -sweetest boon that comes to woman’s life was held out to you and you -were brave enough to grasp it and to bask in its glorious sunshine, I -certainly cannot condemn you. I had not dreamed that the material of so -grand a woman lay hidden beneath the surface of that saucy, independent -child. A grand and glorious woman indeed is my sister Cora, and I am -proud of her!” - -Cora’s great hazel eyes were opened wide with astonishment. As if by -magic the tears ceased to flow; her face grew deathly white; huskily she -whispered, - -“What is it you mean, Imelda? I do not understand. I have heard your -words but have not caught their import. The Imelda that I know regarded -a life such as I have been leading a deadly, hideous sin, and your words -almost imply that——I——have done right.” - -“They do imply it, darling! I think you have been brave and true and -strong. It might be, though, that it was because you were not so -strongly bound, as I, by the fetters of prejudice, but I also am getting -rid of these fetters and hope soon to be a free woman, and in the -measure that I am gaining liberty I understand better what it means to -others to be deprived of that precious boon. Sister mine, my eyes have -been opened to many evils existing in this world, and the starvation of -woman’s sex-nature until marriage, when the starvation generally changes -to surfeit and sex slavery is one of the greatest evils that this world -knows. A few men are intelligent and noble enough to understand this; -men who suffer almost as much from this accursed system as do most -women, and, little girl, your Owen was one of these noble men. After all -you have told me about yourself and him I am rather surprised you did -not dare the world and claim your own.” - -“Imelda! This from—you! I wanted to save him from himself. I know he -would never have given me cause to rue it had I entrusted myself, my -life, to his care. He was too noble, too true for that. But you know the -law gives him to that other woman, and how it would have hurt him in the -society wherein he moves and in which he ranks so high.” - -“I understand. Love blinded you to your own interests while you sought -to guard only his, forgetful of the fact that every pang that was -torturing your own heart would find an echo in his. Oh, what a horrible -structure is society; built as it is upon the quivering hearts of poor -bleeding humanity!” - -Cora listened in open-eyed wonder to the words that fell from the lips -of her sister. To her unsophisticated ears they sounded like rank -treason, only that she knew that Imelda’s mind and heart were not -capable of treason. Long and earnestly therefore did the elder sister -talk to the younger one, trying to make clear her views and theories, -and as Cora caught their import a new hope, like sweet balm, crept into -the weary heart. Was she then not the loathsome and vile thing the world -would have her believe herself to be? Could it really be that true love, -soul-elevating, ennobling and purifying love, does not need the sanction -of state and church to give it those redeeming qualities? O, how like -another being she would feel if the sweet consciousness could be hers -that she was not unclean and defiled; but that her love was just as pure -and holy as in its highest, noblest sense it ever could be. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIII. - - -Long ere this the assurance had been Imelda’s that Edith and Hilda were -both true sisters of their brother Wilbur, and that they espoused sex -reform in its highest sense, and when an hour later these two bright -girls joined the Ellwood sisters Cora was again surprised to hear the -same sentiments voiced in equally strong language. Hilda knelt beside -the dumb-founded Cora, and while playfully fondling her hand told her of -plans that had been maturing in that youthful head. - -“Sometimes,” she said, “when we shall have more money at our command -than now, we will build ourselves a home. O, such a glorious, beautiful -home, in some retired or isolated spot, and our lovers shall come and -share it. But only just so long as they are our lovers, for we want no -masters. We shall be strong enough, and capable of standing at the head -of our home ourselves, and directing its management. Don’t you think so? -Our home shall be our kingdom, and we shall reign queens therein, and -our lovers will be our dear friends and comrades, instead of husbands. -Will not that be glorious?” - -With an experience such as hers had been it was not much to be wondered -at that Cora became an apt pupil of this, to her, new doctrine, and of -which this trio of girls were such enthusiastic advocates. Edith and -Imelda smiled as they listened to the glowing description of Hilda’s -home while a new and wonderful light began to glow in the hazel eyes of -the bewildered Cora, and then she began to question, and all the time -one utterance of Hilda’s kept ringing in her ears: “When we shall have -more money.” When? But first she wanted to know and understand, and for -a while she kept the trio busy answering her questions. She had become -deeply interested and now wanted fully to understand. - -“How many are there in this scheme? How many such daring members are -there?” - -“Well,” answered Hilda, “there are four of us here; for of course you -are in it. Then that wonderful brother of ours is the lover of a sweet -girl in that western home of yours. Margaret Leland is her name.” - -“Margaret Leland!” interrupted Cora, and looked inquiringly at Imelda. -“Was there not—” - -“The same,” said Imelda. “She was employed at the same store where we -used to work, and for years has been my best friend. It is to her -largely that I am indebted for my present views. But now please let -Hilda proceed.” - -“Well,” continued Hilda, “Margaret’s mother comes next. From all -accounts we could not well get along without her and—well, I don’t know. -Is there anyone else?”—looking inquiringly at the girls. - -“I think,” answered Imelda, “It will be perfectly safe to count Mrs. -Westcot in—‘Alice Day,’ Cora, I was speaking of her before. That makes -seven, I believe, and who knows, by the time ‘our home’ is built there -may be as many more.” - -“And how many lovers are there?” asked Cora. This caused a little laugh. - -“One I know, and two I believe,” was Imelda’s answer to Cora’s question. -“Wilbur Wallace, the brother of these dear girls, we can be sure of, and -Norman Carlton I hope may soon be able to see clear enough to be willing -that woman should in all things decide for herself.” - -“Who is Norman Carlton?” - -A beautiful rosy color swept over Imelda’s sweet face, and Cora was -answered. “O,” she said with a slight gasping sound, “now I know how you -understood so well.” Then Hilda spoke: - -“I have been waiting for Edith to make some kind of announcement, but -she sings ‘mum.’” - -“Hilda!” - -“Edith! I am not afraid, sister mine. You know you met a very -interesting gentleman last year in our rambles on the mountains.” - -“Yes! but child, you also know that we have not seen him since, and as -we had just received a call to come home immediately we left without a -word of farewell;—then again we did not get a deep enough insight into -the views of Paul Arthur to enable us to ascertain whether or not he is -a free lover.” - -“O, but I heard him express himself very clearly at one time on the -subject of marriage. ‘It is the grave of love,’ he said, ‘the altar upon -which the holiest emotions are sacrificed.’” - -“It may all be true,” Edith replied, “but as I remarked before, we may -never see or hear from him again.” - -“But,” Hilda said, kissing Cora’s pale cheek, “have you no contribution -to make in the shape of a lover?” slowly the rich color swept over the -pale face; involuntarily her eye sought Imelda’s. Was there a meaning in -the glance? She smiled. - -“Can you see the rising sun?” Imelda asked, but for answer the pearly -drops filled the sad eyes. “O, if I dared hope.” To the inquiring looks -of the sisters Imelda replied: - -“When Cora is stronger I am sure she will tell you her story in all its -details, as you have proved yourself so trustworthy. A cloud at present -overcasts the heaven of her love; but don’t clouds always in the course -of nature move on, and are not the heavens always so much clearer and -more beautiful after their removal? So hope, little sister. I expect ere -long to look into the sunny laughing eyes of your Owen. The world is -large but not so large but that the divine magnet of love will attract -and direct each one to his or her affinity.” - -Thus bringing hope and cheer to the weary aching heart of the girl, the -days, one by one passed by. - -Several weeks more had now passed away. Cora had gained rapidly in -strength, and as Mr. and Mrs. Wallace were now daily expected to return -home and the girls wishing to avoid an explanation it was thought best -to remove the patient to the abode of the Westcots. Alice was also -anxious to have Imelda return as she was fast losing all control of her -little daughters. Tender, loving mother that she was she was totally -unfit to train her little ones. Besides she was not yet really strong. - -With an unwilling heart Cora had bade good bye to the sisters who had -shown her so much kindness and love. Imelda’s eyes, too, had filled with -tears as she kissed both gentle girls, but she carried with her the -promise that she should soon see both at “Maple Lawn.” Cora’s cheeks -were tinged with a faint peach-bloom color denoting the return of -health, and her eyes sparkled as she and Imelda were swiftly driven -along towards the outskirts of the city where the Westcot mansion was -situated amid its beautiful gardens. Just as the setting sun was casting -the last golden rays across their path the carriage drove up the -beautiful maple-drive to where little Alice, in daintiest of white -gowns, was awaiting them, her eyes sparkling with joy at the prospect of -having Imelda once more with her. The little girls also, arrayed in -their pretty white dresses, were watching for their “Miss Meldy.” They -clapped their little hands and fairly danced with delight when the -figure of their young teacher alighted. They grew somewhat quieter when -a second lady, so pale and languid, stepped from the carriage and slowly -followed the more quickly moving Imelda. She caught the little ones in -her arms and they clung to her as if they would never again let go of -their beloved friend. Alice, finding herself overlooked in this meeting, -turned to Cora. Holding out both hands in welcome she made the sad-eyed -girl feel that her words were no formal phrase, but that they came from -a warm impulsive heart. - -“I hope not to be a burden long,” said Cora. “I am beginning to feel -quite strong now, and in a short time hope to be able to look about for -some work to do.” - -Alice laid her hand upon her lips. - -“Not one word more. A burden indeed! On the contrary I feel as though I -had a great deal to make good. This, (touching with her dainty finger -the red mark which was just peeping from beneath the mass of ringlets -that covered the young girl’s forehead) this will be a constant reminder -of what might have proved a fatal accident, and as yet I have had no -opportunity to right the wrong that has been done.” Cora protested but -Alice had her way, as that little woman invariably did have. She herself -conducted her up the wide staircase to the room which had been set apart -for her and which adjoined Imelda’s. - -“I thought you two might want to be near each other,” she explained. -“Better now let me help you dress for dinner. I will be your dressing -maid. How long do you expect still to nurse your arm? It must be -tiresome to have it so tightly bandaged.” - -Cora smiled. - -“O yes,” she said. “It will be quite pleasant when I shall be able to -move about with more freedom again. I will not then feel so much as if I -were a constant task on some one’s hands, so almost perfectly useless.” - -“Please don’t!” in a pleading manner the little woman spoke the words. -“Can I not make you understand that you are not a task and burden? Had -it not been for that almost fatal drive those long weary weeks of pain -would have been spared you—” - -“And in all probability I should have missed meeting the best of -friends,—would have failed to find my one, my only sister. No! no! the -little pain that I have endured does not so much matter, and if you can -all have patience with me until my strength returns and I am once more -myself I am sure I have every reason not to complain, for the good the -last few weeks have brought me far outweighs everything they may have -contained of unpleasantness.” - -Thus chattering in a friendly way Alice was endeavoring to array Cora in -a pretty gown of soft, clinging, warm-hued material, but the fussy -little woman was far too excited to be of any real use, and not until -Imelda appeared, already dressed, was her toilet completed. With deft -and ready fingers Imelda lent the needed assistance, then selecting some -of the bright-hued flowers from a vase filled with the various blooms of -mid-summer, and which was standing upon a small table near one of the -open windows, she twined them in the dark chestnut coils, then fastening -a bunch at the snowy throat and standing at a distance she measured her -sister with a critical and admiring look. - -“Now look at yourself. Do you think you would please a fastidious eye?” -The vision that met her gaze as she turned to the mirror was a mixture -of girlish sweetness and of serious womanly dignity. Returning health -and strength were filling the fair form with a roundness and tingeing -the serious, half-sad face with exquisite color. Cora gave more than a -passing glance at the reflected full-length image, and while she looked -the eyes of both fair women in attendance were watching her face, and -presently they saw the lips quiver, the eyelids droop and the crystal -drops force their way from under them and cling like liquid pearls to -the dark lashes. Imelda’s face bent over her sister’s till it rested on -the dark-crowned head. Instinctively she felt what the thoughts were -that caused the tears to gather, but she had not one word to say. Cora’s -well hand went up to Imelda’s face and her lips whispered, - -“He whom my appearance would please is not here; so what does it -matter?” - -Imelda shook her head and forced a smile to her lips. - -“Ah, but, little sister, it does matter. Don’t you know that you are to -meet someone else tonight that I wish so much to be pleased!” Playfully -smiling she lifted the drooping face and looked into the tear-wet eyes. -The questioning look in them suddenly gave way to one of understanding. - -“I had forgotten that I was of some importance tonight. Yes, you are -right. It does matter, and I do want to please.” - -Dinner was now announced and the trio descended to the dining room. Here -Lawrence Westcot was awaiting them. Imelda had not seen him since the -unpleasant meeting with Frank in the garden, and unexpectedly finding -herself opposite the dark-eyed passionate man threatened momentarily to -disconcert her. A flush mounted to her brow, then receded, leaving it -marble white. But quickly regaining her self-possession she saw that no -one had noticed anything amiss. Mr. Westcot came forward and in a few -well chosen words expressed his pleasure at her return: next he -acknowledged the introduction to Cora, for a moment closely studying her -face. The dinner came off rather quietly to say nothing of the feeling -of restraint felt by all. Alice seemed to have lost the fear that for so -long had been a drawback to her full recovery, at least it was not now -so apparent, but there was no confidence as yet established between -herself and Mr. Westcot. They were more like strangers who found the -task of getting acquainted a tedious and irksome one. Imelda, with the -consciousness that the memories of the past brought her, felt great -constraint, and it is not to be wondered at that Cora felt the influence -thus brought to bear upon her, and felt quite uncomfortable. The ladies -spoke in monosyllables, and although the efforts of Lawrence Westcot to -produce something like a flow of conversation, to bring a feeling of -harmony to the little company, were almost incessant they fell decidedly -flat. So when the meal was brought to a close the feelings that were -retained were anything but pleasant. Lawrence made his excuses almost -instantly and withdrew, thus clearing the field and leaving the ladies -to themselves. They were not slow in taking advantage of the fact that -they were alone, and as the husband paced the veranda the voices of the -chatting and laughing women came very clearly to his hearing. A bitter -smile curved his lips. He felt that he was no longer welcome in his own -home. Yet was any one to blame but himself? But what had he done, he -asked himself, other than men were wont to do? Nothing! he felt sure. -But an inward voice whispered, - -“These women are not like other women. You have not understood them, but -have taken it for granted that they were the same. When too late you -recognized the fact, and all your efforts to set yourself right in your -own home have been vain. Yet have these efforts been all they should -have been? Have you in reality done all that could be done?” - -He leaned against a pillar and gazed into the darkening shadows of the -coming night while thought chased thought. Yes! he would make one more -effort, for was not the life he was leading in his palatial home fast -becoming unbearable? While he was dreaming with open eyes a queenly head -appeared before him, crowned with a glorious wealth of dark hair. -Passionately dark eyes emitted flashes of fire, scornful in their -scintillations. - -Passing his hand over his eyes with an impatient movement he heaved a -weary sigh and in a tone that was almost a moan the words broke from his -lips, “Why, O why is this all!” - -Just then a step aroused him, and glancing up the friend of other days -stood before him. Very seldom indeed had Norman Carlton favored -Maplelawn with his presence in these later days. The harmony that had -once existed there was broken, though he did not understand why, and in -consequence remained away. Westcot had long ago recognized the injustice -of the unmanly words he had in a fit of passion hurled at his wife, and -if he had needed proof that he was wrong, Carlton’s remaining away -during the enforced absence of Imelda Ellwood and his sudden -reappearance at the very moment of her return, ought to give him that -proof. But to do him justice, he no longer needed it, and if he believed -he had read correctly a secret page in her life he knew only too well -who it was that had digressed farthest from the prescribed line. Norman -would have passed him but he laid a detaining hand upon his arm. - -“I understand the attraction,” said Westcot, “but no harm will be done -if you will give me a half hour first. We have been drifting apart, and -I would not have it so. Something has gone out of my life, leaving it -empty; and sometimes life itself seems a burden. Will you assist me to -make a reparation?” - -A look of surprise overspread the face of the young man. Then he -hastened to say: - -“Certainly I will. Have we not always been fast friends in the past? I -have no desire to let a friendship of almost life-long standing die a -death so sudden.” - -“Then come,” said Westcot, and together they wended their way through -the grounds, and were soon lost in the shadows. When they returned an -hour had passed. Both faces were perhaps a shade paler, a shade more -serious, but the old confidence has been restored. What overtures had -been made, what words spoken will never perhaps be revealed, but firmly -clasping hands Norman spoke: - -“You have my advice!” - -“And I will follow it!” - -“Thank you! You have spoken like a man. Under the circumstances I think -it is the only way that is open, and I am a poor judge of human nature -in general, and of women in particular, if such proceeding as you now -contemplate will not restore peace and confidence to the little circle -under your roof.” - -With a last glance into the eyes of the other he dropped his hand and -entered the room where the trio of women were trying to while away the -hours that were to bring at least one fair girl’s friend and lover. Just -as he stepped across the low French window Imelda was running her -fingers across the key board of the piano. Cora was standing by her -side. Ere he had advanced more than a step a voice of singular sweetness -arose and filled the room. In an instant more a second manly face -appeared in the frame of the open window. All unconscious of her -audience the girl gave full vent in song to the feelings that swelled -her breast. The notes rose and fell and vibrated, until the very air -seemed to be full of life and feeling. With bated breath the men stood -and listened, forgetful of aught else but the rare sweet music of the -young pathetic voice; a voice that possessed the power of carrying them -away beyond themselves. The song was a translation from the German by -Heine—the famous “Lorelei,” a selection well calculated to try the -strength and compass of the voice that attempts it. Its weird and -melancholy pathos moved the inmost hearts of the listeners. As the last -vibrant notes died away the sound of applauding hands fell upon the ear, -and hastily turning the trio espied the two men standing just where they -had entered. A blush overspread the face of the fair singer. It was the -first time that other ears than those of Owen Hunter had listened to the -magic sound of that voice when raised in song. - -With a quick movement Imelda stepped forward and with outstretched hand -greeted the new comer. By the heightened color of her face and the happy -light that shone in the lustrous dark eyes Cora quickly judged who it -was that so suddenly had stepped into their midst, and in a moment more -was bowing in acknowledgement of the introduction which had followed. As -she felt the searching glance the clear eyes bent upon her Cora again -felt the tell-tale blood mount to her face, but with an effort -overcoming the embarrassed feeling she openly returned the look. That -which Norman Carlton saw within the depth of the hazel eyes must have -been satisfactory for, extending his hand with a firm quick motion he -said; - -“I am”——pleased, he was going to say but changed it to—“glad to meet -Imelda’s sister”—emphasizing the “sister.” “I hope we may be friends.” - -“Thank you.” Scarcely above a whisper, and with a fluttering breath, the -words dropped from the slightly trembling lips, and one felt, rather -than heard, the depths of feeling contained in the two little words. In -that moment Cora knew that she had found another friend. His words were -no idle phrase. Imelda also understood, and her heart gave a great -bound. Did it not mean much? She took a step backward,—she wanted the -two to become better acquainted. Would they have anything to say to each -other? A little while she would leave them together. Turning to the side -of Alice who was carelessly standing just a little beyond, plucking the -scarlet blossoms of a geranium to pieces, while her glance traveled a -little nervously to the man who was still standing by the open window. -What did it all mean? - -For weeks now Mr. Westcot had studiously avoided meeting his wife. His -meals were either taken late or away from home, and the drawing room had -not once known his presence in all that time. Was the old life about to -be taken up again? The white teeth sank into the red lips and a tremor -seized and shook her form. She raised her hand in search of a support. -Imelda saw her reel, and with a quick movement caught her in her arms. -But another had watched this little by-play, and a few strides brought -Lawrence Westcot to the side of the woman he called his wife. Pouring a -little ice water from the pitcher that was standing near by he held it -to her lips. - -“Drink,” he said. Quietly obeying she drank a few swallows. Pushing a -large easy chair forward in such position as would shield her face from -the glaring light of the chandelier, he would have led her to it, but -she evaded his hand and managed to reach it unaided. Bending over her he -inquired the cause of her sudden indisposition. Nervously she answered: - -“Nothing. It is nothing. I will be better in a moment. The coming home -of the girls must have excited me. I thought I was stronger than I am.” -Was it an anxious look he bent upon her? He did not speak, however, and -quietly withdrew. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIV. - - -Cora and Norman had not seen any of this by-play. He had taken her by -the hand and led her to a tete-a-tete, and seating himself by her side -soon had drawn her into conversation. A group of exotic plants was, by -this movement, placed between themselves and the others, and as scarce a -word had been spoken they were in ignorance of what had transpired. -Lawrence Westcot now raised his eyes to Imelda who had stood during the -scene without speaking. She read in that glance a request which he -presently put into words. - -“Will you favor me with a few moments of your presence?” - -Once before he had asked of her that question, the memory of which sent -the rich blood in hot waves over her neck and brow. What did it mean? -The words she had uttered when in righteous indignation she had swept -from his presence now came back to her: - -“And until such time, do not dare to speak to me!” - -Only once before had he “dared” to speak; that was when she so -unexpectedly ran into his arms. Then it had not been of his seeking; but -now? An anxious look gathered in the sweet brown eyes. - -“Will you, please?” he asked. - -The tone as well as the words were full of entreaty, so, silently she -moved forward a step and bent her head in token of acquiescence. A glad -light for a moment lit up his eyes, then stepping to Alice he said: - -“You will excuse us? I will try and not keep her long.” - -A look of wonderment filled her eyes. When had Lawrence ever paid open -attention to Imelda? Again the question arose in her mind, “What does, -what can it all mean?” But she readily answered, “Certainly, I will -excuse you. I shall do very well. I feel so much better now.” With a low -“Thank you,” he turned from her to Imelda whose hand he took and placing -it on his arm led her to the open window leading to the veranda, -followed by the eyes of the surprised Alice. - -Imelda understood, but only the quick indrawing of her breath gave token -that the idea of going out into the open air under the starlit heavens -had anything unpleasant in it for her. Slight as had been the sound and -involuntary the action, Lawrence Westcot had taken note of it. His teeth -sank into his lips but otherwise he gave no sign. Down the garden -pathway to the fountain’s edge whose silvery sparkling waters had -witnessed so many and so very different scenes he led her, and then -quietly dropped her hand. Stepping back a pace or two he folded his arms -and confronted her. For a minute or more he did not speak, although his -lips twitched nervously. Was he waiting for her to utter the first -words? If so, he was doomed to disappointment for the proud lips did not -open. - -“Miss Ellwood!” - -A slight uplifting of the head, that was all. Whatever he had to say, -she would not help him one iota. - -“Miss Ellwood, a man does not often find himself placed in a position -quite so awkward as that in which I find myself this evening, in having -asked you for this interview.” He paused a moment ere he went on. “Some -two months ago I spoke words to you that tonight I feel ashamed of. I -approached you in a manner that was ungentlemanly—unmanly. For the -feelings that had crept into my heart I make no excuse. I simply had no -control over them. A hot, fierce desire and longing for something that -was denied me; a confused comprehension of what that something was, made -me unjust—and—cruel to the woman who is so unfortunate as to be my wife. -Having through the merest chance overheard a conversation of yours and -hers, thereby gathering something of your strange ideas and opinions, -but utterly failing to comprehend them, I permitted the passion that had -taken possession of me to have full sway. A woman who does not believe -in marriage, what would you? - -“In my insufferable conceit I supposed I had but to stretch out my -covetous hand in order to satisfy the fire of my passion. I was rudely -brought to my senses by the reproof of a pure mind and by the righteous -scorn of insulted purity. In an instant, almost, I came to understand my -mistake and would have given much to have been able to recall my words. -But you had dealt my pride an ugly blow. It was not an easy matter to -humble myself to the woman who had treated me to well merited scorn. I -had hoped time would close the breach and that this painful scene would -be spared me. Men of world are not wont to retract insulting words, -especially when defeated in their object. But something besides wounded -pride would not let me rest. There is something here,”—touching his -breast, “a painful aching void that makes life a mockery, a misery. The -unmanly act of that evening is a burden which at times is almost -unsupportable. Will you help me remove it? Will you say that you -forgive?” - -He had spoken in hasty, jerky, broken sentences. In a pleading manner he -held out his hand to her. But the girl stood with downcast eyes and did -not see it, and the hand fell nerveless to his side. - -Slowly she raised the white lids. In the uncertain light of the starlit -night he could not see into the depths of the dark eyes, but as he bent -closer he thought they were dimmed, and that her voice was vibrating as -she now in turn extended to him her hand and simply said: - -“I forgive you.” - -Hastily the hand was grasped and bending over it with the same pleading -accents in his voice he said: - -“May I?” - -“Yes,” came in soft accents from the trembling lips. An indescribable -sensation stole over her as she felt the pressure of the warm bearded -lips upon her hand. A feeling of gladness filled her heart. She felt -that the emotion displayed by this man was genuine, and that she knew -she might safely trust him. She laid her other hand gently over his that -was holding hers and softly spoke: - -“It is enough, please. I feel that you have spoken the truth, in -recognition of which I feel bound to pay you honor. Let me hereafter see -on your face the light of self-contained manhood. I am more glad to be -able to respect you, the father of my two precious charges. Now let us -return. Alice was not feeling well and Cora may wonder.” His only answer -was to again kiss the hand that was still resting in his; then again -placing it upon his arm together they retraced their steps to join their -friends in the parlor. - -As Imelda and Westcot re-entered the drawing room they found Cora and -Norman so deeply interested in conversation that their entrance was not -heeded. Cora’s cheeks were glowing and her eyes shone like twin stars as -the words flowed in a stream from her lips. Alice was sitting quiet and -unobserved in the shadow of the aforementioned group of exotic plants, -listening to every word that fell from the ruby lips. Cora spoke well. -Norman had said but little, but that little to advantage. Adroitly -asking a question here and making a remark there he had succeeded in -drawing her out and was surprised to find how well informed she was on -many subjects of which most young women have absolutely no -understanding. Cora had studied to advantage; for with love to teach, it -had not been so much a task as a pleasure. It was also a pleasure for -her to converse with this refined and handsome gentleman. Until now Owen -Hunter had been the only man of that type she had ever come in contact -with. It had seemed to her that there was none other. But to her -surprise and great pleasure she found that her sister’s lover was in -every respect the equal of the man who until now had stood out in her -life alone. - -Just as Imelda and Westcot were entering, the poets, both American and -foreign, were being discussed, and Norman felt a little surprise when -Cora said that Shelley and Byron were her favorites. In speaking of -these he found her most familiar with Byron,—“Queen Mab” being the only -production of Shelley’s she had as yet read, while he could mention -scarce any of Byron’s works that she was not familiar with. When asked, -which she liked best, she unhesitatingly replied, “Manfred.” - -“What! that gloomy pessimist, who continually takes you to the very -depths of despair, and finally closed so tragically?” - -“Yes. I like it because it portrays so truthfully and vividly the -heartaches that so often lie hidden beneath the smiling exterior. It -lifts the veil and shows the hidden woe. Oh, why must all nature be thus -perverted? Why must all the grandest passions thus recoil upon -themselves? The story makes me shudder as if I stood upon the brink of a -chasm. It chills my very blood, but it has a weird, strange fascination -for me. I always return to it and it has done much to stimulate my -dormant brain to action. It has taught me a lesson in thought.” - -The re-entrance of Imelda and Lawrence at this juncture brought the -conversation to an end. A hasty glance from Norman showed him that an -understanding had been effected. A quick look passed between the two men -and a feeling of gladness entered the heart of Norman, for the sake of -all concerned. For a short time the conversation became general, then -Cora was asked to once more sing for them. After a little hesitation she -did so, and the strains of sweet “Annie Laurie” filled the room. No -noisy applause greeted her when she had finished, but every head was -bowed and some of the eyes were moist. The last lines had been sung with -even more pathos than the first, but the fluttering, quavering sound -indicated something more than pathos. Cora was fatiguing herself. In an -instant Imelda recognized the fact and hastily arising said: - -“Not another line. We have been forgetting that you have been ill, and -are taxing you beyond your strength. Come, you must retire at once and I -will attend you.” But Cora shook the brown curly head. - -“No! no! I shall not accept your service this evening. You will remain -right here, while our friend here, I know, will assist me for this once. -Am I right, Alice?” - -“Most certainly. Right you are, and as we are two to one, Queen Imelda -is overruled. So just consider yourself sent about your business while I -shall tuck the covers about this little girl’s form.” Thus jesting and -laughing Alice in triumph bore the tired Cora off to her own domain. At -the same time Lawrence also discreetly withdrew. “To indulge in the -solace of man,” was what he said, to seek the companionship of a cigar; -thus leaving the lovers alone. So many weeks had passed since an evening -of undisturbed quiet had been theirs that now they had so much to say -that the hours sped far into the night ere they finally separated. After -Cora and Alice had bidden them good night and Lawrence had withdrawn, -Imelda said: - -“Look,” struggling from his embrace, “what I have got! a long sweet -letter from my Margaret, with one enclosed from Wilbur. She says she is -getting along much better and faster with her studies than she had at -first expected, and she now hopes that in the fall she may begin with -her chosen work. Listen to what she says:” - - -“MY OWN IMELDA!—To use the expression of gushing school girls, I am just -dying to see you. Save my mother and Wilbur, I have no one to whom I can -talk just what is in my mind. I have many radical friends here, in dear -old Chicago, but none quite far enough advanced to admit them into the -innermost recesses of my heart. It is so hard, so very hard, to replace -a tried, a trusted friend. In all probability this very circumstance is -not without its advantage as thereby I am better able to apply myself to -my studies. During the evening hours I have an assistant and it would be -natural to suppose that during those hours my studies would progress the -most. But, strange to say, we continue to rehearse the same first -act—somehow we cannot get beyond it—with some variation, it is true, but -in reality the same. I expect after a while we shall surely be perfect. -But of what the second contains I am at present not able to give you an -idea. It is still a sealed book. To confess the truth however, I care -but little, so long as the first act gives such exquisite pleasure, I am -perfectly willing to let the second take care of itself. All the same my -arms are in the best of trim to give you a good hugging—a regular -bear-hug. Maybe I can impress you. If so, let me know. - -“Do you know I almost envy you your present surroundings? You have so -many to love now. No, I don’t, either. That is not just the right thing -to say. Rather, I am glad, O so glad, that you have found that wayward -sisters of yours, that was. See, darling, how our doctrines have been -verified in this case: that we are just what circumstances have made us. -Who would have thought that the wilful Cora could be transformed into so -noble a woman! But then you know love works wonders, and undoubtedly -Owen Hunter must be one of nature’s noblemen, else the love upon which -he fed the starved heart which gave itself into his keeping could never -have produced such wonderful results. - -“Now, my Imelda, it will be yours to develop the germ which this man has -implanted, and when they again meet—which I feel assured they will do—he -will not find occasion to regret the enforced separation. And now, kiss -for me that precious sister pair who so truly belong to us. When your -letter came, telling us all about them, describing their persons and -characters so minutely that we imagined that they were bodily -transplanted into our very midst, Wilbur could not restrain himself. His -eyes filled with tears—tears that with overflowing heart I kissed away. - -“O my precious friend, will the time ever come when we shall realize -some of our dreams, or will fear, like a dark pall, always keep our -heaven, our paradise, enshrouded in darkness and gloom? When these -thoughts come to me I am sad. But you know I do not approve of that. I -shake it off; and indeed I have not much chance or time to indulge in -gloomy thoughts, as hard work stands by and keeps my mind busy. - -“Jesting aside, my rehearsing is not all play, and my teachers are more -than satisfied with me. They have given me the best of hopes that I -shall, in the coming fall, be able to fill an engagement of some note. -They tell me my talent is remarkable and that I must succeed. Professor -Morris has written to the managers of several first class companies and -daily expects an answer. Now, my girl, please do not accuse me of what -is vulgarly termed ‘self-conceit,’ but you cannot know what it means to -me to be successful. I love the profession that my talents fit me for, -only second to that other object that thrills my whole being. I love, O -Imelda, how I love Wilbur, the king of my heart. I love humanity, the -down-trodden, and I love the liberty to do and to dare whatever my heart -desires. And among those desires by no means the least is my love of the -stage, despite the stigma that clings to it. But where so great the -stigma as that which has fastened itself to the term ‘free love?’ or, -for that matter, to any other reform? - -“Two days later: The answer has come. An engagement has been secured me -and—Hurrah! Imelda. In a few more weeks I shall be off on the road to -see how easy or how hard it is to win bread and fame. If everything -continues as favorable as the beginning appears to be my success is -already assured. The vacancy that I am to fill is that of a leading -lady, and I know I must strain every effort to please. My mother scarce -knows whether she is pleased or sorry. I am sure she is the best mother -any girl ever had, and while she is ambitious for me—while she desires -to see me successful, her heart cannot conquer all its foolish fears. -She fears the men of the world, and the very fact that radical ideas -have been nurtured in my mind may bring me danger. But she forgets it -also has brought me a knowledge that I could not well have acquired -otherwise. I have been taught by object lessons, and I have learned to -read character. It will not be an easy matter to try to pass off on me -the spurious for the real, the genuine. Wilbur I know trusts me more -fully, and why should he not? Does he not know that he is, and always -must be, the best love of my heart? Always? Well, until I find some one -who has scaled the ladder of life to a grander manhood, to nobler -heights, he certainly will stand first, and I know so well such men are -rare. He is glad for my sake that I have found an opening, but sad when -he remembers that it necessitates a separation. He does not want to show -the latter feeling, as he fears to cast a shadow on my glad prospects, -but then you know, love is quick to note when every cord is not tuned to -harmony. - -“As yet I do not know at all where our company will be booked, but I do -hope that sometime during the coming season we may stop for a week in -Harrisburg. Do you think such a possibility would contain anything -pleasurable? - -“And now—but no! I was going to tell you another piece of news, but that -will be Wilbur’s privilege, as he, too, wants to write a few lines. But -I really must bring this to a close, or it might prove a task instead of -a pleasure to read it. Kiss all those precious friends for me and say -something nice to that one particular friend who is not a friend but -something so much warmer, and soon, soon send an answer to your -homesick, loving—” - - MARGARET. - - -Folding the closely written sheets Imelda looked up into Norman’s eyes -and said: - -“Well, sweetheart, what have you to say to my Margaret?” - -“That she is a precious, sweet girl, and a true woman. I hope that she -may indeed be successful in her chosen profession. But what has our -friend Wilbur to say?” Without further comment Imelda unfolded another -document and began to read: - - -“MY PRECIOUS FRIEND:—I wonder if, after all that our Margaret girl has -written, I shall be able to find something more to say. I am sure she -has told you all the news there was to tell and maybe if I should write -too lover-like, someone would object. How is it? Do you think Norman -Carlton would grudge me the kiss which I am craving and longing for? -Methinks I read between the lines of the truly grand letters he has been -writing us lately, a broadening, a widening out, that was not there at -first. I believe him indeed to be a grand, noble nature, possessed of a -high type of manhood. I am positive the germ is there, even if yet -somewhat hidden and undeveloped, and it behooves you, my little girl, -with womanly tact to develop it that he may yet stand in our foremost -ranks, working for the universal good of humanity and for the special -good of sister woman. I expect when we meet to take by the hand a -brother worthy of the name. - -“With his natural reverence for womanhood it seems to me it ought not to -be a difficult task for him to understand the injustice, the unfairness, -aye, the cruelty that is being dealt out to woman; to always doom her -brain to slumber, to inactivity; to expect her to stand with idly folded -hands, denying her the right to be her own judge pertaining to matters -of womanhood; deeming her incapable of understanding her own affairs; -dooming her always to submit quietly to what man may wish to impose upon -her; using her as a pretty plaything with which to amuse himself in any -manner man may see fit. O it is horrible to place woman, the creator, -the builder of the race, on a plane so low, and I cannot think that -Norman Carlton fails to see these things in their true light. - -“It is wrong to seek to bind love in any way, and, try as we may, it -cannot be done! Love, the spirit, will ever be free. ’Tis only the body, -the house, the casket, that we can fetter and defile, and by that means -it, the body, becomes but an empty casket, which will soon fall into -decay when it has nothing to sustain it, while the little love-god goes -wandering on and on mocking and laughing at our futile attempts to hold -him fast. - -“Then why should such attempts be made? Cherish him with tenderness, -strive to stand high in his regard, strive to attain to a noble manhood -and womanhood and he will forget his gypsy habits, his proneness to -wander. Feed and nourish him with that of which he is most in need; -develop for his especial benefit that in your own character and nature -which commands respect and admiration, and you will find him willing to -be held in his allegiance. You can do much to win him but you cannot -hold him by force, because there is absolutely no holding him. It cannot -be done, and it is wrong,—it is a sin and a shame, a crying shame, to -attempt it. - -“Ha! ha! On the old track again! Always the same; always preaching; but -I cannot help it, my dear. It seems to have become my second nature. But -now I have a piece of news for you. Margaret did not tell you all. - -“When this fair lady-love of mine will have taken to walking her own way -I know there will come many weary lonesome hours, for the coming winter, -so we have been laying some plans how to make them less irks me. Maybe -it is premature to say what these plans are, as much may happen to -prevent the realization; but here they are: - -“About the time you expect sleighing in your eastern city, I intend, in -company with our fair Margaret’s mother, to set out on a trip. Do you -understand? My heart yearns for those precious sisters of mine, mere -babes almost they were when I saw them last. I want to clasp them in my -arms and kiss their lips, red with the wine of life; while Mrs. Leland, -I know, will win a place in the heart of every one with whom she comes -in contact. Yet I believe there is a particular reason that actuates her -in making this trip. There is a secret yearning and longing that will -not be quieted. - -“By writing of the accident which reunited you with your sister you -aroused her mother heart by bringing before her mind’s eye her son -Osmond. The hope to again call her boy her own is the mainspring of the -desire to make this visit. How is it, little girl? Shall we be assured a -welcome? But there! I ought not to have asked this last question. It was -out of place, for of course we shall be welcome. But methinks it is time -to close or I will have covered as much paper as Margaret has done, and -it is not my desire to weary you. With the same cherishing love as of -old, I am as ever - - WILBUR WALLACE.” - - -Imelda folded these sheets also and laid them to the others, but Norman -did not speak. With his head leaning on his hand he sat staring into -vacancy, Imelda gently, tenderly took his head between her hands and -bent it back so she could look into the clear blue orbs. - -“And what does my Norman think of Wilbur now?” - -“That he is right in every instance.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXXV. - - -The brown curly head was resting on the snowy pillow. The maimed arm had -been tenderly cared for, and already the tired eyes were drooping. It -had been such an exciting day. So many changes had taken place. Cora’s -heart had been stirred to its very depths and it was a relief to be at -last alone. Alice was bending above her, and to bestow her a good night -kiss upon the faintly smiling lips. - -“Good night, dear one. I hope you may spend this first night within the -walls of this home in restful sleep. I, too, am tired and wish to rest. -If you should require anything, ring this bell, and I know Mary will -instantly attend to your wants. The fact that you are Imelda’s sister -will alone insure you the entrance to her heart.” - -“O thank you! thank you ever so much. Everybody is so kind to me. I do -not deserve it, I am sure.” - -“O yes, you do. How can you speak like that? And now once more, good -night.” Two pairs of warm clinging lips met in a loving kiss, then the -form of Alice vanished, and Cora was alone. In but a few minutes sleep -had closed the tired eyelids and happy dreams brought sweet smiles to -the rosy lips. - -Alice glided quickly through the silent hall until she reached her own -cozy, comfortable room. It was in utter darkness, which fact, however, -did not intimidate her in the least. At times she rather liked the -darkness. It was then so pleasant to sit at the window star-gazing, and -let her thoughts wander whithersoever they would. So she crossed the -room to where a comfortable rocker was standing, and sinking into its -depths with a weary sigh, she prepared herself for her favorite -indulgence. Hastily undoing the fastenings of her dress she then clasped -her hands above her head, gazing up into the starlit heavens, gently -rocking back and forth in the darkness. - -Suddenly she stopped and listened. It seemed to her there was someone -else in the room. She could have sworn that the sound of heavy breathing -had been borne to her ear, though now that she listened, everything was -quiet. But the feeling of another’s presence seemed conveyed to her in -the air itself—she felt it. With a quick nervous movement she rose and -walked across the room. She could feel her very lips grow cold, but with -a strength and courage of which one would scarce have believed the -little woman capable, she controlled every outward manifestation of -fear, and securing a match she deliberately struck it and, mounting a -chair, lit two jets ere she ventured a single look about her; then with -a smothered, frightened cry she would have fallen had not the man, whom -she had seen and recognized, caught her in his arms and prevented a -mishap. Gently he lifted her down and reseated her in the rocker at the -window. He, too, was pale, white to the very lips, as he saw the -impression his presence made upon the pale little woman. He stepped back -a few paces and waited for her to speak, and when no sound came he -hesitatingly, in trembling accents, articulated her name. - -“Alice!” - -But her only answer was a frightened look. Holding both his hands to her -in a supplicating manner, venturing a step nearer, - -“Alice, am I never to be forgiven? Listen to me! If ever a man has been -thinking—if ever it has come to a human heart, or understanding, that a -great wrong has been committed, it has come to me. I know I have wronged -you. I know I have acted like a brute! But I would, in some way or -measure, make good the wrong I have done.” - -The hands of Alice were closely pressed upon her wildly beating heart. -Her lips were twitching in a manner that caused Lawrence’s heart to give -a bound. In a moment he had forgotten that he was the supplicant. He -knelt at her side and caught both her hands in his, pressing and chafing -them. - -“Alice! Alice! little girl. Don’t look at me like that. You need not be -afraid of me now, or ever again. I mean every word that I say. Come, -trust me! It is the one boon I ask”—and he gently drew the excited -little woman nearer to him, winding his arm about her as tenderly as of -yore. Laying his face to hers, his lips touched the pretty pink ears. - -“Little sister,” he whispered, “can you, will you once more trust me?” - -“Little sister?” Had she heard aright? What was the meaning the words -conveyed? A hysterical sob broke from her lips, and as she permitted him -to enfold her in his embrace, with an impulsive movement she placed her -hands on either side of his face, - -“Lawrence! Lawrence! do you mean it? You have not come to mock me?” - -“I mean it, little girl, every word of it. Henceforth, you shall be my -dearly cherished sister, with just the same liberty and privileges I -would grant to her, were you really a sister and dearly loved as such.” - -A few moments she leaned back that she might the better look him in the -eyes. Then she wound her arms about his neck and nestled her head close -upon his breast and the words, - -“I love you, Lawrence,” thrilled him to his innermost being. He -understood well the meaning of those words. He had called her sister, -and he knew the love she gave him now was the same as every pure woman -gives a dearly loved and cherished brother. - - * * * * * - -Once again a week had passed, and again merry laughter resounded through -the rooms. Happy voices were heard blending in song while skillful -fingers evoked sweet strains of music. But faces which were new within -these rooms—though not new to us, were revealed in the bright light. -Edith and Hilda Wallace had found their way into this enchanted circle -tonight. Alice was seated at the piano. Her fingers lightly running over -the keys, playing the accompaniment to Cora’s rich sweet voice as it -rose and fell in the cadence of sweet strains of song. The two were like -a world unto themselves tonight, paying little attention to the others, -each of whom was absorbed in giving attention to someone else. While -Hilda actually seemed to fascinate Lawrence Westcot,—so absolutely was -his attention riveted upon the sweet serious girl who possessed such a -fund of knowledge that he thought he never had been so rarely -entertained, Edith had taken Norman Carlton in tow, and by her serene -and placid manner had so captivated him that for the past hour he had -actually forgotten his queenly Imelda, who in her turn was talking just -as seriously to a smooth-faced boy whose bright, intelligent countenance -was a perfect mirror of the emotions that were being stirred within that -young breast. Sometimes the blue eyes flashed, and with a quick peculiar -motion of the hand he would toss back the fair hair from the white open -brow; then he would ask question after question that, with never failing -readiness, Imelda would answer. - -“Wait right here,” she said, “I will return in an instant,”—and in a -very short time Imelda reappeared, carrying a small package in her hand. -Before undoing it she laid her hand on his. - -“I may call you Osmond, may I not?” The clear eye met hers in a -responsive glance; in turn he laid his hand over hers and in a tone -which had a hearty ring he replied: - -“Certainly! It will afford me the greatest pleasure to have you do so.” - -Reseating herself in the chair she had a few moments ago vacated, with -deft fingers that were slightly trembling, Imelda undid the cord that -bound the package. The next moment Margaret’s sweet face was brought to -view. The boy’s hand trembled as he reached for it, and in his face was -reflected the emotions that were stirring his young soul. Imelda watched -him closely, as for a long time his eyes were riveted on that fair -reflection, and when with a fluttering long drawn sigh he laid it aside -without comment, she also said nothing, but handed him a second -portrait; this time the face reflected being that of Mrs. Leland. - -It seemed almost Margaret over again, the resemblance was so great; only -where time had touched it; the years having left their trace—but only -lightly. The brow was just as smooth as that of the young girl, the eye -as clear and sparkling; the hair dark and full. But there was a line -about the expressive mouth,—an expression on the face that was not on -the younger one, and which only experience could have stamped thereon. -It seemed to the boy standing there, holding in his hand the picture of -his mother, as if in the eyes gazing at him there was a pleading, -yearning look that went straight to his young heart. His sensitive lip -quivered and with another sigh he laid this picture also down. He kept -his eyes downcast as if he dared not look into those searching dark orbs -that were so eagerly fastened upon him. In a little while a woman’s soft -hand was laid upon his and—— - -“Osmond,”—a pleading voice spoke,—“do either of those faces portray -aught but purity? Do you think your mother” (laying her hand on the -picture), “with a face like that, could be capable of anything but what -is good and pure and noble?” His eyes were raised to hers, and they were -dim with unshed tears. - -“I don’t know. But my brain seems reeling. When I look at the face of -the girl you say is my sister a feeling comes to me as though I should -be proud to proclaim her as such to the world; while she who is my -mother seems to draw my very soul from me. Looking at them both a -feeling overcomes me as if I had lost something to which I had a right, -but which has been withheld from me. But when I recall all that which my -father has told me of bygone years it seems as if they were handsome, -glittering, fascinating serpents looking up at me, luring me from my -allegiance.” Imelda took both the boy’s hands in hers. - -“Look at me,” she said. “In the first place, tell me—do you think I -could be guilty of all the cruel, unholy things that have been reported -of your mother?” - -“Why, no! no! A thousand times no! It would be impossible. One look into -your face, into your eyes, would convince me of that.” - -“Thank you! but do you think, my young friend, that I could hold one -near and dear who is so vile as you have been taught to believe your -mother to have been? Now listen: I do not want you to take my word for -all that I have told you of these my best friends. Only wait, come here -often. Here you can become acquainted with the sentiments that fill your -mother’s whole heart and soul, and which find a reflection in every word -uttered by your fair young sister. You seem, despite all the prejudices -with which your young life has been poisoned, to yet have remained pure -in heart. You are brave and truthful. Now from this time forth in -justice to your mother, study your father; his modes of life; his -sentiments; his every action, and compare it to that which he has told -you of the woman who, being the mother of his children, ought to be -shielded and protected by him from every breath of scandal; instead of -which protection he has blazoned such awful tales about her that it -takes almost superhuman courage and bravery on her part to live them -down. So I ask you again, in justice to the woman who is your mother, -will you henceforth keep your eyes open?” - -A dark wave of color swept over Osmond’s face, then with outstretched -hand, he said: - -“I promise you that I will!” - -This conversation closed, the pictures carefully laid away, their -attention was called to the other occupants of the room. The first words -that greeted their ears fell from the lips of Hilda. They listened. - -“You speak of the prevailing spirit, of too little charity of man to -fellowman,” said Hilda, “and again of single instances where charitable -deeds rise to the heights of grandeur, only regretting that they are too -few, too rare to be of any real value to humanity. Aye! they are indeed -too rare; but I do not believe in charity. I do not like her. I have no -room for her. Does she ever draw near to the side of justice? Is her -garb not rather a cloak wherewith to hide all the abounding and -heartless cruelty which seizes and retains the lion’s share of the -product of all the weary hours of toil that produce the wealth wherewith -these deeds of charity are done? - -“But that is only one kind of charity. That charity which is supposed to -overlook, to condone, and even to justify what society treats as faults -and sins—O, how I hate it! For while charity pretends to do all this, in -reality it condemns every idea, every thought, every action that is not -in strict conformity with the prevailing standards and customs of -artificial society. Charity enchains liberty; it blindfolds and fetters -justice. No! a thousand times no! I scorn charity, no matter in what -garb she may seek to approach.” - -Hilda’s dark gray eyes shone with a lustrous light as she finished her -animated speech. Imelda thought she had never seen her so attractive. - -“Bravo, little girl,” she exclaimed, “your words ought to inspire brave -hearts to noble deeds.” - -Hilda blushed as she replied, - -“O no, I do not aspire to so great honor; but at times I feel I must -give way to my feelings. They oppress me so.” - -“Will you permit me to ask a question?” It was Lawrence who spoke. - -“A dozen if you wish.” - -“Then tell me what would you put in place of charity which you so -discard? You cannot but acknowledge that there is great need of a -helping hand.” - -“Thank you, Mr. Westcot. Had you tried for a week you could not have -asked a question that would afford me greater pleasure to answer. ‘What -would I substitute for charity?’ Why, Justice! Justice every time. Where -Justice reigns there can be no place for charity. She will not be -needed. She will have lost her vocation. Let justice be done to the -great masses, to the struggling individual, and where would there be -occasion to call for the assistance, the services, of the haughty dame -with her mock humility? None whatever! Where plenty and peace have found -a home there will be no occasion to air her gaudy plumage. And in a -short time her very name will have assumed a strange sound. Aye, it -would be forgotten from little usage; would become extinct, obsolete. -Once pushed into the background she would quietly step down and out and -be heard of no more.” - -“And,” added Edith, “with the advent of justice and the exit of charity -another thing would become extinct, and that is power—the power of -money. When justice is done, the toiler, the producer, receiving the -full value or equivalent of his labor, it would be impossible that a few -favored idlers should grow fat—in wealth and ease, while the masses -starve. No more strikes, no more robbery, no more bloodshed. Peace, -happiness, prosperity—would not that be an ideal world?” - -Here the refrain was taken up by Imelda. - -“No strikes, no robbery, no bloodshed! Do we properly consider the full -import of these words? We hurl the curse of baseness, of low and brutal -instincts, we charge the birth of vice, crime, hatred and what not, all -upon those who toil and produce. If in a measure it is true that the -very air surrounding this class of humanity is often pregnant with all -the elements that breed a state of things so depraved, is it to be -wondered at? Let us take into consideration what the women of the -despised classes are called upon to pass through. Let us ask the why and -wherefore. When hunger and starvation stares her in the face; when the -demon drink has entered her home; when the husband and father is thrown -out of work through no fault of his; when the monster monopoly has shed -precious blood, and made her home desolate—what then, think you, breeds -in the heart of woman? Her every thought, her every breath, must of -necessity be freighted with—murder! Then the little helpless unborn, the -human embryon, that is being gestated and fed with such nourishment—must -not a race of murderers, of criminals of every description, be the -product of such creative conditions? - -“When mothers are free to choose the fathers of their babes; when they -can have just the conditions their hearts long for; when they can be -free from care and anxiety; when every woman has learned the science of -becoming a perfect mother; when every mother understands the fearful -responsibility of becoming such; when every father is filled with a -sense of the high honor that has been conferred upon him in being chosen -to be such; when, in consequence, he recognizes the duties he owes to -woman and her offspring, and when, in every act of his life he seeks to -aid her in perfecting the coming being; then, and not till then, may we -expect peace and joy and happiness. And to bring about such a state of -things justice must be done.” - -Strange words these, that fell for the first time, upon the ear of young -Osmond Leland. He heard thoughts expressed that struck him as grand, -lofty, sublime, but—but—did they not savor of—well, the insane? Was -there any sense in dreaming of such impossibilities? As each of these -young ladies in turn had spoken they had appeared to him as though -surrounded with a halo, such a sublime light had shone in their eyes. -But again, it seemed, to him, as if their reasoning was devoid of -reason, and his mind reverted to the discarded figure of charity. He -could conceive of no other way to reach the suffering masses. Until now -he had scarcely thought of it. But now? What sort of women were these -that could express themselves thus? What was it Imelda had said? - -“Wait, and come often. Here you can become acquainted with the -sentiments that fill your mother’s heart and soul, and that find -reflection in every word uttered by your sister.” - -He could not comprehend the reasoning of these young women, but the air -surrounding them seemed so truly holy and pure; such as had never been -his fate to come in contact with. And his mother and sister?—Were they -as these? Had he much to forgive his father for? He felt dazed. Was this -also a case where gross injustice had been done? - -“But how, young ladies, would you make all your grand ideas -practicable?” asked Lawrence. - -“By proclaiming liberty,” answered Hilda. “Liberty will insure justice, -and justice liberty. The two combined will make truth possible. To be -truthful is to be natural, and nature is pure, nature is chaste. Only -think what it all would mean to be free! We hear the cant of freedom, of -liberty, of a ‘free country,’ all around us, when in reality it is all a -miserable sham! Every word must be guarded, every action fettered. We -must eat, drink, sleep, walk and talk all according to a prescribed -fashion; must bow to fashion, to custom. We may not even welcome a child -to our arms when we desire it, unless we have first allowed shackles to -be placed upon our freedom; unless we have first bartered our womanhood -for motherhood—often turning what should be a priceless boon to a most -bitter curse.” - -Hilda’s eyes were sparkling with brilliant flashes, but the eyes of -Cora, who with Alice had drawn near, were downcast, and on the dark -lashes clung two pearly drops. Music and song had ceased; the two -performers, Alice and Cora, had for some time been listening to the -soulful words that were being spoken. The sweet lips of the agitated -girl were quivering as with pain, her hands tightly clasped as she -repeated, “turning the precious boon so often into a bitter curse.” -Turning to Hilda and kneeling at her feet Cora laid her face upon her -knee. - -“Is the curse never to be lifted?” - -“Yes! When woman is ready to be blessed; when she has learned to keep -herself pure; when the sacred temple of her body no longer is invaded by -the curse of lust; when man no longer dares to intrude, to force his -unwelcome attentions upon her, but patiently bides his time at a -respectful distance.” - -“You speak of the ‘millennium,’ of the perfection of the race. Must our -lives be one long sacrifice to secure that end?” Hilda shook her head as -with both hands she lifted the tear-wet face. - -“I hope not! Whilst we all have a work to perform in the meantime, I -believe we may yet be able, in our own lives, to so far lift ourselves -out of and above all the pains that make life such a weary round of -toil, as to be able to enjoy just a little in advance, of what the -coming future will bring the now enslaved race. When we are brave -enough, when we are strong enough to live as our inmost convictions tell -us is right and true and pure, we may then hope for a little happiness, -or perhaps a great happiness, just as we make ourselves ready to receive -and appreciate it. And I feel so sure, so sure that here, just right -here around us, a band is forming, true and staunch, that by its unity -will enable us yet to realize what now seem but dreams!” - -“You are speaking of that ideal home of yours?” - -“Yes! If only—if only—I could once see the way clear as to where the -means are to come from. Money! ‘Filthy lucre,’ as it is called, I fear -is the rock that will upset our plans.” But now Cora’s eyes were -shining. - -“Money, money,” she murmured. “I think I know who would furnish it—only, -will he not spurn me now after I have disappointed him so, and brought -the bitter pain to his heart? O, will he believe that it was all for -love of him and not for myself that I seemingly flung aside the -priceless treasure of his love?” - -“If it is really that; if his love is a priceless treasure, he but -awaits the call and you will find him at your side.” - -“And she,” murmured Cora “whom the law gives to him and him to her,—she -will never willingly give him freedom.” - -“Wait and you will see!” came the assuring answer. “Somehow I feel that -all will be as we desire.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVI. - - -Neither of the men could quite understand the last words that passed -between the girls, but Norman understood enough to know that whatever -might be their meaning no ignoble subject would be thus discussed. -Lawrence Westcot shook his head, but trusted. He was beginning to find -these girls very trustworthy. Only Osmond felt as if standing upon some -unseen brink. Hilda’s enthusiastic words and manner had not been clear -to him. He had caught the words but not their full import, and yet—what -was it she had been saying about womanhood being sacrificed, of being -“bartered”? Had she meant that marriage necessitated such sacrifice? But -surely, surely she had not meant that a child could be welcome without -the marriage blessing—a child outside the sacred fold of wedlock? In a -dazed manner his hand went up to his head. “Here you can become -acquainted with the sentiments that fill your mother’s heart and soul, -and find a reflection in every word uttered by your sister.” As with a -red hot iron the words seemed burned into his very soul. These his -mother’s sentiments? This his sister’s religion? His eyes rested upon -the faces of the girls; a sweet purity was reflected upon each while -Hilda appeared surrounded with a halo. Some strong impulse drew him -closer to them; he felt uplifted, borne upward, floating in cloudy -mists—a feeling of widening, expanding, filled his being until the words -of Hilda again came surging in his ears, “we may not even welcome a -child to our arms when we desire it unless we have first permitted our -freedom to be shackled, made a barter of our womanhood for motherhood, -thereby turning the precious boon into a bitter curse.” Blank horror -made his blood run cold; he felt as if an icy hand was clutching at his -throat. - -“What is it—are you not feeling well?” Imelda asked the question and -Edith’s soft warm hands gently pushed him into the nearest chair, -handing him a drink of ice water. She understood perfectly well what it -was that ailed him, and feared they might have repelled him so much that -he would not again seek their presence. So with her ready woman’s tact -she led the conversation to other subjects. Music and art, the beautiful -in general, were discussed, and finally a request was made that Cora -should sing again ere they parted for the night. She surprised them by -singing a hymn. But all understood there was a meaning underlying the -usual import of the words, “We shall know each other better when the -mists have rolled away.” - -It was with very mixed feelings that the good nights were spoken, and as -Hilda’s hand for a moment lay in Westcot’s a look from his dark eyes -flashed into hers, a look that sent the warm blood in a glow to her -face, flooding it to the very roots of her hair. Accompanied by the two -young men, Norman and Osmond, the sisters were rapidly driven home, the -pressing invitation “to come again,” still ringing in the boy’s ears; -and when at the door of the home of this sister pair Hilda also held out -her hand to Osmond asking him to call there. After a moment’s hesitation -he placed his hand in hers and promised. - - * * * * * - -Days and weeks had again sped on, each day bringing its own events and -lessons. The summer’s sunshine had changed to the glow of autumn, and -just as marked had been the changes with many of our friends. More firm -had become the bond of friendship and love that bound them together, -more clearly defined—because more clear the ideas, the ideals that -formed the central attraction around which love and friendship -clustered; day by day they understood each other better, and also -themselves better, and their lives became purer, higher, nobler. - -But still they were waiting, waiting. They recognized that their work -was not yet done, but pulses beat higher, eyes shone brighter, smiles -more radiant, as they were learning the old, old story over again. At -least several of our charming circle were being blessed with that -experience. Lawrence Westcot’s heart was once more drinking in the -lessons of love, and his nature was broadening and expanding under its -influence, while Hilda seemed almost glorified, as she moved about, soft -snatches of song dropping from her lips. Edith was almost as happy, -sunning herself in the reflection of her sister’s new-found love. Alice -also saw and was happy. The old child-like merriment had returned and -the rooms resounded with merry jests and silvery, tinkling laughter. - -One evening when Alice had surprised Norman in the gloaming she had not -been able to resist the longing, yearning spirit. Creeping up behind him -her little snowflake hands had closed his eyes. Ere he had caught the -meaning of it a pair of warm dewy lips had been pressed to his. Then she -would have fled, but quick as lightning her hands were made prisoners -and, despite the desperate struggles of the furiously blushing little -woman, she was drawn into the circle of light where Norman in a most -wicked manner enjoyed her dire confusion. But presently drawing her to -him and enfolding her in his arms he whispered: - -“Now for revenge!” The drooping moustache brushed her face and for a -little while Alice felt herself smothered; so sweet, so clinging, so -really in earnest were the kisses which were pressed upon her lips, and -when a few minutes later she came flying into the presence of Imelda, -who had both the little girls standing at her knees trying to teach them -some object lesson, the young instructress looked up in some surprise at -the disheveled figure. The fair hair was tossed and its owner was -pressing both hands to her flaming cheeks. Ere Imelda could frame the -question that was trembling upon her lips Alice had sank beside her on -her knees and hid her face in her lap. - -“Don’t say a word,” she whispered, “until you have heard what I have to -say,” and drawing the dark head down so that she could place the rosy -lips to her ear, she hurriedly whispered a few sentences and then drew -back to watch the effect. Imelda’s face betrayed nothing; she only -placed her arm about her friend’s neck and for a few moments laid her -face upon the fluffy hair, then after kissing her repeatedly she said, -with a sweet smile: - -“I believe it is about time that these little folks receive their -evening meal and then to bed. So, for a little while I must be excused.” - -An hour later as Imelda was standing in the embrasure of a window, a -manly head bent above her; an arm tenderly drew her head to be pillowed -on his breast while the whispered words, “My own, my best beloved,” -caused her own heart to beat in answering throbs and a sigh of sweet -content parted her lips. - -Only Edith, in those days of pure happiness, wore a look in the dark -eyes that portrayed a something hidden in their fathomless depths, a -far-away dreamy look that spoke of hopes not yet realized. Sometimes -when no eye was looking a suspicious moisture would gather in the dark -wells and for a while would dim their glorious luster, but not for long. -Where there was so much warmth of heart and joyousness of spirit it was -not possible that one whose life had been so practical would cast a -shadow upon the bright faces around her. - -There was yet one other whose happiness consisted in dreaming of the -future and waiting hopefully and patiently what it might possibly bring, -and that other was Cora. But not in idleness was she waiting. He should -not have reason to think that she had wasted precious time; so she had -studied on. Not only studied but already she was using her talents to -advantage. As soon as she was strong enough she had insisted on doing -something to be self-supporting, and through the aid of her friends she -had been successful in obtaining quite a class of music pupils, foremost -among whom was Meta who gave promise of future wonders. One hour in the -early morning, however, found her with another pupil, and that pupil was -Imelda. Much as she desired it Imelda had not hitherto found the time -and opportunity to apply herself to this study, for which she possessed -a talent that surpassed even that of Cora, whose music had settled in -her throat rather than at the ends of her fingers. More than once Cora -had said: - -“Not long till you must have a more competent teacher.” Thus the sisters -daily grew more close together with an appreciation of sisterly love in -their hearts such as is rarely known by those who have been cuddled in -the lap of fortune since their infancy. - -But there was still another—another growing daily in light, in breadth -and in intelligence. Osmond Leland had returned again, and yet again, to -the charmed circle and was, as it were, born into a new life. And as, -day by day, he better understood the sweet purity of these girls, so -also did the events in connection with his old life stand out in glaring -contrast. To his sorrow and dismay he found, upon close investigation, -that his father’s life was neither pure nor truthful. Contrasted with -the pure nature-love and poetic beauty displayed in every word spoken by -these new friends the coarse and lewd jests indulged in by his father -and his companions could not fail of effect. It was but a short time -until he felt his soul revolt at their ribaldry. More and more he felt -himself attracted and, still more often he found himself seeking the -society of the coterie of fair girls who each in turn imparted their -ideals and dreams to the susceptible young heart, so eloquently that it -went out to each and all in answering throes, and at the same time there -was born in that heart a secret yearning and longing for the mother and -sister who were as strangers to him. Often when he sought the Westcot -home at an earlier hour in the day he had the, to him, rare pleasure of -a romp with Alice’s baby daughters. Norma would clap her chubby hands -and scream with delight, while Meta’s dark eyes would glow and sparkle. -But while Norma, with all a baby’s delight of pulling her victim’s hair -would soon tire, and was content to cuddle up in his lap where she would -often fall asleep, Meta would softly steal up behind and take possession -of him in a more gentle manner. Her soft little fingers had a peculiarly -tender touch as she patted his cheek and toyed with his hair, arranging -the blond curls into a mass of ringlets. She would thus keep her fingers -busy for an hour or more, and never seemed to tire. The dark eyes would -have the same glad sparkle at the end as at the beginning, and Osmond -seemed to enjoy the performance as well as the little ones. On several -occasions he had stretched himself out upon the carpet when the serious -bright-eyed sprite would lift the fair head and pillow it in her lap and -while toying with his hair would put him to sleep. This would afford her -extreme pleasure. She would not permit anyone so much as to whisper -while she guarded his slumber. - -The young mother and her girl friends watched the play with amusement -and pleasure. Was there already a spark of the future woman in the -little child’s heart? - -Thus the autumn with its gorgeous colors had come and gone. Chilly days -and raw wet nights were now in order, but the glowing fires in the -grates added to the cheerfulness of the rooms and the closely drawn -curtains closed out all that was unpleasant and dismal. Then came the -icy frosts and the first snow and with it a letter from Wilbur -announcing the long promised visit to himself and Mrs. Leland. Edith and -Hilda were almost wild with joy and anticipation. At last! at last! this -so long, so sorely missed brother coming home to his own, to clasp them -in his arms, and they counted the days and hours until he should be in -their midst. But theirs were not the only hearts that beat high at the -contemplation of the coming event. Imelda was scarcely less excited than -were the sisters. With a tender cadence the name “Wilbur” lingered upon -her lips, but not for him alone did her heart beat with joy. Mrs. Leland -received no small share—her bonny Margaret’s mother. And yet another -heart beat with a strange flutter in anticipation. Osmond, when told of -his mother’s expected visit, had turned white to the very lips. Faint -and trembling he had sunk into a chair, and for the remainder of the -evening had been unusually quiet and absent-minded. - -“What is it? Not pleased, Osmond?” The boy looked up into Imelda’s eyes -and she saw that his own eyes were filled with tears. - -“Do you know, do you realize what this meeting may mean to me? My heart -is going out in advance to the woman who is my mother. I know I shall -love her. I know that I shall find her all that my mind has pictured. I -know that I shall find in her eyes a new life; in her eyes and arms, -such as I have never known. But what else will it mean for me? Great as -has been the fall of respect for the man who is my father, when I -contrast his life and teachings with what I have here been taught,—yet -for all that he is my father! That fact remains. The forming of new and -purer ties means the sundering of some old ones, and although I can only -win thereby an untold amount of good, the fact still remains that it -hurts.” - -Imelda’s hand gently passed over the clusters of fair curls as she said, - -“I can but honor you for an emotion that is the surest proof of a heart -good and undefiled. I feel certain that if you will follow its dictates -you will soon be able to judge whether it was affection for you which -caused your father to pierce your mother’s inmost soul by depriving her -of the child she had nourished with her heart’s blood. Can you think of -more refined cruelty than to rob a mother of the babe that has lain for -months beneath her heart, and that, with the most excruciating pain and -with great peril to her own life, has been born into the world? Do you -think a father’s affection can excel, or even equal, the love of a -mother? Then think of the years of hungry yearning that have filled that -gentle soul.”— - -The boy had not answered, but throughout the evening had remained quiet, -lost in thought. But after that, day by day a restlessness had come over -him scarcely permitting him to remain any length of time in one place. -More glaring became the father’s coarseness as with a critical eye the -boy followed his movements—his actions and his words. Often he found -himself remonstrating with him. At first these remonstrances had -elicited blank surprise, then he had been rudely laughed at and taunted -that he must have fallen in love with some Sunday school Miss. - -“That’s all right,” Mr. Leland had said. “Couldn’t help being sweet on -the little creatures myself. In fact am so occasionally yet, but not to -the extent that it is going to interfere with any enjoyment in life. -Don’t be foolish, boy. Kiss the pretty soft lips and tell her pretty -nothings to satisfy her; that need not prevent you from doing just as -you please; and by no means, let me tell you, will it affect me. Girls -are pretty playthings that help to while away the time, but the man is a -fool who permits one of them to affect him more seriously. I have had a -dose of it which I have no desire to have repeated.” - -Fearing a tirade against a certain woman who all unconsciously had grown -into his affection he swallowed his disgust and left his father to -himself. Judging his mother by those other women whose “sentiments” were -the same as hers he came to wonder how it had come about that she could -have linked her fate with that of his father. He reproached himself for -entertaining such thoughts, but yet was unable to banish them. And so it -came that often and still more often Osmond found his way to the Westcot -home. Sometimes he would also wend his way to the home of the Wallaces, -but as the sisters had no control there outside their own sanctum it was -not quite so homelike and harmonious, not quite so natural and free. -More often he would stop at their door only a few minutes to leave it a -little later with both sisters under his care. Thus it was that time -went by and the change, the most important event in young Leland’s life, -came nearer.—— - -All day long the soft, fluffy masses had been falling, noiseless, -incessant, covering hill and plain, and enveloping the world, as it were -in one vast winding sheet. The merry sleigh bells were tinkling, but it -was more work than pleasure to be out in the soft yielding masses of -fresh fallen snow. The hearts of the young beat with glad anticipation -of coming pleasures, but older and wiser heads took it not so lightly. -They looked more seriously at the mass of whirling fluffy flakes as they -came piling down faster and even faster until you could see scarce a -half dozen feet before you, while anxiety crept into many a heart. And -not without cause. Already every train was late, and there was much fear -of trains being snow-bound. In the evening, when in spite of unpleasant -weather our friends gathered at the Westcots’ they wore very serious -faces indeed. According to the dispatch they had received, informing -them on what train the dear expected ones would leave Chicago, they -would be due in Harrisburg the following morning at ten o’clock. If they -had started at the time intended they would in all likelihood be -detained many hours. If they were fortunate enough to lie over in some -city there would be no harm done, but on the trackless prairies it would -be far from pleasant at the best. There was no music and singing that -night. Too much anxiety for merry-making, and at a much earlier hour -than usual they again dispersed. Edith and Hilda’s hearts were heavy as -they kissed their girl friends good night. So long, O so long they had -hoped and longed and waited for this brother to come, and now—Surely, -surely their fondest hopes would not be thus rudely shattered. With a -mighty effort the tears were forced back and bravely they clung to -cheering hope. Just as they were about to descend the stone steps -leading from the front of the building, two strong arms wound themselves -about Hilda’s form and lifting her bodily carried her safely to the -waiting cutter. Warmly and snugly she was tucked in by loving hands and -just for one moment a pair of mustached lips touched hers, then the -words were whispered in her ear: “Courage little girl! be brave and -strong. Tomorrow evening someone else will be claiming kisses from these -sweet lips. Our precious ones will surely come.” - -It was the first time Lawrence had put his love into words and action, -and the trembling lips of the blushing maiden thanked him for the sweet -cheering words. - -Norman had performed the same office for Edith. To save her feet from -damp and cold he also had carried her down to the waiting cutter and -tucked her in beside Hilda. Then taking his seat beside Osmond, another -hasty good night, and soon the tinkling of the bells were lost in the -distance. - -Osmond was quiet; he had been quiet all the evening. Scarce a word had -dropped from his lips. It is very doubtful indeed if the girls felt more -keenly than he the danger threatening the travelers. The tension on his -nerves drove him almost mad. He dare not give expression to his fear. It -meant so much, so much—this coming of his mother. If she should perish! -With a sudden clicking sound he clinched his teeth while the horror of -the thought caused him to close his eyes. Would he then be able to say, -“It was all for the best”? - -The dismal drive came to an end. The girls were safely seen inside their -home. Osmond was next deposited at the door of his father’s dwelling and -shortly after Norman also was housed within the four walls of his room. -When the morning broke the snow was still falling with a likelihood that -there would be no change very soon. The trees were bending and breaking -under their load and only with the greatest difficulty could either man -or beast move about. Trains which had been due the day before could not -be heard from, owing to the fact that in many places the telegraphic -wires had been broken. Evening again came, but as yet no news from the -expected train whereon our travelers were supposed to be. - -About noon the fall of snow had ceased: a change of temperature had set -in; gradually it had been growing colder until at midnight of the -following night the cold had reached an intensity which was almost -unbearable. This added greatly to the horror of the possible situation -of the travelers, and our friends were in a fever of anxiety. With -blanched faces they moved about in their respective homes scarcely able -to endure the dreary hours of waiting. - -Again the night passed and another intensely cold day was ushered in, -and not until noon did any news reach them. A message was wired from -Pittsburg that the train had been snow-bound in Ohio. Rescue trains had -been sent and in all probability if nothing farther occurred to cause -another delay, the train would reach Harrisburg by Thursday evening -where it had been due Monday morning. - -Impatience must be curbed. Another night and day must pass ere they -could hope to fold their loved ones to their bosoms. But tedious as the -hours had moved, the day was at last nearing its close, only a few more -hours and then?—Just as the clocks were striking the hour of nine the -puffing monster came steaming into the city with its load of human -freight. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVII. - - -Heaving bosoms, concealing madly beating hearts, were hidden under the -heavy fur-lined wrappings. In the excitement and bustle of the jostling -throng our waiting friends greatly feared missing the travelers in the -murky light, but just as the train was again pulling out, Imelda espied -a lady and two gentlemen who seemed hopelessly seeking someone judging -from their hurried glances. Quickly walking up, that she might the -better look at their closely muffled figures, she was recognized by the -lady traveler, and, - -“Imelda!” broke from her lips as she stepped forward and folded the -girlish form in her arms, kissing her again and again. - -“Dearest Mamma Leland!”—and the kisses were returned with interest. When -released it was to be again enfolded in a pair of stronger arms—this -time a perfect bear’s hug. Then followed hasty introductions. Several -more embraces, wordless, but nevertheless speaking volumes, and then -Norman spoke: - -“Save the caresses for an hour later; they will keep, I am sure. This -weather is not at all inviting, so pile into the waiting sleighs; that -we may go where a welcome is prepared for you.” - -“One moment,”—It was Wilbur’s strong pleasant voice. “I make bold to -bring you a fellow traveler who has been of great value to us. Mr. Paul -Arthurs, I think deserves a better fate than to be left to the tender -mercies of a cheerless hotel on a night like this.” These words were -followed by a hearty invitation and welcome. At first Mr. Arthurs -protested against intruding so summarily on perfect strangers, but was -shortly overruled, and a few minutes later the sleighs were flying over -the smooth surface of the already beaten track, and in a very short time -the piercing night air was exchanged for that of the warm rooms at the -Westcot mansion. Willing, friendly hands were assisting each of the -travelers to warmth and comfort. Mrs. Leland was supplied a soft warm -robe, a loose wrapper from Imelda’s wardrobe. As there was no -possibility of procuring their trunks before morning, dry hose and -fur-lined slippers were provided for the weary nether limbs. After a -refreshing bath Imelda’s deft fingers neatly and tastefully arranged the -tired woman’s hair. Then telling her that she looked ever so much better -than a half hour previous, she escorted her to the parlor to find that -the men had just preceded them. Both the gentlemen guests had been -supplied from Mr. Westcot’s wardrobe, and they looked fresh and bright -enough to give the impression that they were there for an ordinary -social call. Wilbur’s eyes lit up with a bright gleam as Imelda entered. -Without a moment’s hesitation he held out both hands and drawing her -close, held her face where the full light of the chandelier overhead -fell upon it—for a minute drinking in the full glow of her beauty, -watching the rich color come and go in the fair cheeks. Then taking the -sweet proud face in both his hands he kissed the ruddy lips, once, -twice, thrice. - -“Now,” he said, “I want to look at someone in the——daylight I almost -said; ’tis the gaslight, I mean, which is almost as bright.” - -Norman was standing near, leaning with his elbow on the piano, watching -the scene before him with a warm light in his eyes. Understanding well -who Wilbur’s “someone” was, he stepped forward and extended his hand -with a pleasant, happy smile lighting up the handsome manly countenance. -For a few moments the black and blue eyes met, each reading in the -depths of the other’s soul; each satisfied with what he saw and read -there. It was a moment, “When kindred spirits met,” when “soul touched -soul.” As they stood there, man to man, hand clasped in hand, each knew -and felt that he had found a friend worthy of the name, and when a -woman’s soft hand was laid on theirs, as if in blessing, it was Norman’s -lips that touched the woman’s hand, but Wilbur’s dark face was laid -close to hers, and as their lips met the whispered words fell upon her -ear: - -“Imelda, gem of women, in this precious brother you have found a jewel -worthy of the finest setting. You have been a sweet and successful -teacher.” - -With the pure love-light in two pairs of eyes reflected in her heart she -turned to leave them together. Little gushing Alice was just getting -through making Mrs. Leland welcome when the eyes of the latter fell upon -a sweet face, lit up by a pair of dreamy hazel eyes. Something in the -face struck her as familiar, but she was unable to place it. The girl -saw and understood and was in the act of moving forward when Imelda -caught the look on Mrs. Leland’s face. In a moment more she stood at -Cora’s side, laying her face to hers she said: - -“Do you understand?” - -“I do,” Mrs. Leland replied. “It is your sister.” Here again after a few -moment’s conversation Imelda had the satisfaction of knowing that two -hearts, both dear to her, would meet and love. - -In glancing about she espied Edith deep in conversation with the -stranger, the traveling companion of Mrs. Leland and Wilbur. He was -holding her hand in a close clasp and looking into the dark eyes in a -way wholly surprising in a stranger on such short acquaintance. The -color was coming and going in the sweet face and her eyes had in them -most plainly an answering warmth. He certainly was a very handsome man; -one that any woman would be apt to turn and look at again when meeting -him in a ballroom or on the street. Fair, with a light curling beard and -a free open countenance; tall and well proportioned he was a picture of -manly beauty. Edith looking up and, seeing her friend’s perplexed and -wondering gaze, smiled and beckoned, - -“You are surprised, I see, at our seeming unwarranted familiarity, but -do you remember the day when Cora made her first appearance downstairs -after the accident, and we were weaving such golden plans for our -future? Well you also remember that Hilda spoke of a gentleman we had -met in one of our summer vacations in the mountains? I see you do -remember. I had thought the friendship of Mr. Arthurs was to be only a -pleasant memory when lo and behold I recognize him in this traveling -companion of our loved ones, and to make the surprise more complete, -Harrisburg was his destination, as he was coming here on matters of -business and intended remaining in the city for sometime.” - -Imelda expressed her delight in finding in him a friend of her friends, -and was about to move on when Mr. Arthurs asked for Hilda. That maiden -was discovered serenely smiling and rosily blushing while listening to -some, from all appearance, highly interesting tale of Lawrence -Westcot’s. Edith forthwith drew her new-found friend in the direction of -the two. - -With a happy smile upon her face, reflecting the sunshine of her heart -in her eyes, Imelda was flying from group to group when they suddenly -rested upon the sad face of a boy whose form was half hidden in the -heavy curtain of a deep bay window to which he had withdrawn himself. In -a moment she saw it all. The boy had requested not to be introduced to -his mother at the depot. He would wait a more favorable opportunity. - -“It would only excite her,” he said, “and be very unsatisfactory.” - -His request had been granted, but in the excitement that followed he had -momentarily been forgotten. Not dreaming that her son might be among -this group of bright intelligent people Mrs. Leland was giving her every -thought to winsome Cora whose heart was being drawn out to meet hers in -glad response. - -Imelda crossed the room to where Osmond stood. His eyes filled with -tears as she approached, - -“Why so sad, my boy? Cheer up! Do you think you are now ready to look -into your mother’s eyes?” - -“My mother! how strange the words sound; but I am afraid!” - -“‘Afraid!’ Afraid of what?” - -“Of the disappointment that may possibly fill them when they rest on me. -It would hurt if there should be but a momentary reflection therein.” - -Imelda’s gentle hand lifted the chin of the boy that was drooping in a -dejected manner, - -“Those words that speak of the fear of a disappointment show that you -have not known a mother’s heart. Come now and have this fear cast -out,”—and taking the trembling boy by the hand she drew him from his -hiding place and approached with him the woman to whom he owed his -being. Laying one arm about his neck Imelda drew his face to hers, with -her other hand she touched Mrs. Leland’s arm to draw her attention. - -“See! Mamma Leland. Who is this I bring you?” - -It was a moment of intense expectation. Mrs. Leland quickly turned, and -for a moment stared—then gave a quick gasp. That face! Just for a moment -she had thought it was Margaret, so great was the resemblance, but only -a moment. His look was strange and yet not strange. From his face she -glanced to that of Imelda, and back again to the boy. She rose from her -chair pressing both hands to her madly beating heart. Her face became -deathly white. Slowly the boy’s hands were extended towards her—an -agonized pleading look lay in the large blue eyes. - -“Mother!” broke from the pallid lips. - -“Osmond!” echoed the mother, and then she folded her long lost child, -her darling boy! in close embrace near to her wildly beating heart. - -For a moment Mrs. Leland felt faint and dizzy, then her pent-up feeling -found vent in a flood of tears, with which were mingled those of Osmond. -The tension on his nerves had been too great, but both strove hard to -conquer their emotions, and for some time they sat in a wordless -embrace, reading what they felt in each others eyes. Tenderly her -trembling hand smoothed the sunny locks and the pearly drops again -gathered in her eyes as she thought how her baby had been permitted to -grow and develop, until he stood upon the brink of manhood without the -guidance of her hand. His boyhood’s years—they had come and gone without -bringing her mother’s heart the privilege of watching over the tender -soul’s moulding. O, to have been with him! to share his joys and to -soften and smooth his childish troubles. - -But now? Why dwell upon the past with its many bitternesses and trials? -Did not the present moment outweigh all the sufferings? all the dark -hours of woe? Her boy was still her own, with a soul pure and true. -Should she not rather be thankful? With an overflowing heart she drew -the boy’s face down to hers, giving vent to all the pent-up feelings -that were causing her heart to heave and her lips to seek a loving, -clinging mother’s kiss. Imelda’s eyes filled with tears; without another -word she gently touched Cora’s arm and together they withdrew, leaving -the two to enjoy their new-found happiness. - -Imelda drew her sister in the direction of the piano, where Norman and -Wilbur were still standing, welding the friendship that was to last -throughout all the years of their after-life. With a little dextrous -movement the girls managed to reach the instrument without attracting -the notice of the men and only when Cora’s rich, sweet voice filled the -room with joyous song did they become aware of their close proximity. - -Every voice was hushed, every word suspended while she sang. Who was -this girl, possessed of such a glorious voice? When the music ceased and -the song ended Cora turned and faced her audience. Wilbur was struck -with the rare beauty of the face, coupled with a strange sense of -familiarity. Imelda smiled, as she caught the puzzled look upon his -face, - -“It is Cora, Wilbur.” That was their introduction—just as a matter of -course—feeling they would need no other. But Wilbur was not satisfied, -and begged that Cora would sing again; and she, nothing loath, did sing -again. It was the first time this week she had sung—with the anxiety for -the possible fate of the absent ones she had had no heart to sing. But -tonight she felt happy; so why should she not? Turning over the pile of -music her eye fell upon “The Wandering Refugee.” The music was sweet, if -the words were sad; and as the sad, sweet strains filled the room their -influence was felt by everyone present, toning down the exciting joy -that filled every heart. Just as the last notes died away a rasping -noise was heard at the window. Glancing up they became aware of a white -face being pressed against the large pane. Only a momentary appearance, -and almost in an instant it was gone. But in that instant both girls had -seen it and—had they recognized it? Both pairs of lips breathed the -prayer—“I hope not!” - -Such a wretched looking, such a deathly white face! Imelda quickly moved -over to the window, but no sign was to be seen of a human being. Had -they been mistaken? Was it only a chimera of the brain, conjured up by -the sad, weird words of the song? Heaving a deep sigh she turned away, -shaking her head to the enquiring sister. No one else had seen the face -at the window. - -At this juncture Alice claimed her right as hostess, and insisted that -all should direct their steps to the dining room, there to partake of a -warm repast which had been prepared for the hungry travelers. Around the -table another hour passed by in pleasant conversation in which many a -treasure of mind was unfolded, and where bright eyes sent electric -sparks back and forth—sparks that were ever ready to kindle love’s fire -wherever they might happen to alight, until at length, breaking in upon -the running conversation Westcot said, - -“Will not someone be kind enough to relate the experiences and dangers -of the late journey?” - -Wilbur laughed. - -“I suspect they are greatly magnified—in your imagination greater far -than in reality. Snow-bound we were; that is true enough; not a pleasant -experience, I grant you. By the storm-king we were forced to remain in -one spot, consumed more or less with anxiety and by impatience to move -onward. The change to bitter cold caused us some suffering, but being -well supplied with wraps and blankets its keenest edge was blunted. -Perhaps the greatest danger that menaced us was the lack of provisions, -but that also was warded off. - -It was night when our train was brought to a standstill, and when the -morning dawned we saw only a vast unbroken field of snow, spread out -before our eyes. The outlook was far from cheerful. Not having thought -of such an emergency we had supplied ourselves with no provisions -whatever, and the probability was that we would become acquainted with -empty stomachs before reaching our journey’s end. - -“Just opposite us across the aisle our friend here, Mr. Arthurs, had -taken his seat and, as misery loves company, it was not long ere he made -our acquaintance. Pardon me, Arthurs,” laughed Wilbur, “I did not mean -that you were so very miserable but that we were all so miserably -situated that your kind heart prompted you to lighten our misery by -coming closer to us. Well, as the day wore on we all became -uncomfortably conscious that there were appetites waiting to be -appeased. The supply carried by the train was not a large one and the -steward was asking shameful prices. Mr. Arthurs made the proposition -that we make an attempt at exploration, to see if there were no human -habitations near. At first Mrs. Leland would not listen to such a thing, -fearing we might get lost, but her fears were overruled and we made -preparation for a tramp through the deep and softly yielding snow. - -Following the base of a hill, near which our train had stopped, we -walked about a mile when in the distance we discovered quite a village. -It seemed an endless tramp but at length we managed to get there and -make our needs known. The villagers proved to be a rough but kindly -disposed people and, combining business and humanitarianism, some hours -later they brought to the cold and hungry travelers a supply of hot -coffee and sandwiches at reasonable prices. This removed the deadly fear -of starvation, and although the temperature was very, very cold our -situation was endurable. Towards evening of the second day rescue trains -arrived. The snow had been cleared from the tracks by the persistent -labor of many men who had worked night and day with their shovels, and -soon we were once more speeding on our way rejoicing. - -“By this time our new friend had proved himself a friend indeed, and -having made the discovery that his destination was the same as ours we -invited him to make one of our party. And to judge from present -appearances he is not at all sorry for having accepted the invitation.” - -Every eye turned in the direction of Mr. Arthurs, at whose side Edith -had found a seat. So deeply was he interested, just then, in something -Edith was saying that neither had heard the closing remarks of Wilbur, -but at the sudden hush both looked up to find all eyes resting upon them -in smiles. A flush mantled their faces, but, joining in the laugh at -their expense the matter was quickly disposed of, and now, having -satisfied their hunger Norman said he thought it time they were seeking -their respective homes, the night being far advanced, and rest being -much needed. Both Wilbur and Mr. Arthurs spoke of going to a hotel, -which proposition was most strenuously objected to by the Westcots who -insisted that they make their home with them during their stay in the -city. - -But to this neither of the young men would listen; for this one night, -however, they did not refuse to accept the kindly proffered hospitality. -Tomorrow they would make other arrangements. Hasty preparations were -then made for the departure of the others, and Mrs. Leland’s heart -contracted painfully at the thought of letting her boy go from her, even -for one night. But chiding her selfishness she gave him a good night -kiss. As Norman opened the door, the outer vestibule door and was -passing down the stone steps he suddenly stopped. Across the lower step -a dark object was lying which proved to be the cold and stiffened form -of a man. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVIII. - - -Norman’s cry of alarm soon brought the others to his side. To the -question, “What shall be done with him?” Alice replied, - -“Bring him in immediately.” - -So the inanimate form was lifted and carried inside, not to the heated -rooms but to one where the fire had gone out, leaving it cold and chill. -Imelda and Cora stood with clasped hands, a frightened look in their -eyes; looking at each other, expecting what they dared not think or -breathe aloud. - -The body of the unfortunate man had been carried past them without -either having caught a glimpse even of the white face, leaving them in -cruel uncertainty as to the identity of its owner. Norman spoke of -procuring a doctor when Paul Arthurs spoke: - -“With the kind permission of all present I offer my service, as I am a -physician.” This was news, and under the circumstances a very agreeable -surprise. The offer was most gladly accepted. Requesting Wilbur and -Norman to lend their assistance Doctor Arthurs began the work of trying -to resuscitate the seeming dead body, and for two long hours the three -worked hard and faithfully. When they had about given up all hope of -recalling the fleeting spark the discovery was made that the blood was -beginning to circulate while faintly perceptible respiration gave hope -of returning consciousness. After a thorough cleansing the body was -wrapped in a soft, warm blanket and put to bed. The chances now were -that a life had been saved, but—to what end? - -The young physician had made a sad discovery, one which indicated that -the patient was at best the victim of an incurable disease. He who lay -before them unconscious of his condition, was but a boy in years but -already a physical wreck, through the indulgence of a most pernicious -sexual habit. Hollow eyes and sunken cheeks told the sad tale. The drawn -white face was encircled by clusters of dark, curling hair; in health he -evidently had been a handsome lad. Now his appearance was anything but -prepossessing. - -“There we see the result of ignorance on the part of some one,” spoke up -the young physician. “The ignorance of parents in regard to the meaning -of childhood, or the ignorance of a boy who did not know, or understand, -the meaning of life, and the right uses of life-giving organs and -forces.” - -Neither of the young men had a word to say, but stood with eyes riveted -on the ghastly face. Why did that face seem so strangely familiar? and -while they looked this strange feeling grew. Like a flash a revelation -came to both and their eyes met in a sympathetic glance. Norman became -white to the very lips. In Wilbur’s eyes was a troubled look, as he met -the glance of the other, but across that motionless form he extended his -hand to the other who without a moment’s hesitation placed his own -therein. It was like a compact, this involuntary action, and in that -silent clasp there was something conveyed that told to each that they -had drawn a step nearer to each other; that in the future they would -stand still closer as friends. Wilbur turned to the young physician, -pointing to the prostrate form, - -“We have made a discovery!” - -“And which is——” - -“That this unfortunate young man is Frank Ellwood!” - -“Frank Ellwood? Who is he?” - -“The brother of the sisters, Imelda and Cora Ellwood.” - -“Ah!” The word was long drawn and hesitating. Paul Arthurs did not as -yet understand; so, briefly as possible, Wilbur related just enough to -enable him to grasp the situation. - -The young doctor’s face became sad and overcast. O, why is this young -life blighted? Why should this burden be laid upon those young -shoulders? But he felt it would not be for long. Disease, with its fatal -clutch, had fastened upon the vitals of the young man, and it was only a -question of a very short time until the fell destroyer would claim the -victim for his own. - -When an hour later, with returning consciousness Frank opened his eyes -it was to find two fair faces bending over him, faces wherein only love -and compassion were to be seen. While Imelda gently brushed the dark -hair from the pale face Cora took his hand and laid her face upon it. In -his weakness he saw but did not understand. As if their presence brought -him peace and comfort he again closed his eyes and soon the regular -breathing told that he was in the land of dreams. Gently, lovingly, the -sisters nursed the erring brother back to life, with never a word of -reproach for the wasted past. They understood only too well their task -would be of but short duration, and when the paroxysms of coughing shook -the weakened frame it was all they could do to stay the tears that would -well up in their eyes. - -But soon the time came when he asked to have their joint presence -explained, and it was Cora who told him all—all the bitter struggles and -experiences of both their lives; of the heavy overhanging clouds, but -which clouds were now beginning to show their silver lining. - -Frank made no comment. He seemed broken in spirit as well as in body. -The once strong and healthy young athlete seemed now only to desire rest -and quiet, and when the glad spring time came with its new life and -budding joys, its sunshine and song, they folded the waxen hands upon -the pulseless breast, decked his coffin with the first sweet flowers of -spring and laid the emaciated body away from sight. - -Poor boy! Wayward and reckless from his childhood up he had plunged -headlong into all the vices that lure passionate youth from virtue’s -path, and yet—had he sinned more than he had been sinned against? If he -had erred, if he had gone wrong, surely he had paid the forfeit. It was -a heavy price, that of his young life, and it ill becomes us to sit in -judgment upon him. Lawrence and Alice had insisted that he remain an -inmate of their home, and a bright sunny room had been placed at his -disposal, where he remained until the end. - -In the meantime much of interest had transpired, ere the dawn of that -sad spring morning. On that memorable night that had brought so much of -joy, and also so much of pain—the finding of the long lost brother—our -friends had separated as they had at first intended doing, with the -difference that those departing had remained a few hours longer at the -Westcots than they had expected. With the feeling of uncertainty as to -the fate of the frozen man none experienced a desire to leave until the -news came that he would recover temporarily at least; and when the -suspicions of the sisters had proved to be correct—that the unfortunate -stranger was indeed their brother, so long dead to them—then, as the -hour was very late, whispering words of hope the good nights were at -last spoken. The Wallace sisters with Osmond and Norman as escorts were -rapidly driven to their home; Edith’s hand had been held just a little -longer and closer by the young physician than would seem to have been -necessary, and Mrs. Leland had held her boy very close as though the -separation about to take place was for an unknown period of time, -instead of only one short night,—but finally they were whirled away over -the freezing snow, and in due time deposited each at their respective -doors. - -Mr. Wallace did not often inquire into the doings of his daughters. Long -since he gave over the attempt to control their actions, feeling that -they could well be trusted. On this occasion, however, the hour had been -so unusually late when they had come home that he could not refrain from -asking where they had spent the evening, or rather night, as was in the -“wee sma’ hours” that they had sought their room. A moment Edith -hesitated, then, - -“At the Westcot’s—they are entertaining visitors from Chicago, the -belated trains causing us also to be late.” - -Edith again hesitated before answering. Should she tell the truth? It -was extremely distasteful to this pure-minded girl to speak a falsehood. -She felt she could not possibly keep the fact a secret that her brother -was in the city. The sisters exchanged a quick apprehensive glance, then -endeavoring to appear calm as possible Edith said: - -“The interest might possibly be greater than you think, and you will -perhaps agree with me when I tell you that one of them bears the name of -Wilbur Wallace.” - -Mr. Wallace, who was just partaking of his morning meal, arrested midway -the cup which he was about placing to his lips and stared at his -daughter as if he had not heard aright. - -“Who? What is that you say?” - -“Wilbur Wallace,” repeated Edith with slightly trembling voice. Slowly -the cup that was poised in mid air was again replaced upon the table. - -“Do you mean to say that it is your brother to whom you refer?” - -A slight inclining motion of the head was Edith’s only answer. She -almost feared to look at her father, and when she did so she found the -strong man had turned deathly pale; his lips twitching nervously, and -presently with a gasping sound came from his lips: - -“Wilbur! Wilbur!” and his head sank upon his hand, in which attitude he -remained a long while, then slowly, without again speaking, he rose, -donned overcoat and muffler and went out into the crisp, wintry, morning -air. His manner was a mystery. The girls looked at each other and shook -their heads. - -In the evening when they again met at the family table he looked more -like himself but was strangely quiet, not at all like the Elmer Wallace -who was wont to carry himself with an air of such importance and -assurance. Even his wife took note of the matter and inquired as to the -reason, but received no answer for her pains. - -Several days thus passed by. Regularly each evening after supper a span -of horses with a dashing cutter drove up to the door; a youthful driver -would spring therefrom and would carefully tuck the waiting girls -therein and drive away, returning always a little before midnight. Then -there was a change. Beside the boyish figure a more manly one had taken -its place. Tall and well built, every movement of that form betokened -health and strength. At such times the face of another and older man -could be seen at the window, watching the figure of the younger man as -he sprang to meet the girls. Eagerly he listened to catch the sound of -the voice speaking words of greeting to the sisters, watched him tuck -the robes closely about them, heard his deep-toned laughter mingle with -their silvery ripples, and in a few seconds more they would disappear. -Long hours would intervene, but when the tinkling bells announced their -return, as though it had been watching for their advent, the face at the -window was always there, until the good nights were spoken and the merry -music of the bells was lost in the distance. - -But Mr. Wallace never asked for his son; though deep down in his heart a -longing was making itself manifest. Now that he knew that his first born -was once more near him in the same city, to look into his eyes, to clasp -him to his bosom, to have a share in his life, was a desire that was -daily growing upon him. Yet he could not bring himself to sue for it. -Day by day the longing grew stronger until it became almost unbearable. -This longing was the more strongly felt when he glanced at his younger -children, the result of his second marriage. All of them, the whole -four, had not been sent, this season, to boarding school, as they were -not at all well, and they had made life anything but pleasant for the -rest of the household. The eldest boy, Homer, the father had hoped would -soon have been ready to graduate, but the lad showed an unaccountable -aversion towards his books. He was surly, sullen and irritable, with a -languor of manner that caused the parents to fear that he might be -breeding some fever. The others were no better. Elmer was hollow-eyed -and nervous. The girls, Hattie and Aleda, were fretful and hysterical to -a degree that made life a misery to those about them. - -The parents were anxious and fearful, pampering them in mistaken -kindness, thereby making perfect tyrants of them all. Only Edith and -Hilda would not submit to the whimsical demands of the younger children, -and when Mrs. Wallace complained and lamented about the ill health of -her darlings Edith would reply: - -“Insist on it that they all take exercises every day—exercise of a -nature that will tax their strength, and ere long you will see a -change.” - -“Yes, I am sure there would be a change. You certainly are the most -heartless girl I have ever met. Compel my sick children to work? I -believe it would please you if they should die, for that is what such a -course would result in, I am sure.” - -Mr. Wallace would look at them, then at the bright and cheerful faces of -his eldest daughters. Then he would remember the face and figure of the -stalwart young man whose movements he had of late been watching from the -window and would wonder how it was that the children of the delicate -Erna should be healthy and robust while these younger children, whose -mother was apparently so strong and healthy, should be so delicate, -apparently candidates for early graves. More than ever he longed to be -reconciled to his first born. But his stubborn will would not bend. Had -Wilbur come to him he would have welcomed him with open arms, but that -he should go to Wilbur his iron will and stubborn pride would not -permit. So he stifled the voice of his heart, only he could not cast out -the longing therein, and day by day he grew more restless, dissatisfied -and irritable while the state of affairs at home grew daily more -unpleasant. - -One day, it was clear and frosty, Mr. Wallace was on his way home to -dinner, walking along at a brisk pace. Part of his way lay along the -railway track, when at a short distance ahead of him he saw a boyish -figure in which he recognized his son Homer. The boy was walking at a -very slow pace with downcast eyes seemingly forgetful of his -surroundings when the rumbling of the wheels of an approaching train was -heard. The boy however, paid no heed. Mr. Wallace gave a cry of warning -but the boy was so lost in thought that he never heard. The train was -approaching at an alarming rate of speed. - -“Homer! Homer!” the distracted father cried, but unconcerned the boy -walked on. Mr. Wallace started on a run but despaired of reaching him. -He repeated his warning cry when suddenly the boy tripped and stumbled, -almost fell—recalling him to himself, but the nearness of the -approaching train, the certainty of impending fate seemed to stun him -and he stood stock still, with white set face, awaiting the coming -shock. Mr. Wallace calling again, “Homer! Homer! quick, aside,” covered -his eyes with his hand so as not to witness the dread disaster. - -The next moment the train went speeding by, sending the icy chills -through his veins. Dreading to look up, expecting to see only the -mangled remains of his child Mr. Wallace with white lips and blanched -face, opened his eyes to see a stalwart, manly figure, a face encircled -by clustering dark locks, lit up by piercing black eyes, and in his arms -holding the half-fainting form of Homer. - -The revulsion of feeling was so great that the strong man reeled, and -when he saw and recognized who it was that had been the savior of his -boy a film gathered over his eyes. He staggered as he made his way to -where the stranger stood, still clasping the careless boy in his arms. -Both hands were outstretched to clasp those of the rescuer but the stiff -lips refused to articulate the words he would have spoken. - -By this time Homer had recovered himself sufficiently to free himself -from the firm clasp, and to say, - -“All right, old man! No need of being so scared. I have not gone to -‘kingdom come’—not just yet.” - -But not on the boy were the eyes of Mr. Wallace riveted. As if -fascinated they hung upon that other young face while his own was -working strangely. - -“I presume you are the father of this young man?” spoke a clear, -full-toned, manly voice. - -“Wilbur!” came in husky, broken accents from the pallid lips of Mr. -Wallace. “Wilbur, do you not know me?”—in a hesitating, supplicating -manner, extending both hands to the young man. - -Wilbur started and changed color, retreating a step and bending a -searching glance upon the elder man. “You are——my——” - -“Father!” interrupted Mr. Wallace. “Yes, I am your father, and the boy -whose life you have just saved is your brother.” - -The boy gave vent to a long drawn whistle,— - -“Say, Gov’nor! this is news. Where did you manage to have him stowed -away all this time?” - -The face of Mr. Wallace flushed darkly red. - -“Homer, I am ashamed of you. You would please me much by being a little -less ill-bred.” Then turning again to Wilbur and again extending his -hand, - -“Will you permit the past to be forgotten? Must I ask in vain that my -boy, my first born, will lay his hand in mine?” - -The husky pleading of the voice touched Wilbur. After a few moment’s -hesitation in which the past seemed to confront him,—in which he seemed -to hear the splashing of the icy waters of the Susquehanna river as they -closed over the head of the hazel-eyed little mother, so many years -ago—a shudder passed through his frame; then his eyes fell upon the boy, -almost a young man, but with a sullen look on the otherwise fair face, -thereby marring its beauty—the disrespectful manner towards his father, -showing an equally marred character. Then his eyes turned to the face of -the father who had so long been a stranger to him, and what they saw -there again touched his better nature. No! it certainly was not the face -of a happy man. There were lines in it that the flight of years alone -had not traced. It looked careworn and worried. Slowly, involuntarily -his hand was raised and laid in the outstretched palm whose fingers -closed about it almost like a vice. Several moments passed ere Mr. -Wallace had controlled himself sufficiently to speak, then hurriedly, -anxiously,— - -“You will go with me? I want you at home.” - -Wilbur shook his head, but his father only held his hand the faster. - -“I will take no refusal. For once I am going to give Edith and Hilda a -pleasant surprise. Come, Homer, we will not keep them waiting at home -for us any longer.” Without answering the boy turned his steps homeward, -while Mr. Wallace drew Wilbur’s arm through his. - -“You will come I know, and the girls will be happy.” - -Half reluctantly and wholly longingly he permitted himself to be led -away and almost ere he knew he found himself standing at the door of the -well known house before which of late he had so often stood. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIX. - - -Edith gave a gasp when she saw the noble form of her brother enter the -door at her father’s side; but she welcomed him by laying her white -round arm about his neck and kissing him. Hilda stood for a moment -looking from one to another in a bewildered manner, then a bright light -almost transfigured her face. Gliding to her father’s side she surprised -that individual by winding her arms about his neck and pressing her -fresh dewy lips to his. Then laying her cheek to his whispered: - -“I thank you from the bottom of my heart.” - -What was it that arose in his throat and dimmed his eye? When had a -sweet woman’s kiss been pressed upon his lips before. He laid a -trembling hand upon the back of a chair to steady himself while his eyes -followed the hazel-eyed girl—so like the Erna of long ago. For just one -moment it had seemed to him that it had been she who whispered that -“Thank you.” That it had been her cheek resting against his. A sigh -escaped his lips as he thought of how short duration had been their -happiness. Why had it been so short? Even now he could not understand; -but he felt a glow of satisfaction, such as he had not known in many a -long year, as he watched the group of three. For the first time a -feeling of conscious pride swelled in his heart at the thought that they -were his children. Mrs. Wallace, when she entered the room in her -sweeping robes was not exactly delighted when the guest of the evening -was introduced to her, but had enough of good grace to tender him a -kindly welcome when she heard of the service he had rendered her own -son. Besides this splendid young giant commanded her respect whether she -would or not. She always did admire handsome men, and Wilbur was -decidedly handsome. So once more—what he believed would never again be -possible—Wilbur found himself sitting at his father’s table, partaking -of his bread, of his hospitality, and felt conscious that he was doing -right; knew that his idolized sisters sanctioned it. Both were extremely -happy and, conscious of that happiness, Wilbur felt as if inspired, and -talked as he had never before talked. His sisters were proud of him and -his father was surprised and astounded at the store of knowledge he -possessed, at the ideas that had possession of his active brain, and a -new light dawned upon his mind. - -It was, he now began to see, this brother who had been the teacher of -the sisters, developing them into the splendid independent women that -they were. Even Mrs. Wallace became interested, although most of that -which he said was as so much Greek to her. It was of so foreign a nature -to her. She found more to disagree with than agree to, yet she found -herself listening to every word. Stranger than all, Homer was aroused; -his senses were alert. Where had he ever heard such doctrines propounded -before? Certainly not in such a strain. Yet he had heard them, and with -his mates of the boarding school had jeered and laughed and scoffed at -what they termed “would-be-reformers.” Now he began to see how much -superior were these thoughts when compared with the useless studies with -which his head had been crammed, and with the teachings of the dime -novels which he and his mates had devoured—inflaming their passions and -leading to the formation of vile habits. - -While Wilbur was speaking he had been watching the flushing and paling -face of the boy. A suspicion of what made him languid and nervous and -sullen forced itself upon his mind and he forthwith made up his mind to -take the lad in hand. He also observed that none of the other children -possessed a healthy color, but with this one he was, for the moment, -most interested. He remained all the afternoon, partaking again of the -evening meal, thereby causing him to draw still nearer to the slumbering -heart and senses of Homer; at the same time winning his way into the -hearts of all the others. So when after supper as usual a double-seated -cutter drawn by a span of fiery horses came dashing to the door, Wilbur -surprised that young gentleman by inviting him to join them. - -“It will do him good,” he said, glancing at his father. - -Thus Homer made the acquaintance of this circle which was to influence -all his after-life. As soon as an opportunity offered Wilbur drew young -Arthurs aside and had a prolonged conversation with him, their eyes -frequently resting on the pale face of the boy. Presently Mrs. Leland -was also drawn into the conversation and when it ended all understood -what was expected of them. - -Mrs. Leland drew near the boy who was a stranger in their midst, and in -a pleasant motherly fashion began to talk to him, gradually drawing him -out, finding much intelligence stored away in the youthful mind but -which had all been going to waste for the want of a guiding hand and -skillful touch to turn it into proper channels. Edith and Hilda watched -while a feeling of joy filled their hearts. Was there really something -more than self-will, indolence and haughty overbearing in the nature of -the boy, hidden beneath that repellant exterior? Presently it was -Imelda’s turn to exert her gentle influence on him in her bright, -animated manner, and when Cora’s voice filled the large room with a -burst of song he felt as if lost in a new world. The two sisters knew he -was taken care of, and in their turn devoted themselves to the invalid. -Poor Frank! They had the satisfaction of seeing his face light up and -the color come and go in the wan cheeks. He had learned to love the -circle which nightly met here, where naught but love seemed to reign, -while Mrs. Leland was almost worshipped by him. Was ever mother so kind -to erring boy before? If his own mother—but here he stopped. She too had -been erring, suffering. She belonged to his wasted past. She had been an -over-indulgent mother to him, in spite of her fretfulness and -peevishness, and at this late day he felt that it would be wrong for him -to throw a stone upon her grave. While Hilda toyed with his white hand -Edith was standing at the back of his chair, smoothing back the -clustering locks from his brow. A sense of peace and quiet came over -him, such as he had not known in the olden days. Now and then a much -meaning look passed between the young physician and the elder sister, -calling forth a warmer hue to the fair cheek. Hilda enjoyed the same -kind of by-play with Lawrence, to whom it seemed impossible to gain more -than a few moments at a time at her side, while Mrs. Leland was more -successful with her boy lover. When the good nights had been spoken and -our party was whirling homeward, Homer was very quiet, He was deeply -impressed with all he had seen and heard, and his thoughts were busy. - -Next morning, earlier far than had been Homer’s habit to rise, two -strong, young figures appeared at the door asking admittance, and -sending the merry tinkle of the bell through the rooms. Wilbur and -Osmond, ready for a hunting trip, had come to take Homer with them. The -boy was tired from being out so late the evening before, and at first -was not at all inclined to join them. It seemed he could not muster -enough of will force to face the crisp morning air, while Mrs. Wallace -objected with all her strength, being positively sure that her darling -would take cold because he was not at all strong. But Wilbur carried his -point. A half hour later, warmly clad and well equipped for their day of -sport they set out, being soon joined by Dr. Arthurs, Norman and -Westcot, they formed quite a party of hunters. As they started away from -the Westcot home a pair of dark eyes, watching them from the window of -the invalid, grew dim and a pair of lips quivered in helpless longing. -But fair woman’s hands took him in tow and made it so pleasant and -entertaining that he forgot the manly sports the others were following. - -The hunters were out long hours. Up hills and down valleys, through -woods and meadows, across rocks and frozen brooks they went. Warming to -the excitement of the sport, which sent the blood bounding through his -veins Homer forgot he was weak and tired. The reaction set in, however, -and when they returned he slept long hours, but when the evening came he -was ready and anxious to go to the home of the Westcots. - -Next morning another excursion had been planned and again they carried -Homer with them. This time they managed to take Elmer also, in spite of -the protests of the anxious mother who saw certain death in store for -her pampered darlings—tramping about these rough mornings through the -snow; and when she saw them return so tired they almost fell asleep on -their feet she felt more anxious than ever. Soon, however, a change made -itself manifest. They were less fretful and discontented. Their eyes -were brighter, a more healthy color tinged their cheeks, while they ate -with an apparent appetite. - -Paul Arthurs now frequently called at the house. He also prescribed a -new course for the younger children. He forbade sweetmeats, spices and -condiments. A simple diet of bread, milk and grain foods, fruits and -nuts, he told the mother, was far more wholesome than the meats and -highly seasoned food they had hitherto been accustomed to. - -“Give them a daily bath, then rub them until a warm glow shows itself; -then plenty of outdoor exercise. The cold will not hurt them, but rather -benefit them. Let them go coasting, skating and snowballing until they -are tired out, so tired that they scarce can keep on their feet, and my -word for it, Madame, if you follow this course, you will soon have the -satisfaction of seeing the glow of health in the faces of your children. -They need no medicine. They are suffering from a nervous debility that -only exercise in the open air and wholesome simple food will correct. I -look to you,” turning to Edith, “to see that these directions are -carried out. You understand, I am sure?” - -Edith as well as Hilda did understand. The young doctor as well as the -girls did not dare to tell Mrs. Wallace the true reason of the delicate -state of health of all her children—that the seeds thereof had been sown -in the abominable boarding schools she would have considered highly -improbable. At however slight intimation of the real cause she would -have been liable, in her passion, to turn them all from the house and -thus her children would have been robbed of the only chance of regaining -their health. So they wisely kept the secret they had penetrated and -insisted on a course of treatment that these pampered darlings thought -extremely cruel. But soon the effect was apparent, and there was hope -that the morbid cravings might be destroyed, and a strong and pure -manhood and womanhood be secured to them in the future. - -So it was that a new life entered this house, and in a manner scarcely -noticeable. A better footing was established between the stepmother and -the daughters. There was more peace and quiet. Once in a while the order -was reversed and the circle would gather in the Wallace home, but not -often. There were many reasons why it should not be the same. The -visitors were made welcome, it is true, but the entertainers must at all -times be guarded in their speech. They could not be quite themselves; -and then Frank never gathered enough strength to bear the fatigue of the -drive back and forth in the cold night air. One or the other would -remain at home with him, as in spite of his protests his sisters and -friends would not consent to leave him alone. - -Mr. Wallace had tried hard to induce Wilbur to take up his abode in his -house during his stay in the city, but in this the son was obdurate. He -had buried and consigned to oblivion much of the past, for the sake of -his sisters and also for the sake of those other children who were also -his brothers and sisters, and whom he would, as it were, snatch from an -early grave, but he could not bring himself to lay his head on the -pillow beneath the roof that should have been a loving shelter to his -own precious mother; in the home of the man who should have loved and -cherished instead of driving her with his criminal neglect to a watery -grave. When such thoughts came to him it was all he could do to curb the -ill-will that would fill his heart, and only by the force of his strong -will did he succeed in banishing a feeling of hatred. - -Meanwhile Wilbur became more dear day by day, to the father, whose heart -went out to the children of his first marriage as it had never done to -the younger ones. - -Thus the weeks passed away and Christmas was drawing near when the mail -brought a letter from Margaret to her mother. A cry of joy broke from -her lips as she read its contents. - -“What is it?” cried the girls in chorus. - -“O, listen! It is almost too good to be true!” - -“And now, dearest mamma, let me wind up this epistle by a little bit of -news. By some strange and opportune circumstance we have no engagement -for two weeks, beginning with Christmas morning, and now I mean for a -short time to join that precious circle of which I have heard so much. -O, you don’t know how impatient I am as the time draws near. I am -longing, am homesick for you all. It is sweet, this thing called fame -and homage, to be greeted and rewarded with applause, but the heart-felt -affection of your loved ones is something different, and O, so much more -satisfying.” - -This indeed was news and joy. Imelda knelt at Mrs. Leland’s side, laying -her head upon her motherly knee, - -“O, I am so glad, so glad! for once our circle will be complete.” -Glancing up, her eyes met those of Cora. The look of pain and silent -reproach therein pierced to her very heart. Hastily rising, with a quick -step she was at Cora’s side, winding her arms about her she laid her -face to hers. - -“Forgive me, little sister. For a moment I forgot that we cannot be -complete until one more noble man, your own Owen, shall have joined us.” - -Cora smiled through her tears. - -“There is nothing to forgive, only sometimes I grow so hungry, so heart -hungry, so love hungry. I know everyone here loves me, yet——” - -“Yet the supreme love, the love of him who makes life’s sunshine for -you, is wanting; is not that so? But why, little one, do you not send -him the word which will bring him to you?” - -“I do not know; but I have the feeling that for some reason it would be -useless. I will wait a little while longer.” - -So a few more days went by and at last Christmas morning dawned. A -solitary watcher paced up and down the platform in front of the depot -awaiting the arrival of the incoming train, his impatience not -permitting him to seek the warmth indoors as many others were doing. Up -and down, up and down, he paced, the dark eyes glowing in their -suppressed eagerness when at last the whistle sounded on the clear, -crisp air and a few minutes later the thundering train discharged its -load of human freight, and was again putting away on its eastern course. -A tall, fair-haired woman was seen casting searching glances about when -a pair of arms were laid upon her shoulders. She was gently turned -about, almost at the same moment a pair of moustached lips pressing -hers, - -“Margaret, my rare, sweet Margaret!” - -“Wilbur!” Another kiss followed, then quickly she was assisted to a seat -in the waiting cutter, snugly tucked in with warm robes and furs and in -a few minutes more they were speeding along over the frozen snow. - -“My mother, is she well? and Imelda, and Alice, and her babies, and all -the rest whom I have not seen, are they all well and happy?” - -Wilbur laughed. “One question at a time if you please, my girlie. But as -to each and all I can give the same answer, so will I answer them all at -once with the one little word ‘Yes,’ and they have sent me along to -greet you, not but one and all are just as eager and impatient to greet -and welcome my darling. Only they have kindly conceded the privilege to -me to be the first to embrace my girlie, for which I certainly am -thankful. For when that bevy of women once have you in their -clutches—there now! I retract that word, but it is certain when they -have secured you I may not hope to again speak to you in a hurry. For -some time at least they will own you.” - -By this time they were leaving the turmoil and noise of the city in -their rear and as the roads were quiet and deserted, the arm of the -young driver gently stole about the slender waist of the woman at his -side. Nothing loath the fair head rested against his shoulder while the -blue eyes looked up into the black ones with love unutterable. Again -their lips met in a clinging kiss. - -“O sweetheart and lover, it seems so good once more to be able to nestle -in your arms.” - -To press her still more closely was his only answer. Thus laughing and -talking, loving and kissing, they enjoyed to the utmost that drive in -the crisp, cold air, and soon they arrived at their destination, where -many open arms were extended to receive the fair Margaret. - -“My darling!” and - -“My own mamma!” were the caressing words exchanged as Mrs. Leland folded -her daughter to her heart. But not for long was she permitted to hold -her there. Imelda’s brown eyes were beaming with love and pleasure. -Alice was eager for a kiss, her two pretty babies wanted to be noticed -by this new auntie. Then Imelda drew her aside where the hazel-eyed Cora -was standing with one arm laid lovingly about the shoulders of a -pale-faced young man. Margaret needed no introduction. By letter she had -long since known of the finding of both of Imelda’s wayward ones, and a -single glance told her all. She took the girl’s face between her hands -and gently kissed the cherry lips. - -“I am so glad for your own as well as for Imelda’s sake.” - -This was her greeting and Cora understood, for her eyes filled with -tears. Frank’s hand she took between both of hers and knelt at his side. - -“And you are the brother I have so often heard her speak about. For -Imelda’s sake you must be my brother also, as my own brother has been -absent for so long a time I can scarce remember him.” - -Frank’s face became sad and his eyes misty. - -“O, but your own brother is so much more deserving than I. Would that my -record were as clean.” - -Margaret shook her head. - -“Not so downcast and self-reproachful, my boy. We are so much the -creatures of circumstances we cannot well help doing just the things we -do. The past you have done with, only the future is yours, to make that -what it should be will be your task, your duty, your pleasure.” - -In his turn Frank shook his head. - -“No! no! even that boon will be denied me. My bad deeds can’t be undone; -to atone for them will not be permitted me. My days, my hours, even, are -numbered. No, no, please don’t. I understand what you would say. Why -should such a truth-loving woman as you seek to deceive me. I know it -all, and I suppose it is best so. Look, there at your mother’s side -another awaits to welcome you, one who is nearer and dearer to you than -such a poor wreck of humanity as I could ever dare hope to be.” - -Following the direction indicated by Frank Margaret saw, standing at her -mother’s side, an arm thrown caressingly about her shoulders, a young -man as yet almost a boy, fair sunny locks thrown carelessly back from a -broad and open brow, a look of longing in the frank blue eyes, and -suppressed emotion quivering about the sensitive mouth. - -Slowly Margaret drew herself up to her full height, with her eyes -fastened on that boyish and yet manly form. Was it—O was it——? Her -mother’s hand went up to his face and drew it close to her own, holding -it there, the other hand she extended to her daughter. With bated breath -Margaret crossed the room. - -“Is it——” - -“Your brother.” - -Then both of Margaret’s hands were extended and both were clasped firmly -and tenderly, and, - -“Osmond!” - -“Margaret!”—spoken in a breath, and Margaret knew that at last her -mother had her heart’s one desire; her boy, her baby is once more her -own, and the sister is clasped in her brother’s embrace. - -“O, this is indeed a merry Christmas, and you are the nicest Christmas -gift I could have wished for. But how is it, mamma, that you have not -written this to me?” - -“Because I so sincerely hoped and believed that you would make it -possible to spend a week with us, and I wanted to surprise you. Have I -succeeded?” - -“Indeed you have, my darling mamma. But is this boy always so -tongue-tied, having just nothing at all to say?” - -Osmond laughed, - -“I believe you are a saucebox! But that isn’t a bit nice of me, is it? -to call you names in the first moments of our acquaintance—with the -first words I address to you. I promise you to try and do better and say -something nice. I don’t believe you are easily spoiled and feel that I -may tell you, that already I am proud of my sister. I think they have -named you well—Margaret. A daughter of the Gods, divinely tall and most -divinely fair——” - -“For shame, Osmond; to try to pay your sister compliments in such -wornout phrases.” - -A laugh followed and the ice was broken. Margaret felt and knew that she -should love this brother. As the days of the following week glided by -she gradually came to know all there was to tell and to learn. Osmond -told her all about the father who opposed his coming here, when by -accident he discovered that it was the boy’s mother he daily went to -see; of the battle he had fought and how he had come off conqueror; of -how there had been much in common between them; but that of late he was -daily drifting more and more away from his father; then of how he had -come into this circle, and how he had gradually come to hear and then -understand their ideas; how he had come to know and understand what true -womanhood and manhood were, what they meant, and that he now knew that -his mother and sister were sweet and pure and true, notwithstanding the -teachings of his father. - -Then Margaret had come to know the sisters of Wilbur, and knew not which -was the most love-worthy, the stately Edith or the sweet, gentle Hilda. -She saw the heightened color in the cheeks of the former when the young -physician was holding her attention; she saw the sparkling light in the -eyes of the latter and the answering light in those of Lawrence Westcot; -the adoration in Imelda’s glance as it rested on the splendid figure of -Norman Carlton, whom indeed she found to be all her friend had said of -him. “One of nature’s noblemen” was the best she knew how to describe -him. But to which, indeed, of the manly faces and forms should she not -have applied the same appellation? And O, how she enjoyed the society of -this bright circle! how swiftly the hours and days flew by. How soon she -knew her short vacation would be over and that again she must away to -her work. - -She loved her work but she could not help feeling sad that her visit -would be of such short duration. She would nestle closer to Wilbur’s -side, and just a little more passion would creep into her kisses, when -she was folded against his heart, at the thought of the coming -separation. - -So the first week of her vacation neared its close, and all felt more -than ever before the rapid flight of time, when one evening Norman -joined the circle holding a telegram aloft. - -“Look,” he said, “this announces the visit of a friend of olden days, a -college mate, a most precious friend whom I will turn over to the tender -mercies of our ladies; a splendid fellow, wholesouled and true. Maybe -you girls can make another addition to our circle. He is well worth the -winning, though he be a married man.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXXX. - - -We must now retrace our steps for some months back to the golden summer -time. - -In the great eastern metropolis, on the sunny banks of the beautiful -Hudson, almost hidden within a grove of wild plum and cherry trees, -stands a cosy cottage. Snowy lace curtains drape the windows. Creeping -vines almost cover it like a heavy green coverlet. On the shady porches -are arranged a profusion and variety of richly blooming plants. The -grass plots surrounding the house are dotted with beds of rare flowers -which fill the air with fragrance. - -But in spite of all the tempting beauty of the place there was an air of -desertion about it that one felt rather than saw. The sultry summer day -was drawing to its close. Evening was casting its lengthening shadows -across the paths. Many of the beautiful blossoms drooped their heads as -if weary and sad, while every window and door was closely fastened. - -There was not a single sign of life about the place, when suddenly the -click of the garden gate was heard, and a man with hasty steps came -walking up the path. His face was pale and handsome, his eyes blue, and -his drooping, silky mustache a decided red. The hair of the head, -however, was of a darker hue, a handsome brown. He was admitted to the -house by an old negress, whose face wore an extremely doleful -expression. - -“Hello! Aunt Betty, what’s wrong? Your young mistress is well, I hope?” -But not waiting for answer he pushed by her, and was half way up the -stairway when the old woman’s voice arrested his footsteps. - -“No use, Massa Hunter. The young Missis is not upstairs.” - -“Not upstairs! Then where is she, pray? Tell me at once.” - -For answer the old woman covered her face with her snowy apron and burst -into tears. - -“What is the meaning of this?” the young man demanded. “Has anything -happened? Where is Cora? Don’t you see how you are torturing me?” - -“I don’t know. Indeed I don’t! She just put on her plainest dress and -says to me: ‘I is going away, aunty, you can keep dis as a present from -me,’ and she gi’ me a purse all filled with gold. ‘You is to remain -here,’ she says, ‘until the massa comes and den you gi’ him dis.’ Then -she gi’ me lettah, and dat is all I knows.” - -His face was ashy white and his hand shook as with palsy as the negress -handed him the missive which he instinctively knew was a farewell from -the one woman who was dearer to him than life. A deadly fear crept into -his heart as he went into the little parlor and closed the door as if to -shut out the glad sunlight while he read the words that had been penned -with a broken heart. Here and there a stain, a tell-tale mark had been -left by a falling tear. - - -“You will forget,” she wrote, “that such a one as I have ever crossed -your path. It is better thus. It seems my destiny only to bring pain and -suffering to those who love me. - -“Do not fear I may sink again to the level on which you found me and -from which you rescued me. You have taught me a woman’s real worth and -no degrading action or word shall ever again soil my life. I was -reckless and daring to accept the priceless boon of your love without -first inquiring if you were free to love. I did not know, O, I did not -know, that law and custom had already bound you to another. I cannot -permit you to make a criminal of yourself, and when you return I will be -gone. Don’t seek to find me. What would be the use? The world is wide -and somewhere I shall be able to live out this life which consists of so -much more pain than joy. I am young and strong, and shall find work -somewhere. Good bye! Farewell, my Owen, my lover. Reserve in your memory -one little spot of green for your own unhappy. - - CORA.” - - -The closely written sheets fluttered from his hand and fell unheeded to -the floor. His head sank upon his arm where it fell upon the table. Thus -he sat long hours. The day had gone out in the gloaming. The twilight -hours passed and ushered in the dark night and still he sat there. Then -he arose and dragged his weary footsteps to the pretty bed chamber which -was to know her no more. There, where he had spent so many sweet and -indescribably happy hours, he threw himself upon the bed and buried his -face in the snowy pillows which her head had so often pressed. - -At sunrise he left the sacred abode. He told the old negress to remain -and take care of the little home just the same as if her mistress were -there. Giving her a well filled purse he turned his back upon the place -where love had been wont to welcome him and went straight to the mansion -where dwelt the haughty Leonie, his wife. - - * * * * * - -“I will never give in! Never! never! I would scratch the eyes out of her -white face first!” - -The shrill voice almost shrieked the words and the black eyes of the -angry woman flashed fire as the white face twitched with fury which -transformed it until it became almost hideous. - -“I would murder the brazen hussy ere I would ——” - -“Not another word! I will not hear your vile tongue defame her whose -shoes you are not worthy to wipe. Yon have driven my poor girl away. If -sin there be, it is mine. She never knew I had a wife. She was content -to give me her love until you drove her forever out of my life. So on -that score you can rest easy, but I repeat that I will not continue this -farce any longer. I have crossed the threshold of the dwelling that you -call home for the last time. I shall sever now and for all time every -tie that binds me to you. You can retain this house if you wish it. I do -not want it. I shall deposit a million dollars at my banker’s to your -credit. Then you can apply for a divorce just as soon as you may -desire.” - -To be mistress of this lordly mansion was by no means a small thing. -When he made the declaration that she was to retain it together with a -princely fortune, an iron band seemed to loosen from about Leonie’s -throat but she gave no sign of her intense gratification. - -Just then the tinkling of a bell was heard in the distance; a few -moments later a servant appeared with a card. Before Leonie could step -forward, Owen had already secured the card and as the man again -noiselessly withdrew he cast a quick glance at the name inscribed -thereon, - -“‘Wilson Porter!’ Your name, fair lady, has lately often enough been -coupled with this one, and as Wilson Porter is neither a fool nor a -knave, to the best of my knowledge, I am sorry for him. He deserves a -better fate than to be drawn in by a woman of the Leonie Hunter stamp. -The immaculate woman who could hurl such withering scorn on an -unfortunate sister really ought not to throw stones as she herself is -the inmate of a glass house.” - -He turned and left her standing there, and as he opened the door to pass -out he lifted his hat to Wilson Porter who had come to conduct Leonie to -Mrs. Van Gorden’s reception. - -For days and weeks Owen kept up an incessant search for the missing girl -but no trace could be found of her whereabouts. His face became haggard, -his manner nervous and restless. Sleep fled his eyes, and as summer gave -way to autumn, followed by dreary winter, the conviction slowly forced -itself upon the mind of the lonely and embittered man that his dream of -bliss had ended. - -Never in all this time had he seen Leonie. His life with her had been a -miserable failure and he never wished to see the dark passionate face -again. And in reality Leonie cared very little for the doings of her -truant husband. Now as before she queened it in society. As a matter of -course it was accepted that Wilson Porter on all occasions should be her -escort. The society world had become accustomed to that fact; there was -no longer anything new and strange about it. - -But if Leonie cared little, Owen cared still less, and as on the clear -frosty night of Christmas eve the clanging of the merry bells were -calling the orthodox masses both rich and poor to commemorate the -birthnight of a world’s redeemer, he stood watching the surging masses -with a scornful smile curling the finely chiseled lips, he murmured: - -“I wonder how much Christian love and charity has done to make the world -better. Bah! nothing but cupidity, sordid lust for gain, fill the hearts -of one class, whilst superstition, prejudice and ignorance rule the -other. The one class rivets the chains; the other hugs them. O how -beautiful the world might be if poor groveling humanity would but be -natural. Of all things under the sun possessed of life and motion the -human family alone is taught it is wrong to be natural, that it is right -to outrage nature’s laws, even though death be the penalty. - -“I wonder if, in all New York to night, there is one who is more -wretchedly poor and desolate than I am, with my millions? Of what use -are they to me? They cannot buy me happiness.” - -The heart-sick man paced the streets until they were wholly deserted. A -restless spirit kept him on the move until the bells of the Christmas -morn proclaimed “Peace upon earth, good will to men.” Again the scornful -smile curved his lips as he whispered: “Where is it? O, where is this -chanted peace? - -As he was beginning to feel tired and was about to return to his hotel -his attention was attracted by the movements of a man a short distance -in advance of him who was staggering along the street as if intoxicated. -Impelled by some strange fascination Owen followed, never for a moment -taking his eyes off the figure in advance. The reeling man soon came to -Riverside drive, and thence to the Park which he entered and passed -through the winding paths down to the river’s edge. His movements became -more and more suspicious. Owen quickened his steps almost to a run and -just as he was on the verge of taking the fatal leap he reached the side -of the stranger, and hastily grasping him by the arm he quickly drew him -back. The man reeled and almost fell from the force of the impelling -motion. When he regained his equilibrium he turned his white and stern -face upon Owen who dared to interfere with his actions. - -“Let go my arm,” came in a husky gasp from his lips. “By what right do -you compel me to remain where there is nothing but pain and sorrow, -where all is cruel deceit, blackness and lies, while down there in the -clear depths peace and rest await me?” - -Owen retained his grasp while he looked the other full in the face. He -saw it clearly now. The man was not intoxicated; he was sick. The eyes -glowed feverishly from their hollow sockets, his cheeks were sunken, -what were to be seen of them, for the lower part of his face was covered -with a handsome flowing beard. - -“You are sick,” said Owen, “and are raving.” - -“Sick? Yes! Raving? Ha! ha! ha!” The wild weird laughter made Owen think -he was confronting a madman. “So would you rave were the bloodhounds of -the law hunting, dogging your every step.” Another chill crept over -Owen. Was it a desperate criminal he had encountered? Had he made a -mistake in attempting to interfere with the action of this stranger? -Then again, when he looked closer, he did not believe it. By the bright -light of the full moon the face before him showed not a single trace of -what he would expect to find in the face of a criminal. Sick and -delirious he might be, but nothing else. Speaking in an authoritative -manner he said: - -“Come with me. This is no place for you. I will see that you are taken -home and cared for.” - -“Home! Ha! ha! What a mockery the word is. I wonder if any one ever has -known by experience what the word implies?” - -Owen was beginning to feel the effects of the cold. Here by the water’s -edge it was doubly keen and the standing still added still more to it. -Once more he spoke. “Come, you can not stand here all night, and surely -you have thought better of the rash action you contemplated. At any rate -I shall not move from your side until you come with me.” - -A bitter smile for a moment rested upon the bearded face of the -stranger, then he said: - -“Very well, some other time will do as well. Lead. I will follow, and -then explain why on this night of all others, when the world is -rejoicing over the birth of a redeemer I came so near seeking and -finding a watery grave.” - -Owen accompanied the staggering stranger to Seventh avenue where they -had the good fortune to find a cab. Both men got in and were driven -rapidly to the hotel where Owen was staying, arriving there just as the -gray dawn was breaking. Having reached Owen’s rooms the stranger sank -exhausted into a cushioned chair. Owen assisted him to disrobe and -placed him on the couch where he was soon sleeping soundly, then -stretched his tired limbs upon a lounge and in a little while he also -was in the land of dreams. - -It was almost noon when Owen awoke. He arose and walked over to the bed -whereon the stranger was still sleeping. While debating the advisability -of awakening the man before him the stranger opened his eyes. A -bewildered look for a moment filled them, then returning memory brought -with it recognition of the face before him and the circumstances which -brought him into the present surroundings. A bitter smile moved the -bearded lips as he half rose. Leaning his head upon his hand he let his -gaze wander about the luxurious apartment; biting scorn was in his words -as he spoke: - -“It is not likely that you, who can afford surroundings like these, -would ever attempt so desperate a deed as you prevented me from doing a -few hours ago.” - -“Why did you do it?” - -“Why did I do it? You cannot realize to what utter despair and darkness -you have called me back. I will have all these battles to fight over -again, and the struggle is not an easy one, I can assure you.” - -The bitterness that rang through every word betokened a despair that was -deep seated, and Owen’s heart was touched deeply. - -“Tell me, and let me judge. But first, however, I think it would be -advisable to take care of the inner man. So while you arrange your -toilet, I will order some breakfast. It is somewhat late in the day for -that meal and all the more necessary that it should be partaken of.” - -Accordingly a generous repast was ordered which was served in an -adjoining apartment. After they had finished their meal they drew their -chairs before the fire. The stranger leaned his head with its heavy -clustering hair upon one hand and sat staring into the glowing coals. -Owen did not disturb his train of thought but patiently awaited his -pleasure, and by and by he was rewarded. The hand dropped and the head -was raised. - -“And now, since you have shown an interest in my case, I shall tell you -my story briefly. For years I have been the only support of a widowed -mother, an only sister and a delicate younger brother. My father has -been dead quite a number of years and sad as is the fact, it was rather -a relief to be rid of him. The more pitiful because of the fact that he -was a very intellectual man once, but hard luck during the early years -of his married life, when it seemed that there was no work for him to do -even though he offered his service for a mere pittance, had embittered -him. He had loved the girl he married and bright were his visions of the -future. But his misfortune made him desperate and he took to drink, -which transformed the gentle-tempered, loving man into a veritable -demon. Forgetting that unkind fate had already placed a much too heavy -burden upon the slender shoulders of the delicate woman the demon of -jealousy took possession of him. Discord dwelt where love and tenderness -once held supreme sway. - -“Only when at great intervals he let drink alone long enough to clear -his befuddled brain, would the intelligent mind assert itself. But the -realization of his wretched condition and surroundings would then drive -him almost distracted and he would return to his cups with a wilder -abandon than ever. When in a drunken brawl he was struck down and they -brought the livid corpse to the wretched abode he had called home, the -unhappy family were conscious of a feeling of relief rather than that of -sorrow. - -“I was then but fourteen years old, but tall for my age and on me fell -the task of supporting my mother and younger brother and sister. It was -little, indeed, that a lad of my age could earn; but we fared better -than hitherto. And as I grew older and was able to earn more our -condition improved. - -“As my education had been sadly neglected in my childhood and I began to -realize it, I determined yet to master it, so my evenings were now -devoted to study. My sister, a very pretty and charming girl, when she -became old enough also added her mite by becoming a factory girl. Her -beauty made her position a difficult one, and her warm love nature, -which had been starved into a craving hunger, caused her to fall an easy -prey to the handsome, wealthy young scoundrel who was the son of the -factory owner. - -“Her condition soon became apparent and when I questioned her she broke -down and confessed the whole pitiful story. She had not even the tender -words and caresses of her lover, now, to support her. He had tired of -his plaything and cast her aside. I understood what arts are employed to -lure to her destruction a poor loving creature and could only pity her -from the bottom of my heart. Not so, however, my mother. She had been -reared within the narrow confines of the church. Her standard of virtue -was, ‘touch me not,’ regardless of what the circumstances might have -been. So the mother who should have been her stay and comfort only cast -reproaches upon the head of the despairing girl, driving her almost -insane. My brother, too, would not forgive her for the disgrace she had -brought upon him. He would not speak to her. I have often seen him draw -back at her approach that her clothing might not brush against him. - -“Of course he was very young then, only a boy, not yet fifteen, but it -would cut me to the heart to see the blood mount to her face. When it -became unbearable she would fly to me and I would try all in my power to -pacify her; drawing upon myself the condemnation of the others, who -could not understand how I could countenance such shamelessness. - -“But even my sympathy could not sustain the breaking heart, and when the -trying hour came her strength failed, and with a little stillborn -girl-baby folded in her arms my beautiful sister was laid out of sight. - -“Although my mother wept bitter tears, I fear she felt much relieved -that the matter ended as it did, for now grass would grow over the grave -of Millie’s shame. Robert, my brother, also seemed deeply affected. But -her name was never mentioned now. I knew best what the poor girl had -suffered, and it was a long time ere I could forgive either my mother or -my brother. Robert was not very sweet-tempered at best. From his birth -he had been delicate. A puny, fretful infant, he came at a time when the -nightly debauches of my father set my mother almost wild, souring an -otherwise gentle and loving nature. - -“Notwithstanding his ailings, however, he was his mother’s favorite. -Though his advent had been dreaded, upon his arrival her heart went out -to him with a spasmodic passion. She never refused him anything it was -in her power to give, thereby showing a decided weakness of character. - -“This was the worst thing she could have done, as it had the tendency to -develop all the bad traits of Robert’s weak character. As he was -physically unfit for work the support of the family rested entirely upon -my shoulders. But as the years sped by there came a change. A saucy -black-eyed maiden crossed my path and my fate was sealed. I loved her -with all the strength of my passionate nature. To me she seemed perfect -and I had no greater desire than to make her my wife. First, however, I -felt it my duty to tell her of the sad history of my early life. She -gave the black curls a saucy toss and said she could not see how all -this should possibly effect us any. I caught her in my arms and strained -her to my breast, my heart filled with admiration of the grand nobility -of character, which I thought was exhibited in those words; never once -dreaming that it was her very lack of character which prompted that -declaration.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXXXI. - - -“In a short time we were married. But my dream of happiness was short -lived. My wife and my mother had little in common, and often the -passionate red lips would utter words that wounded the elder woman to -the very heart. I soon saw how matters stood but was unable to control -them. I pleaded with Annie, I reasoned with my mother; but the two -beings whom I loved better than any others in the world had no love for -each other. Several times I spoke sharply to Annie and to my surprise -Robert sided with my wife against me and the mother who worshiped him. -This seemed to break her heart and it was not long until she closed her -eyes in her last long sleep. - -“When all was over I again sought to reason with my wife. I folded her -to my heart whilst I could scarcely repress the sobs that would well up -from its depths. It seemed to me that she at first shrank from me, but I -thought it must be only imagination. - -“She now often treated me to perfect storms of passionate caresses and I -was as wax in her band. No request could I deny her, and I found myself -rapidly sinking in debt. But I should not blame her. Poor child! she -knew no better. She had been left an orphan at an early age; cuffed -about from place to place, her heart always full of longings which were -never satisfied. When she married me she believed all that would be at -an end. What one man could do for his wife another should also do for -his. That this was impossible she could not understand. - -“Sometimes I felt like cursing her, then overwhelmed by a rush of -tenderness I would almost crush her in my embrace and again she would -win the victory. But the time came when I felt the waves closing over my -head, and I surely must have been mad or I would never have done what I -did.” - -The voice of the man broke and a suspicious moisture could be seen in -his eyes. For a moment, he laid his hand over them ere he proceeded: - -“I robbed my employer’s safe of ten thousand dollars. I knew I would be -received with a storm of kisses and caresses which would outweigh -everything else. Let come what would, for once she should be perfectly -happy. - -“With the stolen treasure in my pocket I hurried home, a full hour -earlier than usual, in a state of delirious excitement bordering upon -insanity. I found the door locked, but having my latch key with me I did -not ring but quietly let myself in. - -“The little parlor was deserted; so was the dining room and kitchen. The -soft carpet deadened the sound of my footsteps. I went from room to room -and in Robert’s room I heard voices. The door stood slightly ajar. -Touching it lightly it opened several inches wider and the sight that -met my eyes broke my heart. Clasped close in each other’s arms; their -heads pressing the same pillow, were Robert and my wife. A quick -movement opened the door wide with a creaking sound; the two heard and -both started up as if electrified. Annie screamed and clapped both hands -to her face. Robert’s face was a study. Hate and defiance were written -in every line of it. With a sudden movement he took a revolver from his -pocket and leveled it at my heart. But quick as was his action I -forestalled him. With a single bound I gave his arm an upward blow -sending the bullet into the ceiling and the revolver to the far end of -the room. - -“‘Madman!’ I cried. ‘What would you do? Have you not enough upon your -conscience that you would commit murder?’ - -“The sullen, defiant look upon his face deepened. - -“‘I hate you!’ he almost hissed. ‘You are a constant bar to my -happiness.’ - -“Unjust as I knew this accusation to be I made no comment upon it but -asked: - -“‘Tell me one thing, and without prevarication. Do you love Annie?’ - -“Quick as a flash came the answer, - -“‘I do!’ - -“‘And you, Annie, do you love Robert?’ - -“But Annie sobbed and would not give an intelligible answer, until I -sternly repeated the question, and then, between broken sobs: - -“‘O, I cannot help it. Indeed, indeed I cannot help it.’ - -“Staggering as beneath a blow I steadied myself for a moment against the -table, then, with a mighty effort of will recovering myself, I took the -stolen money from my pocket and threw it on the table. - -“‘Take it,’ I said, ‘and make the most of it. I have now no use for it. -Be happy if you can, I shall no longer stand in the way. You are free in -every sense of the word to do as you choose.’ - -“I turned to leave the room when Annie threw herself sobbing in my way. -She clung to me in passion and despair, asserting again and again that -she ‘could not help it.’ Almost forcibly I loosened her hold and -pointing to the money on the table I said to Robert, - -“‘See to it, that you handle the money wisely, and remember that this -girl now depends upon you for the comfort, of life. I have done with -both of you!’ - -“Overcome by a sudden impulse I once more caught her in my arms, -clasping her close to my breast. I pressed a last kiss upon her lips, -then putting the half-fainting form from me I rushed out into the cold -night air. I surely need say no more. You now can understand what drove -me to the verge of desperation. To find the woman who had driven me to -the verge of ruin, untrue, was more than I could bear. A day or two and -I would stand before the world exposed. The shame, the disgrace and the -walls of Sing Sing loomed up before my mind’s eye. I had been a slave -all my life to adverse conditions. And now to lose the one boon that I -prized above all others—my liberty! No, I would die first! And yet I had -it not in my heart to wish any ill to those two. True, I felt bitter -towards my brother, but for some reason the fact of his actual -helplessness was more clear in my mind than ever before. Have there not -been countless cases wherein this very defect has appealed to the hearts -of strong, healthy women?—and her pitiful ‘I cannot help it’ kept -ringing in my ears. I knew I never loved her more dearly than in the -moment I gave her up, or ever felt more tenderly towards him. - -“Many conflicting thoughts surged through my brain; while constantly I -questioned, ‘Why? why?’ And you may think me mad, sir, but the more I -thought the more I blamed not them, the chief actors in this life -tragedy, but the system from which such abnormal conditions could arise, -and in one day make criminals of us all.” - -Owen listened as if entranced. The excited man had arisen and was pacing -the room with hurried strides, wildly tossing the masses of dark curling -locks. After a few moments he continued: - -“Often and often I had gnashed my teeth in helpless fury when the few -paltry dollars were laid in my hands that constituted the remuneration -for work which I knew was worth more than fourfold that which I -received. I knew if justice could be done I had only taken my own. But -that was not law. - -“Now my mind wandered in another direction. I knew Annie and Robert had -been thrown long hours together in my absence. His weak, delicate -condition first awoke her sympathy, and ‘pity is akin to love.’ The -frequent squabbling during the life time of my mother helped develop -these feelings in her heart. So the weakling, who all his life had been -scorned and shunned by health-and-strength-loving maidens, suddenly -found himself the object of tender and sympathetic glances, and what -wonder that his starved heart became inflamed? I could see the whole -proceeding was but natural. But oh, the shame of it. No one else in all -New York would look at the matter as I did, when it became known. But -then the thought struck me, ‘Was it necessary?’ and must I fill a -convict’s cell? I answered: ‘No! No! No! Never!’ Thus for many hours I -walked the streets, thinking, thinking, thinking, until I found myself -at the water’s edge about to end all the maddening perplexities, when -your hand stayed my movements. So now you are in possession of facts -which I had expected to take with me into my watery grave.” - -The strange recital was at an end. Wearily the narrator flung himself -into his chair and leaned back, white and exhausted. The bitter but -musical voice was hushed while Owen Hunter sat with his head resting on -his hand, lost in thought. Was the life of every good man a wreck? For -that the man who sat before him was a good man he had not a single -doubt. Aside from the bitter experience of his own life he had never -thought of the struggling, suffering masses of humanity. Ten thousand -dollars! He had no doubt that the sum seemed an enormous fortune to the -man before him, while to Owen it seemed scarce worth mentioning. - -“What salary,” he asked, “did you receive?” - -A bitter smile curved the lips of the other. - -“Fifty dollars per month.” - -Fifty dollars! How often had Owen thoughtlessly squandered as much and -more in a single evening; and here was a man who with his family had to -live a whole month on it. For the first time in his life the question -arose why it was that those who were the producers of all wealth should -have so little of it to enjoy; for the first time he asked himself. -“Have you a right to control so much money, while so many others are -suffering for the actual necessaries of life?” What had he ever done to -alleviate human suffering? In memory he saw large figures heading long -lists of charity. “Charity!” Suddenly the word seemed to him the most -cold and heartless in the English language. To offer charity where -justice was due! In that instant he resolved that the sons and daughters -of humanity, the many poverty stricken little children, should reap the -benefit of the money he controlled. He did not yet see his way clear, -and for the moment very wisely left the selection of methods to the -future. The present hour belonged to the deeply stricken man who had -permitted him to read the pages of his sad history. - -“Will you not tell me your name?” he sympathetically inquired. - -“My name?” With indescribable bitterness he spoke the words. “Why should -I not give it you? All New York will be ringing with it in a few days -when it will be known that the assistant bookkeeper of the firm of -Hunter & Co. has proven false to his trust. My name is Milton Nesbit!” - -As if electrified Owen turned upon the man before him. - -“Repeat the name of the firm by which you were employed!” - -“Hunter & Co.” - -With a gasping sound Owen sank back, pale to the very lips. Surprised, -Milton Nesbit turned inquiringly to him. - -“Why, what is wrong; are you ill? - -Owen shook his head. - -“No! no! It is not that, but——Well, why should I search for empty words? -My name is Owen Hunter!” - -It was now Milton Nesbit’s turn to gasp with surprise. He had been -holding his position some two years and in all that time had never seen -the senior member of the firm. He had been told it had not always been -thus; but for several years Owen Hunter no longer took an active part in -the business, and most of the newcomers had never seen the man for whom -they were coining and piling up money. - -Milton Nesbit felt a strange thrill as his eyes rested upon the man who -was to be his judge. An unspeakable bitterness vibrated through his -voice when he again spoke. - -“If you are the Owen Hunter of Hunter & Co. and if I were a good -Christian I should say that the workings of an Almighty God could be -traced in the events of this most fateful day; that he so willed it that -it must be just the man whom I have robbed whose hand should stay the -act which would have freed me from an accursed fate. But this just God -who is said to be all love will not have it so. Earthly justice must -first be satisfied; the almighty wrath must first be appeased by giving -man a chance to avenge himself upon his fellow man. I simply call it -cruel, relentless fate, which has pursued me so many years and which -dates from the earliest recollections of my childhood. Very well! pass -the sentence which I know lies in your power to enforce, for ‘money -rules the world,’ you know. Hand me over to the guardians of the peace -and let the law take its course. It matters little what becomes of me -now. I may as well sleep behind prison bars as anywhere else. The -sunshine of happiness has long since forsaken me; lost in the gloom and -darkness of despair.” - -Oh, the bitterness, the hopeless misery in the strong man’s voice. He -had risen and walked back and forth the full length of the room, then -with his elbow resting upon the mantel, his hand supporting his head, he -stood glaring into the glowing coals, awaiting his sentence. But Owen -now no longer calmly sat enjoying the comforts of the room. As the other -ceased speaking he stepped to his side and gently laying his hand upon -his shoulder, said: - -“Will you look me in the face?” - -Silently Nesbit turned and faced Owen. For some minutes they stood thus -face to face; then Owen’s hand was extended. - -“May I ask you to give me your hand in friendship?” - -Surprise was depicted upon Nesbit’s face as he looked at the -outstretched palm, and then inquiringly into the face of the man to whom -it belonged. - -“Friendship?” echoed Milton Nesbit, while he nervously passed his hand -over his forehead as if he would dispel the mists which seemed to him to -be gathering there. - -“And why not? Am I selfish when I ask it? But with my millions a true -friend is something which I have not, and now I am waiting to feel the -clasp of genuine friendship. Do I ask in vain?” - -Milton Nesbit’s face was a study. Queer little quivers were stirring the -muscles. Sinking once more into his chair he buried his face in both -hands. For some time neither spoke, then the deeply moved man raised his -head and looked the other searchingly in the eye. - -“And how about the criminal?” - -“Do you feel yourself one?” - -The flash in the dark eye answered him even before the firmly spoken -words: - -“No, I do not!” - -“Then once more I extend my hand and ask, will you be my friend and -brother? I might be able to give you an insight into a life that would -verify the words, ‘All is not gold that glitters.’” - -There was now no hesitation, and in that handclasp a life-long -friendship was sealed. A Christmas morn it was to these two, that all -their lives stood out clear and bright. - -All that afternoon the two men sat in that quiet comfortable room, and -as Owen had first listened to one of the saddest of life histories, so -now, in turn, he opened his heart to his new friend, and in the first -hour of his new-found friendship he proved it no idle phrase, for in -this hour he claimed Nesbit’s trust and full confidence. If Milton could -not at first give his sanction to an affair like that of Owen, who -having already a wife, however unworthy, could take to his heart another -woman, and finding her as he had found her, should hold her above all -other women—this certainly, should excite no surprise. - -Remembering the woman who, though false to him, he still loved, Milton -could not sit in judgment and condemn this other woman who had given the -wealth of her love to Owen without first asking leave of some third -person or persons. Just at present he could see nothing clearly. He -could feel, but was in no condition to reason. Owen saw and understood, -and knowing that in his present condition the best thing for Milton was -change—change of scene and of mental occupation, he at once decided to -put into execution a long-deferred plan of his own. He would travel; he -would take Nesbit with him as traveling companion; and just then he -remembered an old college mate whom he had not seen for many years. Why -not begin the proposed journey by making a call upon the friend of his -youth? - -Accordingly a dispatch was at once sent to announce their coming and in -a very few days the two friends, who had become such in a way so strange -and unexpected, were comfortably seated in a luxurious Pullman car en -route for the west. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXXII. - - -And thus it is that the threads of our story once more unite. Again the -figure of a man is pacing up and down the platform, awaiting the -incoming train and, at last it comes thundering in and makes a brief -halt, Norman’s eyes rest upon the stalwart, manly figure of the -companion of his earlier days, and the clasp of the hand that follows is -almost painful. But even in that first quick meeting, when joy lights up -the eyes of both, Norman sees the change in his old-time friend; sees -the lines that the flight of years alone has not engraven on the -handsome face. - -“What is it Owen? There is that in your face which tells me all is not -well. Have you been sick?” - -“Heart-sick—yes! to the extent that life sometimes seems but a burden?” - -“Why should a man of almost unlimited wealth, such as you possess, speak -in such a strain?” - -“Why, indeed! You speak as though wealth could buy happiness.” - -“And can it not? Do you not know what untold, what inconceivable misery -could be turned to joy with the assistance of wealth?” - -“In thousands of cases, yes. In my own instance, no! Wealth cannot heal -a breaking heart, cannot buy the happiness which has fled.” - -“I believe I possess a panacea for an evil such as yours. The society of -sweet women will restore you to life and love.” - -“Don’t speak of woman and love to me. I have done with em!” Norman -smiled. - -“O, I have touched the right cord, have I? But that is a bold assertion -which you have just made—that you have done with women forever. Yet I -assert that you must—you must and you will be won.” - -“Don’t you know that I am a married man?” - -For a moment Norman looked him searchingly in the face; then, as if -satisfied, replied, - -“And what if you are? Are you sure that that fact should prove a barrier -to future happiness?” - -Owen Hunter in turn now looked Norman searchingly in the face— - -“How am I to understand you? That the Norman I once knew, and who I know -possessed such high-strung ideas of honor, should express himself thus?” - -A slight flush rose to Norman’s brow. Hastily he opened his lips to -answer but as quickly checked himself—— - -“No more, now! This is scarce a proper place to discuss the sort of -topics we are drifting into. Without doubt ere we part there will be -moments more opportune for thorough discussion. At present I am eager to -introduce you into a most charmed and charming circle.” - -Owen shook his head. - -“I have come to you for quiet, Norman. My heart is sore, and needs rest. -I would rather not meet strangers. Besides I have with me a friend whom -I wish to introduce to you; also to ask your forbearance for thus -imposing on your hospitality as that is what I am about to do. Another -storm-tossed soul in need of rest and quiet; one who has drained the -bitter-cup of sorrow to its very dregs.” Turning he approached a man who -had hitherto stood motionless at some little distance. A man well worth -looking at. Tall, well proportioned; dark, heavy beard and clustering -hair; with an unspeakable sadness in the deep, gray eyes. - -“I claim your hospitality for Milton Nesbit, as well as for myself, and -promise that neither shall be too great a burden on your kindness, if -you can secure us the welcome of your mother and sisters. I know it is -much I ask of you, as our intimacy in the past years can scarcely be -called by the name of friendship—but permit me, Mr. Nesbit, this is the -friend of my college days, Norman Carlton, of whom I have been telling -you.” - -Extending his hand and firmly grasping that of the stranger, Norman -said: - -“Permit me to welcome any friend that Owen Hunter may introduce. You are -worthy, or he would not ask it: As for our friendship in the past, if we -have not been intimate friends it has not been for lack of mutual -attraction but rather that the ties that bound us were not close enough, -and it is not too late to make them closer. I always felt the most -profound admiration for the sunny tempered youth I knew as Owen Hunter. - -“Thank you, for your generous welcome,” replied a grave, musical voice. -“I am but as an instrument in the hands of Mr. Hunter. I follow where he -leads. Later I hope you will bid me welcome on my own account.” - -“Spoken like a man. I feel that already I may speak the words of welcome -in your own behalf. But come, dinner will be waiting, and in a well -regulated household, as you both understand, to the good housewife that -is abomination, and my mother knows what good housekeeping is. But set -your mind at rest; she will tender you the welcome I ask for my friends. -Formal and precise she may be, but she is also a most gracious hostess. -My sisters also you will find pleased to meet you. But they do not -belong to the charmed circle to which I insist on introducing you. No -protests! I will have my way. You are already announced, and in this -instance I mean to be firm. You would scarcely be a man if our many -charmers cannot succeed in dispelling the clouds, and a man must be of -flinty hardness who could listen to our song-bird, sweet, winsome Cora, -without being moved.” - -Owen started. - -“Cora! did you say?—Cora? But pshaw! why should I excite myself over a -name. There are hundreds of Coras in the world. But lead on. We are -ready to follow.” - -So they piled into the cutter and as they dashed over the snow quite -forgot their sorrows, and as events of their college years were gone -over they soon felt better acquainted than they had ever felt in the -olden days. But Milton Nesbit was quiet, very quiet. He only spoke when -spoken to, and Owen now realized that it would be better for him to -mingle more with others in order to awaken again in that crushed and -bleeding heart an interest in life—to deaden the pain that was ever -gnawing at his vitals, and though at first Nesbit refused to join the -two friends when evening drew near, preferring to remain at home, and -although Owen, too, would have much preferred to remain in the seclusion -of his room, he feared to hurt the feelings of his kind host, and -therefore sacrificed his own desire to that of Norman’s. As for Milton, -Owen believed it absolutely necessary that he should accompany them, and -insisted on his doing so. - -Unwilling to seem boorish, with a sigh Nesbit prepared to make a martyr -of himself. So when Norman’s cutter drew up to the Westcot mansion he -brought two guests instead of the one expected, but both were made -equally welcome. For some reason Norman had not mentioned the name of -his intended guest. No intentional oversight, I ween. He had never heard -the name of Cora’s lover and therefore could not have known the link -binding these two, so when the name of Owen Hunter was announced, each -of the girls started. Owen must have thought, for an instant, that they -acted strangely, but quickly recovering themselves they extended a -hearty welcome. Soft white hands were clasped in the manly ones; rosy -lips were wreathed in sweetest smiles. But as Norman’s eyes went about -the room he missed Cora, and he asked Imelda where her sister was. - -“I believe she was telling baby Norma a story and when that was finished -Meta wanted a song, so when she gets through entertaining the little -folks she will no doubt make her appearance,” she said. - -Owen again started—upon being presented to Imelda Ellwood, and the two -names kept forming themselves into one. “Cora, Ellwood; Cora, Ellwood!” -Surely he must be going mad. It was only a coincidence, thought he. To -find his own sweet girlie here would be too good to be true. So he -devoted himself to Imelda and found himself admiring the intelligent, -gravely sweet girl who was so well informed on whatever subject might be -broached. - -Milton Nesbit had been passed round, so to say, from one fair maid to -another, and all were struck with the sad beauty of his manly face, but -unable to elicit many words from him, as his thoughts were many miles -away with the fair woman he had left behind him. But now it was Alice -who was talking to him. That incessant little chatterbox did not give -him much time to talk or to think, even if he had been so inclined,—she -had so much herself to say. It was said in a way so quaint and sweet, -and as she was mistress of the house and a married woman he felt himself -more at ease and more free in her society, and ere long she managed to -hold his attention, and soon he found himself admiring the dainty color -in her cheeks, the pearly teeth gleaming from between rosy lips, the -mischief sparkling in the clear blue eye, while her voice sounded like -tinkling music. The large room was pretty well filled with ladies and -gentlemen, but as she pointed each one out to him it was with a word of -praise and love for some peculiar trait, attraction or accomplishment. -Not one disparaging word, and as his eyes followed her indications he -thought he had never found so much harmony. - -While his eyes were roving from one to another they rested on Cora who -had but just entered the room. Was it that he had not seen her before, -or was it that she possessed some feature more attractive than the -others? His eyes followed her every movement as she gracefully found her -way to the piano and seating herself thereat began a prelude, and soon -the rich, full voice filled the room with its rare music, while the -sweet tones slightly trembled as the words dropped from her lips: - - Across the sobbing sea of doom - The weary world is slowly drifting. - Eyes wet with tears peer through the gloom, - Yet see no sign of rest or rifting. - Still angels bright from some far height, - Repeat through hoots of weary waking— - “Hope’s starlight shines through darkest night, - To keep the world’s great heart from breaking!” - -Listening to the words they all knew there was an undercurrent of -meaning attached to the simple strain that a stranger would not be apt -to detect. And yet Milton Nesbit understood, as well as if the story had -been told him in so many words, that the gifted singer had known sorrow, -and slowly his gaze sought Owen Hunter. What was it? Owen had risen from -Imelda’s side, evidently unconscious that he was acting strangely, that -he was, to say the least, impolite. He had neither eyes nor ears for -anything else but the fair singer. As if fascinated the song drew him to -her side. He repeated the words: - - “Hope’s starlight shines through darkest night”— - -whispering them close to the pink shell ear, - -“O Cora, my own, is not the night over? May the morning now at last -dawn?” - -Quick as a flash Cora whirled about on her stool, and with the one glad -cry, “Owen!” cast herself into his arms, regardless of the many eyes -resting upon them, and was held by him in an embrace so close as if he -meant never again to let her go. - -As if in that one glad happy cry all her strength had been spent Cora -lay back faint and white in her anxious lover’s arms. Had the sudden joy -killed her? He strained her close and kissed the white cold lips; then -bearing her to a couch he began chafing her hands, helplessly looking -about, - -“She has fainted; can no one help me restore her?” - -Quickly an anxious circle gathered about her, but Paul Arthurs soon -reassured them. - -“It is nothing—only the reaction. She will be herself in a few moments.” - -Taking a small vial from an inside pocket of his coat he forced a few -drops between her lips and in a few moments had the satisfaction of -seeing her open her eyes. - -“Take her away where she can have rest and quiet for half an hour; then -she will be quite herself again.” - -Winding her arm about her, Imelda was about to conduct her away when -Owen laid his hand detainingly upon her arm, - -“Will you not permit me?” - -There was so much pleading in the manly voice and clear blue eyes that -Imelda could not refuse him. - -“You will take good care of her?” with a smile. - -“Will I?—as of my life! May I, Cora?” - -For answer Cora quietly laid her head against his shoulder, smiling into -his eyes, and thus he led her from the room. - -What if instead of the half hour they remained two long hours? and what -if they thought it such a very little while and that they had not had a -chance to say anything at all? Who would blame them? Doubtless it was -true that they had said very little. Their hearts were too full to -speak: too full of unutterable love and happiness, and certainly none in -that room thought of blaming them. And when they returned Imelda and -Norman were the first to greet them. Cora’s arms wound themselves about -her sister’s neck while the men clasped hands with an undercurrent of -feeling such as they had not felt before, - -“So this is your charmed circle?” asked Owen Hunter in a husky voice, -and smilingly Norman made answer: - -“Don’t you find it so?” - -There was a suspicious moisture in Owen’s eyes and his voice visibly -trembled when he again asked, - -“And no censure meets us here?” - -“Why should there be?” - -But the man of the world could not understand. His friend knew that he -had left a wife, that his love for this girl was an illicit one; yet -here he stood clasping his hand in a manner that seemed to indicate to -the fortune-tossed Owen that Norman was proud to do so. So he drew him -aside and asked the meaning of it all. - -Nothing loath, Norman devoted himself for the next half hour to -answering his eager queries, seeking to initiate him into the sweet -love-laden theories of the new doctrine to which he himself only a few -months ago had been a perfect stranger. Leaning against a pillar Owen -stood half hidden in an alcove, lost in amaze and wonder; his eyes -following every movement of the girl he so madly worshiped. - -But still another was watching and waiting for a solution of this -mystery. Milton’s sad gray eyes saw the happiness of his friend; had -seen him catch the fainting figure in his arms; had seen him press his -face against hers and kiss the white lips. He could only guess that in -some unlooked-for manner he had found the woman for whom he had so long -been vainly seeking, and in the excitement which followed he for a time -was overlooked and forgotten. But soon the merry peals of laughter, -sweet music and soft strains of song again filled the room, and then, at -the urgent request of Wilbur, Margaret read some strong dramatic scenes -from various plays, holding her listeners spellbound with the purity of -her voice, the strength and clearness of the rendition and the depth of -feeling which she exhibited. So, as the evening passed, Milton Nesbit -became more and more puzzled as to what it was that made this circle so -charming—so delightfully entertaining that all his perplexities were for -the time forgotten and that caused his sorrows to be dispelled as mist -in the sunshine, and his heart to grow warm once more. - -As he was one of the handsomest of the finely formed men in the room it -did not take long for feminine eyes to detect that fact. Many were the -admiring glances bestowed upon him. But there was something in the sad -face which forbade intruding. Only Alice—airy, fairy Alice, was not -backward. She again sought his side, showing him books, etchings, -engravings, and albums filled with selections of art gems. Her sweet, -airy manner, the soft tender voice, acted like a charm upon his -overwrought nerves, and he soon found himself thoroughly enjoying her. - -Lawrence, Wilbur, the young physician and the Wallace sisters had formed -a little circle and were discussing economics. Imelda was devoting -herself to her brother; making the evening pleasant for him; answering -his questions as to the meaning of Cora’s strange demeanor in connection -with this handsome and refined looking stranger. Frank had already -learned much, was learning every day, but all was not quite clear to him -yet as to what it was that made these pure-minded women and men so -different from others he had met and known in his reckless and checkered -life. She told him that it was a lover of their sweet and lovable Cora, -who, like himself, had once been reckless and wayward. Margaret, her -mother and Osmond formed another group to which still another was -attached. Homer had found a seat at Mrs. Leland’s feet, resting his head -against her knee, her hand gently toying with the clustering locks. The -boy said scarcely a word, only listened. Mrs. Leland had also very -little to say, only now and then a casual word. The brother and sister, -however, who until a few days ago had been as strangers, had much to -tell, and were opening their hearts, one to the other. Margaret was -delighted with the gems she found stored away in this boy’s mind. - -While in this quieter mood they were surprised by a sudden burst of -melody from the piano, evoked by the touch of a master hand. Nesbit -having confessed to Alice that he was musically inclined, that -bewitching morsel of humanity had so importuned him that, unable to -resist, he soon found his heart swelling with emotion as he evoked the -rich strains. This burst scattered the groups, and once more they formed -into one whole circle. Nesbit’s music was followed by singing and then -by Margaret’s selections, then in what seemed a very short space of -time, Cora and Owen were again of their number, and finally, when the -good nights were spoken it seemed there never had been quite such a -feeling of content lodged in the innermost recesses of every heart then -and there present. - -The following day brought back the two newcomers at quite an early hour. -They did not now protest against coming. They were there every day and -evening, until the hour of Margaret’s departure drew nigh. How brief the -time allowed them had seemed. Wilbur drank in the glory of the blue -wells, kissing the dewy lips again and again. Mrs. Leland folded her -child close. It seemed almost harder to let her go now than it had been -the first time. Osmond’s eyes grew dim. - -“I did not know how dear a sister might be. It will seem like a dream, -if I must give you up so soon.” And although Margaret’s heart was sad -she tried to hide it under a smiling exterior. - -“Never mind,” she said. “It will not be for long. A few short months -will soon pass by, then a long summer will be ours to do with just as we -see fit—a long delicious summer of enjoyment and planning. Listen! they -are planning now. We are in that, and must hear all about it.” - -Slipping one hand through Osmond’s arm, the other arm about the waist of -her mother she drew them to where the others had drawn a circle about -Hilda who, having been importuned, was trying to make plain that vague -sweet dream of her future co-operative home, and none so attentive, or -none more so than Owen. She spoke of the spacious halls where the ardent -searchers after knowledge of any kind might find their teacher; of the -library stocked with volumes from the ceiling to the floor; of the -lecture hall and the theater; of the opportunities where every talent -could be cultivated; of the liberty—the free life—where every fetter -should be broken; of the dining hall where they would partake of their -evening meal midst flowers and music; of the common parlor where every -evening should be an entertainment for all wherein love and genuine -sociability should always preside; of the sacred privacy of the rooms -where each man or woman should reign king or queen—the sanctum of each, -closed to all intruders, consecrated to the holiest and divinest of -emotions and self-enfoldment. She spoke of the grand conservatories -filled with choicest flowers—the sweet-scented blossoms, the trailing -vines, the exotic plants; of the spacious gardens, the sparkling, -ever-playing fountains; of the delicious, health-giving baths; of the -life of unconventionality,—of the abandon; of the nursery rooms where -baby lips were lisping their first words and little toddling feet taking -their first uncertain steps; of the things of beauty surrounding the -prospective mother; of the unutterably sweet welcome that awaited each -coming child; of the full understanding that would be taught to woman of -the responsibility of calling into a life a new being; of how man would -revere her, how he would wait and abide her invitation; of the sweet -co-operation and planning how all should be worked to keep up the -financial part. - -“O,” said she, “it should, it would be paradise!—this my dream. But ah -me! it is only a dream.” - -As a being transfixed Hilda stood among them, her eyes shining, her -cheeks glowing, her bosom heaving, looking far beyond them into space. A -feeling came over Lawrence Westcot as with bated breath his eyes rested -on her, of how utterly unworthy he was of the love of a creature so -grand, so superior. A still, small voice whispered, “Make yourself -worthy!”—and then and there a high resolve was formed in his mind that -he would surely do so. A solemn vow rose as a silent prayer from the -depths of his heart that some day he would realize that sweet -invitation. With him every man in the room became conscious of a feeling -of inferiority, but not an impulse to bow in humility. Rather each head -was crested higher with a feeling of lofty aspiration. - -Owen Hunter answered the closing remarks of Hilda’s dream picture: - -“Why, my dreaming maiden, should your dream be but a dream?” - -A sad smile played about her lips, - -“You forget that it is such an expensive one. It would take a fortune, -an almost limitless fortune, to build us such a home. Of course we could -be very, very happy in our little circle, as it is, in a much smaller -and less expensive home, but I would have it large, so that we might -welcome all who possess the same lofty thought to our circle, so that we -should be able to give to the world an object lesson in the art of -making life worth living, so grand and so glorious that the whole world -would want to imitate our example.” - -Owen smiled. - -“What an enthusiast! Take my advice, little one, and until this grand, -this glorious home can be ours, help us with your lofty aspirations, and -help us not to despise our more limited advantages and privileges. In -the meantime we will try to become more worthy of so perfect a home—as -some years must of necessity elapse ere it can be completed.” - -“Have I not said it is only a dream? How can I dare to hope it could -ever be realized; and when I come to this home, day after day, and -realize what privileges are ours the feeling sometimes comes to me, how -wrong-headed I am to be constantly sighing for still more.” - -Owen shook his head, - -“You are mistaken, Miss Hilda. Your sentiments and aspirations are not -wrong. Harmonious and beautiful as is the life that has been granted you -through the mutual understanding and sympathy of our kind host and -hostess, it is by no means complete. So dream on, plan on, and if there -is an architect in our circle he shall transfer these plans to paper, -and, as soon as practicable, we will look about us for a suitable site, -and when the spring sunshine calls all nature again to life, work shall -begin, and what has so long been only a vague dream shall, all in good -time, bloom into a living reality.” - -All eyes hung on the lips of the speaker. All ears drank in his words. -Could such a thing be possible? Only Cora seemed to understand. Pressing -close to his side, she drew his hand with a caressing motion to her -smiling lips. With a hasty movement he withdrew the hand to lay it on -the head covered with the soft fluffy hair; he pressed it close to him. -Hilda drew a step nearer and extending both hands, - -“You mean——O, Mr. Hunter! do you really mean that it can be done? that -the home can and shall be ours? But how? how?” - -Cora slipped down upon her knees at Hilda’s side and caught both hands -in hers. - -“Did I not tell you long ago, when I told you that story of my -heartaches and my noble lover, that he possessed almost limitless -wealth? He could not be one of us did he not consecrate some of his -millions to the happiness of others. It is in his power to lay the -foundation stone for the future ideal society, giving to the world an -example of how people should live. Don’t you see, my Hilda? Owen is -wealthy, and is going to build us our home.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXXXIII. - - -From that day forth a new life entered the charmed and charming circle. -Lawrence proved to be the architect required, though he had never called -his talent in this line to a practical account. Guided by Hilda’s vivid -imagination, inspired by her enthusiasm and aided by the practical -suggestions of Owen, the plan grew, and by the time the first green of -the young spring appeared upon the landscape they were ready for action. -Margaret had left them at the call of duty, and could only from afar -share in the excitement and enthusiasm. Every heart was beating high -with hope, and with the advent of warmer weather, Owen, Wilbur, Lawrence -and Norman kissed their loved ones good bye and started on a prospecting -tour. - -Mrs. Leland was importuned to remain with the girls. Why should she -return all alone to her western home?—though the probability now was -that the west would be where their new home would be located. Just at -this time, too, came the change that caused the sisters’ eyes to grow -dim with tears and a feeling of sadness to pervade every heart. Frank -was daily growing weaker, his cheek more hollow and white, his hands -more waxy, and intuitively the girls clung to the more mature woman. On -a bright sunny morning in the early part of May the tired lids closed, -never to open again. Although almost every day brought a letter from -some one of the absent ones yet they were still far-away when the death -angel made his entrance into the midst of this happy circle, subduing -their spirits with infinite sadness when they realized so well what had -caused this painful result. So Frank’s body was laid away to sleep -beneath the daisies, and Imelda’s and Cora’s tears mingled as they knew -that another bond was broken—only they two remained, united by ties of -blood, but they also realized that it was better so. At best he had been -to them but a wreck of what he might have been. Margaret had joined them -just in time to lay a flower upon his pulseless breast and was now with -them again for a brief time. - -The young physician, Paul Arthurs, and Milton Nesbit had settled close -by, and Paul was beginning to have quite a practice as he was fast -becoming known. For some time however, something seemed to have been -secretly gnawing at his heart, and when his manner had been warmest -towards the stately Edith he would suddenly and abruptly leave her, -until his conduct became quite an enigma to her. One morning he laid a -pack of written papers in her hand and told her to read, and——ah, well! -why dwell upon a sad story longer than absolutely necessary? He loved -the queenly girl but was conscious of such a lack of worth on his own -part that he felt it would be best to give her up. Somewhere under the -green sod slept a woman whom he believed the poison of his own body had -murdered. Having first made a wreck of himself, almost, by early -transgressions, the meaning of which he had been ignorant of, he had -later contracted the germs of a loathsome disease. In his unpardonable -ignorance he married a sweet, confiding, loving girl whom he loved with -all his heart but whom he irreparably wronged by permitting his poisoned -manhood to mingle with her pure womanhood; and when her baby girl was -laid in her arms her eyes closed in that sleep that knows no waking, and -the baby slept with her—under the circumstances the very best, probably, -that could have happened. He was quite young when all this occurred—in -the early twenties, a period of his life he never liked to think of. It -was after that experience that he gave himself up to the study of -medicine, and then he underwent a most rigid course of treatment, -including very stringent rules or habits of diet, bathing and open air -exercise. - - -“I can now look a pure woman in the eyes and know of a certainty that no -harm can come to her through me, but for all that, the past is a blur -upon my life, a stain which nothing can ever wash away. One word from -you, my heart’s queen, will send me to my place and keep me there. I -could not accept the sweet love shining in your eyes when I know my -utter unworthiness, without laying bare the past, the memory of which -follows me like a mocking fiend. Sweetheart, say but the word and I will -never become an inmate of that home which now is being planned—if you -deem me too impure, too unworthy to associate with the unsullied -whiteness that will congregate there. But O, my darling! I love you as -only a man can love when his manhood’s strength is most fully developed; -but I must abide the verdict you may render. - - Yours suppliantly, - PAUL.” - - -And what had been sweet Edith’s verdict? When next they met it was in -the garden, under the blossom-laden trees. Paul was sitting with his -head resting on his hand unaware of her approaching footsteps. From the -rear she approached until she stood close to his side, when without a -moment’s warning two soft warm hands drew his head back, two warm, dewy -clinging lips were touched to his bearded ones, and the next moment he -was pressing his cherished Edith to his heart, pouring all the pent up -love of a strong nature into her willing ears. His errors of the past -belonged to the past. She saw only a noble manhood to which she felt it -would be safe to trust her womanhood. - -About this same time, also a strange restlessness took possession of -Nesbit. A nightly visitor at Maple Lawn, he seemed to enjoy the society -of the fair women there with the keenest relish. Alice’s slight figure -seemed perpetually dancing before his eyes and a great longing filled -his heart. Alice, too, was restless. The color would rush in waves over -her face at the sound of approaching footsteps. Although he saw and -understood, yet he never said a word. With all the sweet possibilities -the future so temptingly held out to him he kept his lips firmly closed -while he knew full well that this fair little woman might be his for the -asking. - -One morning in early June Nesbit electrified them all by abruptly saying -that he was going to New York. All looked their surprise. Margaret -asked, - -“Why?” - -Alice nervously plucked the first full-blown rose to pieces as her color -changed from red to white and white to red, but Margaret’s question was -evasively answered. Again she asked, - -“When will you return? - -To which she received a short, “I don’t know.” - -Bidding them all good bye he turned to go, when his eye rested for a -moment on the swaying form of Alice who found it difficult to stay the -hot tears. He hesitated a moment then, approaching the spot where she -stood, in a low voice said, - -“Come with me down the maple walk.” - -Silently they walked until they reached the end, then, - -“Do you know why I am going away?” - -She shook her head. - -“Because my heart yearns for you, and in that vast city dwells a woman -whom I call wife. She has not been what the world calls true to me, yet -I have treasured her long and faithfully. I feel I ought not to speak of -love to another woman so long as she may have need of me. I know it was -her own hand that cast the dice, yet I feel that I must know her fate -ere I entirely cut loose from her. Oh, I loved her, Alice, in the days -when she was mine, and still a latent tenderness lingers in my heart. -Maybe she was not wholly to blame, but I have learned new lessons since. -I feel a little woman here would prefer me to all others and my heart -yearns to claim her. Will you kiss me just once ere I start on this -journey which may bring me I know not what?” - -Tenderly he raised the drooping head and forced the downcast eyes to -look into his. It was too much. Two lips quivered pitifully, like those -of some grieved baby, and two great tears rolled over her cheeks down -upon the snowy whiteness of her gown. The sight robbed him of -self-control. He gathered her in his arms, the tiny morsel, and held her -there like some wee baby. - -“I only want to see that she does not suffer; that she is taken care of, -and then I will return. Indeed I will. Do not fear”—and then he was -gone. - -Thus Milton Nesbit left Maple Lawn and the charmed circle it contained, -and another day brought him to old familiar scenes; brought him to the -home where he had loved and suffered. It was Annie who opened the door -in answer to his ring. Pale-faced, with a trace of tears about the eyes, -with a gasp she caught her breath as she saw and recognized the man -before her. He saw the effect of his appearance upon her and a great -pity welled up his heart for her. Calmly he greeted her with, - -“Will you not bid me enter?” - -Hesitatingly she did so; speaking never a word, only stepping back she -threw open the door of the well known little parlor. Within its cool -shade he took both her hands in his, - -“What is it, Annie? Trust me—tell me all. I have not come to censure you -but to see that you are cared for. Has that scape-grace brother of -mine——” - -“Don’t,” she said, “Don’t blame him. He may be faulty, but he loves me. -Ah, yes, he loves me more than I deserve. I made him reckless with my -foolish cravings. Every wish of mine was satisfied. I could not realize -that ten thousand dollars was not a limitless fortune, and when Robert, -always delicate, broke down altogether, we were almost penniless. I -tried then to repay him. I nursed him and I worked for him. All the -pretty things he gave me I again sold, but I am afraid I cannot retain -him. He is slipping away from my grasp, and oh! I love him so, I love -him so.” - -Almost choking, the words broke from her in a smothered sob. Her hands -went up to her face and the tears trickled down through the thin, white -fingers as the sobs shook her frame. A lump rose in Milton’s throat, - -“Take me to him!” - -“You will say nothing harsh or unkind?” - -She asked it with a fearful tremor in her voice. He took one trembling -hand in one of his, the other with a gentle caressing motion he laid on -the brown head, - -“When was I ever so unkind to you that you should fear me now? Lead on, -little girl. He is my brother, and he is sick.” - -With an effort she checked her sobs and dried her tears. - -“Come,” she said. He followed her up the stairway into what had once -been their joint bedroom, and there reclining upon a lounge at the -window, his eyes wandering wearily, lay Robert. Pain and care had made -sad havoc with the delicate frame. Annie glided to him and knelt at his -side laying her cheek to his hand. - -“Robert,” she said softly, “Robert, someone has come to see you!” - -Turning from the open window his eyes fell upon the brother they both -had so wronged; his face became ghastly, - -“Milton, you here!” - -Milton stepped forward, - -“Softly, brother—no undue excitement. I bear you no ill will. I have -learned to realize that it was not all your fault. It was all the -outcome of circumstances over which none of us had any control. I have -not come to censure you, but to look after your welfare. Without means, -how can Annie give you the care you need?” - -Robert scarcely could believe he heard aright, - -“You do not hate me, then—me, the destroyer of your happiness? Oh, you -mock me!” - -“No! I do not mock you. True, you both have caused me suffering, but it -was only the cleansing fire needed to purify the grosser part of my -nature. I don’t blame you now—it was only natural. What is it your -doctor prescribes for you? I want to see you get well and strong, and -you can not do so with the load of anxiety I know your heart is burdened -with.” - -Annie bowed her head and wept, and Robert was too weak to restrain the -tears that would start. - -“O, Milton,” said Annie, “you are good; you are noble; how can we ever -repay your kindness?” - -“Tush! tush! little woman; say no more about it, but answer my question. -What is it the doctor prescribes?” - -“Oh, he prescribes what is far beyond our means,” sobbed Annie. “An -ocean voyage may do wonders for him, the doctor says; and a tour in -foreign lands. The sunny skies of Italy, the mountain breezes of -Switzerland—a summer’s sojourn there might give him such health as has -never been his.” - -Milton stepped to the nearest window and gazed meditatively -into—nothing. This would take more money than be had at his command, -although he had quite a snug sum with which many necessities could be -procured for the sick brother, but that was all. Should he call for aid -upon the friend who had already been all too generous to him? Why not? -Did he not know that his call would not be in vain? and was not the life -of his brother at stake, and also the happiness of the woman who had -once been all in all to him? These facts were now uppermost in his mind; -all else was forgotten. Yes! he would ask Owen to aid him. So turning -from the window he said: - -“Cheer up, Annie, Robert shall have his voyage and tour, and you shall -go with him. And when you return I hope to see the roses blooming in -your cheeks. Possibly it may be wisest for you to remain abroad several -years, spending your summers in the mountain air, your winters in the -sunny south, in balmy Italy. In return I only wish to be kept posted as -to all of your movements, I want regular reports as to the state of your -health and when you are ready to return I may have something to tell you -which I think will surprise you as much as you have been surprised -today.” - -In this strain he went on leaving them neither time nor opportunity to -say much. Preparations were immediately begun. A telegram was sent to -Owen. In a few days the required amount in ready cash was at their -disposal, and two weeks from the day Milton first appeared at the side -of his brother he saw him and Annie safe on deck the steamer “Anchor,” -surrounded with every comfort money could buy. - -“Be judicious with your supply of money,” was his parting injunction. -“Let past experience be a warning. It is to regain your health you are -taking this voyage. Remember and be wise.” - -And Robert’s answer had been, - -“I will! so help me the memory of my noble brother.” - -As Milton bade Annie good bye, clasping her hand in his, he for a moment -looked deep into the starry eyes, then bending he touched his lips -tenderly to hers. Thus he left them. “Will it be for their good?” he -asked himself. “Ah, well; time will tell!” Twenty-four hours later he -held Alice in his arms, pressing burning kisses upon her sweet lips, -while Lawrence saw and understood all. For Lawrence, in company with the -others, had returned during Milton’s absence, and could well afford to -smile, for had not a pair of serious gray eyes smiled him a welcome -which had the promise of heaven in it? - -What had been the result of the prospecting tour? A rare, sweet spot of -Mother Earth had been found, with just enough of rugged wildness to show -to advantage nature’s grandeur. Mountains in the distance; a rolling, -undulating country; a winding river and the glassy bosom of the lake. -Last, but not least, the towers and chimney pots of a distant city. All -this could be seen from the rounded knoll gently sloped to its base, -around which wound a merry rippling brooklet. - -Thence a level meadow land which could be laid out in lovely lawns, -parks and drives. Still farther on patches of woodland to the right and -left; meadows with lowing cattle; a charming spot indeed, surrounded by -nature’s loveliest scenes. Only about ten minutes walk to the little -station-house south of the knoll, where almost every hour of the day -trains passed and stopped, and which in forty minutes would carry you to -the heart of the city. But it was not until the early days of August -that ground was broken and work begun upon the mansion that was to stand -a pattern and a beacon for the generations to come. The winter months -put an end to the work and the long stormy evenings were again spent as -before. But again spring returned and again the work was resumed. - -At the same time hot-houses were built; a vineyard laid out; orchards -planted with rare fruit trees, and berry patches cultivated. Grounds -were laid out; drives made; miniature lakes appeared; grassy knolls; -groups of trees; charming arbors; inviting summer-houses; cozy retreats -and lovers’ nooks. To produce all this meant work—work to many willing -hands; bread to hungry mouths. Owen paid the bills with generous hand, -while each day at lunch time the workers enjoyed an hour or two of -repose and shelter from the sun. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXXIV. - - -Another winter came and still the home was not finished, but now the -work on the buildings could still go on, as it was mainly within doors -and under shelter. In the heated rooms the skilled workmen found their -tasks easy, and under their hands the rooms were rapidly turned into -bowers of beauty and use. The gardeners were kept busy during all the -winter months and in the early springtime commenced their outdoor work -of beautifying the place. Fountains, statues and other objects of beauty -and use grew as if by magic. The hot-houses and conservatories were -wonders of beauty and elegance. Then came the work of furnishing the -building. Again money was not spared to make everything perfect. Every -nook and arch contained some rare piece of art—of sculptured work. -Exquisite paintings graced the walls. Breakfast and noonday meals were -to be taken in what was called the breakfast room. This room was -arranged simply for comfort—warm and cozy for the winter, cool and -shaded for the summer. The furniture was covered with leather. The -breakfast was to be simple, consisting principally of milk, grain foods -and fruits. The mid-day meal to which it was expected few would gather -was again simple—fruits and nuts playing a leading part. - -But in the evening when all should be gathered together to enjoy as well -as eat—but we are anticipating—too eager to lift the veil from the -future. Let us wait, rather, until all our dear friends shall be -gathered, to partake of their first evening meal here in the new home; -for the present let us go on with our description of this glorious -structure. - -And yet, how shall we describe it? The most vivid fancy fails to do it -justice. The corridors, whose floors are inlaid with tile; the marble -staircases; the painted walls; the carved ceilings; the cozy private -rooms—each in itself a gem; books and music to be found in them all; -each a sanctum for the owner thereof. The library, the music room and -the drawing room, each perfect as to form and dimensions; each flooded -with brilliant light, or softly toned down as the fancy would demand or -occasion call for, yet all arranged so as not to cause needless work. - -It was the desire and expectation of this happy household to have such -only move about the rooms as were fairly intelligent and cultured. “We -don’t want them to be servants, who do the work in this home.” Owen had -remarked, “but comrades and mates, each doing a share. No drones. Drones -and idlers do not deserve to enjoy.” - -Among the details worthy of particular mention were the bath rooms. Not -little tubs wherein one person could scarce recline, but a bath in which -the bather could splash and swim and romp, not a bath in which false -modesty would allow a single occupant only, but one in which a bevy of -bathers could enjoy the luxury at the same time. Hot and cold water; -steam baths and shower baths—O what a blessing in the cleansing, -purifying element! bringing health and strength to all who are wise -enough to rightly use it. Just watch the healthy babe in the bath, as it -kicks and splashes and screams with delight. Was there ever a more -beautiful sight? - -Then we come to a wing of this grand building which as yet was, and for -a little while would be, closed. Not that this wing was not furnished or -completed in every little detail, but the use to which it had been -dedicated was not yet here. One or more hearts were waiting and hoping -for love’s crown—in more than one breast the expectation was strong that -at their knock the mystic door would open. What was this mysterious -wing? The sanctum of the prospective mother! - -Here she was to be surrounded by every beauty and comfort that art could -supply and that money could buy. Wherever her eyes should turn they -would rest upon representations of nature’s most perfect work—the nude -human form! From the little dimpled cupid to the graceful undulating -curves of the perfect woman and the outlines of the strength and beauty -of the perfect man. Here was the workshop of art. The expectant mother -would here be taught to mold the clay, to use the pallet and brush or in -the quiet and rest secured her here she could learn to wield the pen. -Her gems of thought would thus influence and mold the mentality of her -unborn child, and would leap like flashes of sunshine to the world -without. Here the builder of the coming child could withdraw to perfect -rest and quiet, and here she could steep her soul in music and poetry, -and the child which was asked for, which was longed for and demanded, as -a pledge of love—the child which was begotten under holiest influences -and gestated under such perfect surroundings—could such a child be -anything else than ideal? anything less than divine? Released from all -the old superstitions of right and wrong; seeing absolutely no wrong in -holy love, with a conscience that waits not for sanction of church or -state for the consummation of love, but follows only nature’s -dictates,—who would dare to set the seal of impurity upon the product of -such desires, such holy aspirations, such hopes and such longings! -Gently, reverently, we close the door of this holy of holies until it -opens again to the knock of the favored one. - -Is there still more to tell? O yes much more, but space and language -fail. We cannot tell you half there is to tell. There is the concert -hall, the lecture hall, the dancing hall, the theater—all awaiting their -turn to be unlocked, for hope is strong within the breasts of the little -band that their number will not always be so small, but that in a few -short years every room in the spacious building will have its occupant, -every hall its throngs of visitors. - -In still other rooms beyond, where baby-life is to thrive, the cooing, -kicking, little mortals will not be wanting. Where the nurse, to whose -care the little treasures are to be entrusted, fully understands the -responsibility of her work. No gorging her little charges with sweets, -souring their little stomachs; no dosing with soothing syrups and -paregorics, sleeping potions, horrid teas and what not, dulling and -stupefying their brains and destroying the natural brightness of the -child’s mentality. O no! This nurse understands better what is for the -good of the dimpled, rollicking morsels of humanity entrusted to her -care, and as a result she can sleep soundly the long night through. The -babes do not disturb her. The perfectly healthy treatment they receive -lulls them to sleep and they lie coiled up like downy balls, the chubby -fists resting on the dimpled cheeks. What heart would not such a picture -gladden? - -Are we anticipating again? The picture is so alluring that we cannot -help letting our imagination wander, sometimes, but we must return and -bring our friends to the now finished home. - -It was the close of a sultry summer day, late in August, when Owen, -stepping abruptly into the midst of our friends at the Westcot mansion, -said: - -“Our home is finished! When will you be ready to start for the new -quarters?” - -This question, though long expected, was not readily answered. All were -eager to start, yet much was still to be attended to. The Westcot home -had been sold, as it stood, with all its handsome furnishings. The -younger Wallace children had lived, during the past year, almost wholly -at the Westcots, though Mrs. Wallace had at first demurred not a little. -But as the change in them grew daily more apparent she had fully -consented, and had left them almost entirely to the management of her -stepdaughters. In the spacious grounds of the Westcot place they were -taught to play and romp and enjoy themselves in a style they had never -known. The plan of sending them to boarding school had been given up. A -boarding school education was fashionable—yes, but horribly -demoralizing. It was to be purchased at the expense of sparkling eyes -and glowing cheeks. “Better not,” Edith had said. “Mrs. Westcot’s little -girls are taught at home; why not give these girls home lessons also?” - -Accordingly Edith taught them their grammar, their arithmetic and -geography. Hilda heard their reading and spelling and superintended -their writing. Imelda taught them music and drawing while Cora -cultivated their voices. - -They were now no longer overburdened with long hours of study, when body -and brain were weary. There was now plenty of time for healthy romping -games, long strolls in the shady woods where they became interested in -the mysteries of botany, and when evening came, though the day had been -so pleasant the curly heads scarce touched the pillows ere sleep had -closed the tired lids, not to open again until the morning sun peeped in -at the eastern windows. - -The boys received similar treatment. As Paul’s clear and experienced eye -almost instantly detected the cause of the evil that was threatening to -make a wreck of their young lives, the same methods had from the first -been made use of to fill their unemployed hours. - -Such had been the lives of our friends, and now came the task of moving, -or of emigration. The old familiar scenes, the walks and drives, the -groves and the cooling fountains, would know them no more. Mr. and Mrs. -Wallace had long since known of this project and it was with sincere -regret they saw the day approach when they should say good bye to these -elder, and at one time considered burdensome children. But far worse -than they had expected—their younger children refused to remain behind, -but insisted on going along to the new home. - -At first Mrs. Wallace would hear none of it, but as they begged so hard, -and were seconded by all the members of the “colony,” she finally gave -her consent. - -Of course it is not to be supposed that Mr. and Mrs. Wallace, especially -the latter, fully understood the nature of the home to which her -children were to be taken. She was too thorough a woman of the world to -countenance a scheme so unconventional, so outlandish. She only knew -that it was a co-operative home her children were going to; that they -had become bright, healthy and strong since she had given them into the -care of her stepdaughters, and as she knew she would now have to send -them away again to complete their education she wisely concluded it was -better to send them where she felt assured they would be properly cared -for, and more so as it was just as easy for them to come home on a -vacation from the co-operative home as from any other school. And—yes, -she could go to see them. The invitation had been tendered her, so that -matter was satisfactorily settled. - -Osmond, too, had a severe battle to fight. His life for the past two -years had been a series of battles. His father had soon discovered the -presence of Osmond’s mother, and knew of his visits to her. With a -volley of oaths he had issued the command that Osmond should never go -near her again. To his surprise the boy not only demurred to this but -firmly declared that he would go to see his mother as often as he -desired. Almost dumb-founded the father shouted: - -“What! Court the society of that outcast! that shameless creature who -knows not the meaning of the word decency? the woman who——” - -“No more of that!”—came in firm, almost defiant tones from the lips of -the boy. “You have slandered the best and purest of women long -enough—the woman I am proud to own as my mother! An accident made me -acquainted with her and with her friends, and never until then did I -know what purity meant, what true manhood and womanhood meant. My mother -and my sister are women with whom any man might well be proud to claim -kinship. I will not give up their companionship. I would rather cut -loose from you!” - -Mr. Leland stormed, fumed and cursed, but to no avail. The boy was firm. - -“I will disinherit you!” he exclaimed. “I will cut you off without a -cent!” - -“Do so!” was the calmly uttered reply. “Then I will find some work to do -and will transfer my life altogether to the side of my mother.” - -At this point Mr. Leland wisely desisted. Somehow he hoped to circumvent -the boy; hoped to regain full control, forgetting that Osmond’s mind was -daily developing, and that he was now able to think for himself. So when -the son’s intention of going away with his mother and sister became -known another storm broke loose. But Osmond was firm, and on the morning -that witnessed the departure of the colonists he appeared with the rest, -equipped and ready for the journey. Meta’s dark head appeared beside -him. She was growing to be quite a big girl and all along the journey -she was his especial care. His “little sweetheart”—she had been termed -long since, and the grave-faced child was proud of the title. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXXV. - - -At the close of a warm sunny day they alighted at “Willow Grove,” the -name of the station nearest their future home. Wagons were in waiting, -upon which their effects were loaded. - -“But we will walk!” said Owen, “only ten minutes. The exercise will do -us good, after our long confinement with scarcely any movement.” - -And with an arm encircling Cora’s waist he led the way. Many were the -exclamations of delight as beauty after beauty unfolded itself before -their eyes, but when a turn in the roadway brought in full view the -imposing stone structure with its many arches and turrets, its profusion -of vines and flowers, a long drawn “Oh!” escaped from each beholder. - -Owen drew Cora aside so as to permit the next couple, Lawrence and -Hilda, to be first. Silently every man bared his head. Lawrence kissed -the little hand resting upon his arm, - -“Our Hilda’s Home!” - -With hands clasped above her heart Hilda stood and gazed. - -“My dream realized! Mine the dream, but yours,” turning to Owen, “the -realization. To you belongs the honor and greatness of this hour.” - -“Tut, tut, little one! How worthless my millions without the -plan,—without the work of the mighty mind. Have you no wish reserved for -the architect?” - -With tears suffusing her sight she turned and extended both hands to -Lawrence, who reverently knelt and bowed his head over them. - -“Mine own! I may hope to win you now. To be worthy of your sweet love!” -Edith and Paul saw, and a quick glance of comprehension flashed from eye -to eye. - -Owen’s arm encircled his precious Cora and a mystical silence fell over -this band of lovers. Who of them all could resist the supreme eloquence -of the hour? Margaret leaned her head against Wilbur’s shoulder and -Wilbur’s dark head was bowed over Margaret’s fair one, reminding one of -“Faust and Gretchen.” Imelda’s wine-brown eyes were drinking in the -adoration of Norman’s blue ones. Her hands went up to his face, taking -it between them. - -“You understand me now?” - -“Long, long ago, my dear one.” - -And a kiss followed the words, a seal, the emblem of his love and trust. - -Milton’s hand pressed a blonde head to his breast and the bright, happy -face that is turned up to him promises oblivion for the dark hours in -his past life. - -Our stately Edith must not be forgotten. A warm glow suffuses her cheeks -as she also is drawn closer to a manly breast, and glancing up her dark -lustrous eyes meet those of the young physician in unutterable love and -trust. - -Mrs. Leland is looking on; her eyes wander from the grand structure over -the spacious grounds and thence from couple to couple, every face -illumined with a commingling of love, hope and joy, as they stand -knocking at the door of an unknown world. Will it fulfill all their -expectations? Her eyes fill with tears. Unconsciously she folds her -hands as she reads the love-lit faces and sees there the fond hopes that -unite each lover couple. Presently an arm steals about her neck and a -cherished voice says, - -“I will be your lover, my own mother. You are too young, by far, to be -thus left alone!” - -She smiles as she answers: - -“I know you are that, my boy, but in time you will be a true lover of a -true and perfect woman.” - -Meanwhile the younger portion of our band make themselves more noisily -heard. They feel the influence of the surrounding beauty, and, as is -natural, give vent to exultant cries and shouts. Presently Elmer’s voice -is heard demanding: - -“I say, why are we all standing out here? I am hungry and tired; a bath -and supper will go good, I’ll wager.” - -Thus admonished a forward movement was again made, and in a very few -minutes the welcoming portals had opened and received them. Flowers! -flowers! A profusion of flowers everywhere. Each room had been furnished -and decorated with a view to being especially adapted to the tastes of -its future inmate. Owen took delight in pointing out each room to its -owner. When all had sufficiently admired their sanctums a half hour was -spent in baths and other refreshments. Pretty, airy and comfortable -dresses were donned. Some of the rare flowers that filled the vases were -fastened in the hair and at the waists of our happy girls and on the -coat lapels of those of the masculine gender. Then the way to the -drawing room was found, or simply the “parlor,” as was the term for this -surpassingly beautiful room. - -Soon all had gathered in. The lovely “salon” had been duly admired—such -comfort and ease, so cosy and homelike. Everything beautiful. Rich, but -not too grand for use. Dinner, supper, or whatever you might choose to -call the evening meal, was then announced, and all repaired to the -dining hall. Have we already described this room? No! Then we must enter -with our dear friends and while noting the effect upon them we will try -to describe, just a little, what kind of place it was that had been -selected in which to partake of the main meal of the day. - -An apartment ample in dimensions; high and arched; with walls of glass -to permit the light of day to flood the place; for other life was here -to thrive than that alone of our free love circle. Rare plants; palms -and cactus; trailing vines; sweet-scented flowers in great profusion and -under canopies as in an alcove, the dining table had been set, covered -with snowy linen and decked with flowers. Flowers in all shapes and -forms, and of all colors. Above the table suspended from the ceiling was -hung a large bell, formed of white carnations, held in place by two -cupids floating in the air. The center of the table held a huge basin of -finest porcelain, forming a miniature pond containing a delicate -fountain showering coolness into the sweet-scented air. The basin itself -filled with the most perfect of water lilies, the golden centers -gleaming in the snowy depths. Vases filled with rare roses; delicate -green wreathings; the various dishes; while the air was filled with -delicious music,—low and sweet. Luscious fruits, nuts and sweet new -milk, and such simple fare, formed the chief part of the repast that had -been prepared. Meats and rich pastries had been dispensed with. But when -had the participants ever enjoyed a meal more keenly? The folding doors -of those transparent walls had been thrown wide open and the pure -refreshing evening air was wafted to them, bearing with it the promise -of golden future; while jest and wit and mirth flashed and sparkled like -costly jewels in the bright gas light. - -But time was gliding by on tireless wings. The sun was nearing the -horizon, casting its last golden rays aslant upon distant waters of the -river, and farther on the lake, causing the waters to be resplendent -with the reflection of the setting orb. Like a living, glowing, -quivering mass of liquid fire were the dancing, rippling waves, and all -looked on this display of nature’s charms with a feeling of awe and -veneration. Silently they stood grouped, loving forms were drawn closer -and firmer together as they watched the grand and glorious sight. Slowly -the glowing orb sank beyond the distant heights; slowly the waters -changed their gleaming brilliance to a more somber quietness; and as -daylight disappeared ushering in the twilight with its fantastic -shadows, the coming night sent forth its heralds, the weird humming of -the near insects and the occasional hoot of the distant owl. The rising -moon cast its mellow rays on the peaceful landscape, causing the waters -of the lake in the distance to gleam with a silvery sheen. All these -brought with them a quiet peace that could never be felt in the heart of -the busy city. - -No music or song thrilled the air on this first evening in the new home. -Hearts were too full for utterance; too full for mirthful joy. Tired -with their journey, filled with grave and subtile musings our friends -sought quiet rather than mirth. The new life had begun. Dreams were now -to be tested, verified, and each and all looked anxiously to the -future—a future filled with hope, with trust, with high anticipation, -and yet never for one moment forgetting that this same future would -bring grave duties and responsibilities—duties and responsibilities that -would show whether or not this little band of reformers, of innovators, -was composed of the right elements to achieve success in a comparatively -untried field of human endeavor. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXXVI. - - -Five years have passed since the dedication of that beautiful home; -years that have brought their changes; as time invariably does. The -mystic rooms—the sanctum of the expectant mother—have been occupied, -again and yet again. Our royal Margaret was the first to come under the -spell of its sweet and wonderful influence. Giving herself up to the -delightful occupations provided for in these secluded rooms, keeping -ever in mind the grand result which was to come of it, one morning after -a night of pain and suspense Wilbur kissed a fine, beautiful, healthy -boy that was laid in his arms. Kneeling at her side with his head -resting on the same pillow with the fair white face of his peerless -Margaret the whisper greeted his ear: - -“I am blessed today beyond the measure of women.” - -Who shall say that his happiness did not equal her own. - -Another had not been long in following her brave example. When Cora’s -baby girl was laid upon her breast Owen’s measure of happiness was -filled and tears blinded his eyes as he kissed the mother of his child. - -The two sisters, Edith and Hilda, both brought joy and happiness to -their lovers’ hearts by presenting them with miniature reflections of -themselves, and Norman had held Imelda’s boy to his heart. - -By this time the babies that first came to the new home were making glad -the hearts of their mothers by their childish prattle; some of the -mothers were watching the first trembling footsteps, and now Alice was -waiting, watching for the coming hour. Milton watched with worshipful -tenderness the little fairy whose love was life to him. - -New faces also now greet us. New comers have helped to fill the precious -home, who were just as good and worthy as those whose fortunes we have -so long followed. - -But to return to the young mothers. They did not devote all their time -to their darling babies. O, no! Dearly as they loved them they found -that they had other work to do while the little ones were left to the -care of those who were perfectly trustworthy, Not to be petted, not to -be pampered and spoiled, but left to those who understood how to get to -the depths of each baby nature. - -When it is remembered what preparation had been made for their advent it -is not surprising that they were wonderfully good babies. When it is -remembered with what joy they were welcomed—welcomed while still in the -first stages of foetal growth; how carefully the prospective mothers had -been kept under calm, sweet and pure influences; how their minds had -been kept active without taxing their strength; how constantly their -souls had been bathed in the luxury of sympathy and love; how every part -of their natures had been kept teeming with life—overflowing life; how -carefully undue excitement had been warded off; how they were given -every opportunity for cultivating the higher instincts,—the spiritual -nature;—when all this is remembered we cannot help seeing that, on the -principle of natural causation, the children of such mothers and of such -influences could not be other than exceptionally well endowed and -exceptionally well behaved. - -But when the months had passed, during which the mother should give her -personal care and attention to her cherished babe, it was transferred to -the sole care of the experienced nurse, and she herself returned to her -usual work, whatever that work might happen to be. There were so many -fields open, and each made her choice. The head gardener was glad to get -help in the tending and nursing of his plants and flowers. Nimble, -dextrous fingers were needed to fashion the garments to be worn by the -occupants of the home, and this large and beautiful home needed many -willing hands to keep it beautiful. All this however was work which -could be entrusted to and performed by stronger hands, if other work -should prove more attractive, work in which more than ordinary -intelligence and skill were required. Among our band were teachers of -music and song, as might be expected of the artist soul seeking -expression. Margaret had kissed her lover and baby good bye and had -given another season to her loved profession, and had returned again -with, O, such longing and love for the home and the circle of loved ones -it contained. - -But there was other work. The forty minutes required to reach the heart -of the city were used by quite a number, morning and evening. In the -heart of the city rose a grand emporium many stories high, where many -hundreds of young women and men were employed, and which was the -property of the home circle; an emporium which had been built by Norman -and Lawrence and fitted up by Owen, and which was one of the largest -business places in the great city; an emporium where people of all ages -and sizes could purchase for themselves an outfit from the crown of -their heads to the soles of their feet. There was the tailor’s -department and that of the dressmaker. There the milliner fashioned -pretty headgear, and there all the beautiful artificial flowers, of -which countless numbers were used from week to week were made. There the -visitor would go from floor to floor, from department to department, and -would find every place to have its own attraction, its own work. - -But the most beautiful department of them all was that of the florist, -where nature’s handiwork was heaped up in wild and charming confusion, -and where these floral beauties, by deft and cunning fingers, were -arranged into designs without number, and in this department it was that -you could see our own fair girls moving about, giving orders here, -lending aid there, and again seeing that patrons were promptly served. -All was life, all were busy, yet none were overworked, as none worked -longer than five hours here. At seven o’clock in the morning when the -doors were opened, they admitted what was termed the morning “turn.” And -when twelve o’clock announced the noon hour the merry throng, laughing -and singing arrayed themselves for the street and went trooping out like -a merry flock of birds, for their day of work was over. It was a day’s -work, and thus they were paid. With the striking of the hour of one, the -afternoon “turn” began, and others filled the places of the morning -workers. So the faces of the saleswomen and salesmen were always fresh -and smiling, with none of that tired, wornout appearance that is so -often noticeable in the young faces you meet behind the counter. - -Where were all these employes housed? Heretofore as these people -generally are housed. Those who still had a father or mother or both -living, lived with them; in most cases large families crowded into two -or three rooms. Others who were not so fortunate, had to submit to all -the discomforts of cheap boarding houses, or lived in some stuffy back -room or bleak attic. But a change was about to take place. Today the -large business building is closed. No one moves about its wide halls and -its many departments. It is a grand “fete” and gala day. Today is to be -dedicated the grand new home which has been erected for them. - - * * * * * - -After two years of life in their co-operative home its inmates were -convinced of its success and felt almost like thieves that they should -enjoy so many privileges which were beyond the reach of those to whom -they gave employment, and then the plans were made for a new home, and -again Owen’s millions did service and now a beautiful and grand -structure had been erected. But not so far-away from the place of work -as their own. That would have been cruelty to the morning “turn” who -were expected to be at their post at the hour of seven, and equally -unpleasant for the afternoon “turn” as it would cause them to be late -for their evening meal. - -Right on the outskirts of the city, where fifteen minutes would be all -that would be required to bring them back and forth, a site was bought -upon the brink of the beautiful river, elevated just enough to be beyond -the reach of any possible flood. A park had been laid out which in time -would be one of the handsomest the city could boast of, with its -miniature lakes, its splashing fountains, its dense shrubbery, its -gleaming statuary and flowery banks. And right in the midst of these -beautiful surroundings this monster home was built. For three long years -the workmen toiled, until when finished it was the finest of its kind -that fancy could depict. A place where home pleasures would be given the -workers, such as they had never known; where every arrangement had been -made to amuse, to instruct, to educate, to develop the inmates. It -boasted of its school rooms, its college, its sculpture hall and -artist’s studio, its lecture hall and theater, for which the best of -traveling troupes were to be engaged, with perfect arrangements for the -accommodation of those troupes. Here the players would not have to -undergo the extra fatigue, after their tiresome work, to again dress for -the street, catch the last cold car which was to take them to their -place of lodging. No, indeed! The theater of the workers’ home was a -marvel of its kind. Large, airy, comfortable and well furnished rooms -were attached to it, a room to every player, so near and convenient to -the stage that it was not necessary to dress in little boxes or holes -for their work. Here they could dress in quiet and comfort and then rest -until the signal to begin was given. - -When through with their work, in the pleasant, comfortable dining room -connected with the theater for the convenience of this hard-working -class of people—how hard-working few, not of the profession, ever -realize—a simple but refreshing repast was served, which repast was so -restful and had so much of real comfort in it that the traveling bands -invariably forgot that intoxicants were absent from it. - -Then there was a library with its thousands of volumes containing -reading matter of every kind, but always choice, always select, always -instructive. A large billiard room was also there. Then came the -gymnasium for the development of physical strength and where both sexes -were expected to participate. There was to be a singing class and -dancing school. - -The baths were not forgotten. Larger, more complete than at the first -home—so many more were to make use of them here. - -All arrangements were complete. A large, airy hall where breakfast and -the mid-day meal were to be served. But here, as in that other home, the -evening meal, which would be the chief meal of the day, was to be taken -amidst nature’s beauties in a large and beautiful conservatory. Owen had -spent a fortune in furnishing it with the required plants which were of -the rarest kinds. A miniature lake was formed in its center, wherein the -little golden speckled beauties were dashing and splashing about in -their merry chase. A fountain was reared in its center composed of half -a dozen nude mermaids holding their hands aloft, their finger tips -forming a circle from which the water was flung aloft in showering -spray. Sweet voiced songsters filled the air with their thrilling music. -Flowers bloomed in wild profusion; huge vases were filled with their -brilliant treasures wherever they could be suitably placed. - -At several places small artificial hills had been erected, ferns and -grasses growing amidst the rocks. Through a small rocky ravine the water -came tumbling into a basin below, forming a small lake. Palms, cactus -and other plants were grouped at convenient places. Nooks and alcoves -without number had been arranged wherein the tables had been placed and -were now spread and awaiting the hungry guests, each table seating about -a dozen and through it all rare, sweet music, coming from some hidden -source lulled the tired senses to rest and quiet. - -The last preparations had been made. The last garlands had been hung. To -every room its inmate had been assigned, which promised them all the -same sweet privacy when privacy was desired, as in the first and smaller -home. Every room was furnished cozily and comfortably, and every inmate, -if so they desired, could claim some musical instrument for their -private use, besides which there was a music hall where first class -musical instruments of all kinds abounded. A number of the best teachers -had been engaged to supervise the different departments, to teach and -bring to light the hidden talents that none might be lost, but all shine -in their full glory. - -The grounds were something wonderful, or in time would be so, when the -years would have done their work. The drives were beautiful, so wide and -clean. Ponds covered with waterlilies. Fountains everywhere. Lover’s -nooks and cozy retreats. Plants, shrubbery and flowers in glorious -profusion, and artistic designs wherever the eye might rest. Down the -sloping banks of the river wide, spacious stairways of hewn stone had -been made which led down beneath the laving waters. Skiffs, large and -small were moored here, inviting and wooing lovers of the watery element -to trust themselves to its glassy bosom, to be rocked on its silvery, -rippling waves and be borne whithersoever they might wish. - -Owen had made a deep hole in his millions. Lack of funds should not -prevent success. And now the new inmates of this wonderful home were -waiting the summons to their first evening meal. All the “salons” of the -lower floors were swarming with gayly dressed maidens and with young men -attired in their best. Instinctively they knew that henceforth they must -always put their best efforts to the front, and the blending of youthful -voices in merry laughter made the listener glad. - -But not all were young that were assembled here tonight. Many there were -who had seen the darker side of life and who in all probability would -prefer the solitude and quiet of their own rooms to the noisy -merry-making of a careless and care-free youth. - -And among all those who found a home within the walls of this -magnificent structure those had not been forgotten whose labor had -produced it, had made it the thing of beauty it now stood. As might be -expected the builders had grown to love it as they worked, and the -knowledge that they should enjoy its beauties and comforts when finished -had stimulated them to work more eagerly and with extra skill until the -day of its completion. - -But now all are ready. At last the signal is given, the doors are flung -wide, and just as the music of a brass band clashes through the -resounding halls, playing a march from one of the master composers, the -workers, all the workers, pour into the monster conservatory. - -They thought it was fairy land opened to their view, floating in a sea -of light. Among the rest we see the members of our own circle, scattered -about here and there, every face radiant with happiness reflected from -within. - -No waiters are in attendance. At every table one of the fresh young -maidens plays the part of hostess. On a smaller table near at hand, all -the side dishes have been arranged. Tanks with new sweet milk, ice water -and hot water; nothing that is likely to be desired has been forgotten -or omitted. The next evening another of the young ladies will be -detailed to preside. - -When supper is over the tables are let remain as they are. The day’s -work is over. In the morning many busy hands will restore order, and by -noon everything will again shine with tasteful beauty; the tables reset, -fresh flowers filling all the vases, and the dishes awaiting refilling. - -After they have all steeped their senses in the beauties of the -surroundings and have satisfied the cravings of appetite the evening’s -pleasures begin. Music, song and tableaux have been arranged with -exquisite skill. Cora’s voice has lost none of its richness, none of its -charms. On the contrary it is more flexible, more sweet and full, more -perfect in every respect, and well it may be. Has she not spent two -years in hard study after they came to the home, in making herself -perfect in her art? At many a concert, during these years, has her -sweet, thrilling voice been heard, and tonight she almost outdoes -herself. She is perfectly happy and throws her whole soul into her work; -deafening applause rewards her. - -Margaret’s rendition of “Deborah” meets with equal favor. She never -fails to please. - -Then follows some renditions of music wherein Imelda and Milton both -excel, for they too have been spending time in developing their precious -talents. - -The evening’s entertainment then concludes with a series of tableaux, -three in number, entitled “Progress,” which are received with storms of -applause. They represent “The Past, the Present and the Future.” - -There is one feature that has not been announced upon the program. One -whom we have almost forgotten to mention has opened the evening’s -festivities with a short address, dwelling on the object, the aim, the -hopes that are to follow the evening’s work. That one is an old time -friend, probably forgotten by most of our readers. It is an old, -white-haired gentleman with a well preserved air about him. It is the -Mr. Roland, of the lecture room of the olden days and the fatherly -friend of our Margaret and Imelda, and who is followed by another almost -forgotten friend, the lecturer “Althea Wood.” - -When the curtain has dropped on the last tableaux the assembled audience -refuses to be satisfied. They well know whose money has erected the -palatial building and “Owen Hunter! Owen Hunter!” is now the cry. In -response to this call Owen steps upon the stage and in a slow, graceful -manner saunters up to the footlights. Waiting for the stormy welcome to -subside, then in slow even tones he begins: - -“Friends and comrades! You do me far too great honor in thus calling me -to the front. What you term an act of greatness is simply one of -justice. No merit is due to me that I control millions of dollars while -millions of my fellow human beings this night are starving. My early -years were droned away in luxury, ease and pleasure hunting, and in all -probability I would have gone on thus to the end had not circumstances -given me a shaking up, thereby showing me something of the darker side -of life. - -“What these circumstances were, what the means by which the awakening -was brought about I cannot here tell you. The story would be too long. -But I awoke to a sense of the fact that I was of no use whatever in the -world. With the aid of minds superior to mine a home was planned, one -for a small number of congenial friends who wished to try co-operation, -and having proved it a success, this one for the busy bees of our great -industrial hive was next planned. - -“You have, until now, been the employes of the ‘Home Company.’ From this -day forth you are partners therein. You will receive your salaries just -the same as heretofore. At the end of the year the accounts will be -squared and a dividend declared with which you are to pay your rent, -so-called, for your home, but which in reality you are buying. For when -you have paid rent amounting to the sum it has cost to erect this -building, you will be the owners of it, not I. Moreover, you shall not -be taxed with a shameless interest, and when your home is paid for and -the original capital again garnered in, there will be countless other -employes who are in need of a home like this, and which it will devolve -upon us to erect. Do you see?” - -And see they do! Such deafening shouts of applause never before filled a -hall. It is a perfect uproar and it takes some time ere quiet can again -be restored. Owen smilingly shakes his head—— - -“You do me too much honor, as I have before remarked. Believe me, you -have much more reason to thank the bright minds and gentle hearts of the -ladies of the ‘Home’ than— - -“Three cheers for the ladies!”—someone shouted, and three rousing cheers -were given, and then three more, and yet again three. - -Owen sees that they are getting excited, and that he will have but -little chance to say more, so he determines to end it at once. - -“That is all, comrades. With the best of wishes for the future well -being of your home, and with the sincerest hopes for the happiness of -each of you I bid you good night—as I see it written on many bright, -young faces that their restless feet are anxious for the dance to -begin.” - -Another deafening round of applause follows. They would recall him but -Owen will not respond. - -The crash of music is then heard, sending forth its inviting strains, -and soon the light footsteps trip to the measured chimes and the hours -speed in happy merriment. - -With such surroundings, such inducements, it will not be difficult to -keep the young maidens fresh, healthy and pure-minded, and to keep the -young men away from the influence of drink, of vice, of demoralization. -No danger that they will unsex themselves through starvation of their -sex natures. The needed magnetism is theirs through their constant -mingling, and while this is only the beginning, while they have so much -yet to learn, there is every hope, every evidence that the home will -develop fine, healthy and intelligent women, strong, brave and noble -men. - -Already Owen has another home planned, to be situated farther out into -the open country. “Products of the soil” will furnish the chief -employment of this group of workers. Not all men and women prefer the -bustling city life. There are many who cannot live and enjoy life away -from nature. They would pine for the open air, the green fields, the -cool shade of the woods. Only under the blue vault of heaven can -happiness come to them. And for such as these also it is the desire of -our friends to secure the advantages that only the co-operative home can -supply. Owen is determined to show that his millions have not been -vainly entrusted to his care, and that the advantages that wealth can -procure shall be theirs to whom the wealth justly belongs—the producers. - -Here we must leave the inmates of the just completed and dedicated home, -on the threshold of their new life, and take one more farewell word to -our friends of the “F. L.” home—the children of my fancy, who have grown -under my care, and who have become inexpressibly dear to me. - - - - - CONCLUSION. - - -The evening meal is over. All have gathered on the broad veranda to -watch the golden sunset as it dips its slanting rays in the river -beyond. They are unusually quiet, even for this serious band. Last -night’s merry-making has made them just a little tired, besides which -their hearts are full of unuttered prayers for the future success of -that new home. - -Mrs. Leland is sitting in the comfortable depths of an easy chair. A -sturdy little man of four summers perches upon her knee, patting -grandma’s cheek, tossing her hair in his efforts to smooth it, taking -her face between both chubby hands and drawing her head forward so that -he can kiss her happy, smiling lips and altogether making love in the -most approved child fashion. - -Margaret is sitting at her feet, her arm thrown across her mother’s -knee, while her eyes with a happy, tender light follow the movements of -her boy, and her heart swells with fond tenderness and pride at the -knowledge that he is her very own. - -At grandma’s back stands Wilbur whose eyes also follow the antics of the -boy when they for a few moments lose sight of the glorious sunset. - -Mr. Roland is a visitor at the home tonight, and sits a little to the -right of this group, quietly drinking in the scene before him in the -pauses of the animated conversation he is carrying on with the brilliant -little lecturer, Althea Wood, who also is a guest at the home tonight. - -Farther to the left are various groups. The two pairs of sisters—Imelda -and Cora, Edith and Hilda—have formed a circle, their babies forming the -center of their attention. There are little prattlers while one sweet -little cooing innocent lies close to Imelda’s breast. - -O, the joys of young motherhood! And the group of men that were standing -a little apart felt the influence of the spell and each thought his -sweetheart had never looked more fair. - -Alice in delicate health was reclining in an easy chair while Milton -with adoring eyes stood over her chair ready to do her slightest -bidding. O, if she were only safely tided over the coming hour of trial! -And as the sigh escapes him his hand caressingly toys with the bright -mass of shining hair. - -Lawrence has his Norma perched upon his knee answering her many -questions. She has grown to be quite a big girl now, but has never -outgrown her early love for her papa, and ever with the old delight -greets his coming. The two are so near to Alice that she can comfortably -watch them, and while a smile of proud tenderness wreathes her lips, it -is Milton’s hand to which they are laid. - -“My baby!” She whispered the tender words. - -“A little longer patience,” is Milton’s whispered reply, “and your baby -will be your own!” - -Her hand went up to his face with a caressing touch. - -“I know,” she smilingly said, “but it was Norma I meant this time.” - -He drew the hand to his lips as with a knowing smile he answered, - -“Ah, I see!” - -Lawrence now and then let his eyes wander to the mother of his child, -then they would turn to the group of fair young women where a pair of -sweet gray eyes met his in a tender glance, then to rest on the little -one reclining against his bosom. Which did he love most? His eyes lit up -with a glad tenderness as they rested on the little one and then he drew -the fair curly head so near him, close to his heart and hid his face in -the fluffy masses; could he himself answer the question? - -Many other faces we see which are all new to us, but they are all men -and women worthy to be called by these names. - -A group of the younger people have strayed down to the sweet-scented -gardens gathering flowers as they go. Osmond and Homer are fast friends. -Both are young men untouched by the rough hand of fate. Their young -manhood, so perfect in its strength and beauty giving them the -appearance of young kings, so proud, so lofty, was their bearing. Elmer, -too, could scarcely be termed a boy any longer. His twenty years sat -well on his broad shoulders and the eyes of the fifteen year old Meta -shone bright as stars, her cheeks flushed as he chased her through the -winding mazes of the park, and when he had caught her and kissed the -rosy lips she submitted as a matter of course with the most natural -grace. - -Osmond had thrown himself at the feet of Hattie Wallace whose nineteen -summers sat lightly on her shoulders. She was such a fairy and with rosy -hued cheeks she listened to the soft, love-freighted words that fell in -whispers from Osmond’s lips. - -Homer’s companion was a dark, soft-eyed young girl timid and shy who had -been an inmate of the home for one year, where she had come with her -mother who had fled in the dead of night from her husband and sought -refuge in this haven of rest, and Homer was teaching the sweet Katie her -first experience in the mysteries of love. - -Aleda, the youngest of the Wallace girls was also there, and seventeen -years had developed a truly pretty and healthy girl from the delicate -querulous child. Another new comer had engaged her attention. Reading -from a volume of Tennyson, a boy scarce older than herself was reclining -at her feet. He too had been brought there by a mother, not one who had -fled the cruelties of an unappreciative husband, as she had never -applied the title to any man. He had been a child of love. - -His mother, in the wild sweet delirium of a first love, had abandoned -herself to her artist lover without a thought of right or wrong. And he, -pure and noble had no thought of wronging her. But disease had early -marked him for its own, and ere the child of his Wilma had seen the -light of day his own life had closed in that sleep that knows no waking, -and she was left alone to buffet the storms of life as best she could, -an orphan and without friends. With a babe in her arms, of “illegal” -origin, the path of her life had not been strewn with roses. But amidst -all her privations and trials she had kept her love pure for her child -and had fostered only instincts pure and holy in the young mind, and -when she heard of the home she applied at its gates, telling her story -in pure, unvarnished words, never dreaming of an effort to hide any of -her past. Only by the light of truth could the delicate fair woman -thread her path through the world. - -As might be expected, she had been received with open arms. Wilma, the -mother of Horace, our young poet, and Honora, Katie’s mother, could now -be seen as they stand arm in arm watching the golden sunset and the -children whose future promises to bring with it less of the pain that -has so early drawn silver threads through their own brown locks. - -The world at large knew not the full meaning of this home as yet. The -world is yet too completely steeped in superstition and ignorance to -have permitted its existence had the full meaning been known. The -“Hunter Co-operative Home” it had been called, and thus it was known to -the world. It was known that babes had made their advent therein, but -none but the initiated knew that marriage as an institution was banished -from its encircling walls. - -Would you ask us if happiness was so unalloyed within those walls that -no pangs of regret or of pain could enter there? Well, no! We are not so -foolish as to make such claim. There are hours of temptation; there are -moments of forgetfulness; there are sometimes swift, keen, torturing -pangs that nothing earthly can completely shut out. Our heroes and -heroines are not angels. They are—when the very best of them has been -said—only intelligent, sensible and sensitive men and women—but men and -women who are possessed of high ideals and who are striving hard to -reach and practicalize them. They live in a world of thought. They do -nothing blindly, inconsiderately; their every action is done with eyes -wide open. In trying to gain the goal they have set themselves to reach, -they strive not to think of self alone. The future of those who have -been entrusted to their care, the young lives their love has called into -existence, exacts from them much of self-denial. They are -individualists, yet not so absolutely such that they do not realize that -sometimes the ego must be held in check so as not to rob another of his, -or her birthright. - -You ask again, “Does this home life, as you have pictured insure against -the possibility of the affections changing?” - -And again we answer, No! Certainly not. Such changes will and must come. -Yet it is not to be expected that where there is liberty, in the fullest -sense of the word, life will be a constant wooing? Is it not the lack of -liberty that deals the death blow to many a happy, many a once happy -home? to many a home that was founded in the sweetest of hopes, the -brightest of prospects, only to be shattered and wrecked in a few short -years? aye, even a few short months or weeks? And when such a change -does come, in spite of all efforts to prevent, how great a thing it must -be to know yourself free! free to embrace the new love without the -horrible stigma of “shame!” as our modern society now brands it, and -which stigma causes such unspeakable misery, such endless suffering. - -And if a woman desires to repeat the experience of motherhood, why -should it be wrong when she selects another to be the father of her, -instead of the one who has once performed this office for her? Why -should the act be less pure when she bestows a second love, when the -object of this second love is just as true, just as noble, just as -pure-minded as was the first one? Why should an act be considered a -crime with one partner which had been fully justified with another? - -Reader, judge me not hastily. Judge not my ideas, my ideals, without -having first made a careful study of life as you find it around you. My -words are backed by personal experience and observation, experience as -bitter as any that has been herein recorded. Indeed I doubt if I should, -or could, ever have given birth to the thoughts expressed in these pages -had it not been for that experience—which is one of a thousand—and when -you have carefully weighed my words, think of the good that must result -to future generations when unions are purely spontaneous, saying nothing -of the increase of happiness to those who are permitted thus to choose, -and to live. - - * * * * * - -When, O, when will the great mass of humanity learn and realize that in -enforced motherhood, unwelcome motherhood, is to be found the chief -cause of the degradation that gives birth to human woe. When will they -see that unwelcome motherhood is the curse resting upon and crushing out -the life energies of woman; while on the other hand, the consciousness -of being the mother of a desired babe, a child conceived in a happy, a -loving embrace, needs no other blessing, no other sanction, no other -license, than such act itself bestows. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - List of Radical Literature - - - Anarchy, Economics of. A Study of the Industrial Type. By Dyer D. - Lum. Paper; 60 pages. (Scarce). .25 - - Autonomy. Self-Law; What are its Demands? A fragmentary - exposition of the basic principles of individualism in its - relation to society and government. By Moses Harman. This - pamphlet of 29 uncut pages contains an account of the - autonomistic marriage of Lillian Harman and Edwin C. Walker, - and their subsequent arrest, trial and imprisonment. The - pamphlets are not up to the standard in typography and press - work, but they contain data valuable to all lovers of personal - liberty. .05 - - Bar Sinister and Licit Love. By Oswald Dawson. Contains first - biennial proceedings of the Legitimation League (1895) with - full page half-tone pictures of Lillian Harman, Edith - Lanchester, J. Greevz Fisher and J. C. Spence. Bound in boards, - with handsome cover in green, black and gold. 300 pages, .25 - - Be Thyself. A Discourse by William Denton. Paper, 33 pages. 1882 - (scarce). .05 - - Bombs, The Poetry and Philosophy of Anarchy. By William A. - Whittick. With full page portrait of the author; paper; nearly - 200 pages, .30 - - Creed of Liberty. A brief exposition of philosophical anarchism, - by William Gilmour, London. Paper, 11 pages. .02 - - Catechism on the Science of a Universal Religion, or What We Can - and Must Do in Co-operation to Secure a True Religion of - Universal Happiness, by Gabriel Z. Wacht. 1890; 117 pages; - paper, 7c; cloth, .15 - - Causes of Hard Times and The Money Question, by Albert Chavannes. - 1893; paper, 24 pages, .05 - - Co-operative Congress, Kansas, Proceeding of. Held at Topeka in - April, 1886. 118 pages; paper, .12 - - Co-Operation, Practical. A series of short articles by E. C. - Walker. Paper; 18 pages, .05 - - Commonwealth, The Future, or What Samuel Balcom saw in Socioland. - By A. Chavannes, 1892; paper, 114 pages, .25 - - Common Sense Thoughts on the Bible for Common Sense People. By - William Denton. Seventh edition, enlarged and revised; - thirty-eighth thousand, .10 - - Cityless and Countryless World; an Outline of Practical - Co-Operative Individualism. By Henry Olerich. Regarded by many - persons as a more interesting and consistent economic reform - novel than Bellamy’s “Looking Backward.” Bound in red silk with - gold title. Nearly 450 pages, $ 1.00 - - Dawn of Civilization, or England in the Nineteenth Century. A - Radical Social Reform novel by J. C. Spence, formerly a - vice-president of the Legitimation League. Handsomely bound in - boards, blue and gold cover, with full page portrait of the - author; 176 pages, .25 - - Divorce. A review of the subject from a scientific standpoint in - answer to Mgr. Capel, Rev. Dr. Dix, The New England Divorce - Reform League and others who desire more stringent divorce - laws, by Edward B. Foote, M. D., author of “Plain Home Talk.” - 1884; 60 pages; cloth, .25 - - Digging for Bed Rock, Observations and Experiences. By Moses - Harman. 1890; paper, 24 pages, .05 - - Diana, A Psycho-Physiological Essay on Sexual Relations. For - married men and women. Sixth edition. Revised and Improved. - Paper, 60 pages, .25 - - Gospel Fabricators, or a Glance at the Character of Men who - Helped to Form the Four Gospels. By W.S. Bell. Paper; 44 pages, .15 - - Government Analyzed. By John R. Kelso, A.M. This book seeks to - show that all governments, like all gods, are the mere - personifications of mythical monsters invented by selfish and - crafty men as instruments with which to rob and enslave the - ignorant toiling masses. A book which is sure to open the eyes - of governmentalists who read it. Bound in cloth; 520 pages; - edition limited; original price, $1.50. Our price, .90 - - Human Rights. By Madison Hook, with an Introduction by E. C. - Walker. 1891; paper, 19 pages, .05 - - How to Prevent and Cure Colds, Hay Fever, La Grippe, without - medicine or drugs. By Harriet C. Garner. A valuable little - pamphlet formerly sold for $1. .10 - - Health and Longevity without the Use of Drugs. By James Russell - Price, M. D., Professor of Hygiene, and T. Julian, M. D., - author of “Nervous Diseases and Their Treatment,” Cloth, .50 - - Devil, The Angel of Light. How he beat the Salvation Army in two - trials and secured $75,000 judgment against it. Paper, 16 - pages, .05 - - Eight Hour Movement, Lecture delivered by Judge John P. Altgeld - (afterwards governor of Illinois) before the Brotherhood of - United Labor in Chicago, Feb. 22, 1890; paper; 16 pages - (scarce), .10 - - How to Live a Century. By Juliet H. Severance, M. D. 1891; paper; - 30 pages, .10 - - Horrors of Modern Matrimony as Viewed from a Moral and Sanitary - Standpoint. A solemn protest against the present demoralizing - management of that institution. By Dr. R. Greer. Paper, .15 - - Helen Harlow’s Vow, a radical sex reform novel by Lois - Waisbrooker, paper cover, .25 - - In Brighter Climes, or Life in Socioland. A realistic novel by - Albert Chavannes, author of “The Future Commonwealth,” “Vital - Force,” etc. Paper, 254 pages; 1895. .25 - - In Hell and the Way Out. A Non-Partisan Political Handbook. A - Comparative Study of Present Conditions and a Plan of Social - Democracy outlined. Inscribed to the Farmers and Trades - Unionists of America by one of their number. Advocates the - Initiative and Referendum. By Henry E. Allen Paper, 64 pages. .10 - - Isabel’s Intention. A story by Mariette, dealing with the social - evil in a new and radical way. London edition. Paper, 30 pages, - 5 cents. Original edition published in “Our New Humanity,” - together with other valuable essays of social problems, .25 - - Is Spiritualism True? By William Denton, 1888; paper, 43 pages, .10 - - Jefferson, Thomas; Father of American Democracy. His political, - social and religious philosophy. By Gen. M. M. Trumbull. Paper, - 29 pages, .10 - - Legitimation, Outcome of. A lecture by Oswald Dawson, delivered - in Holborn Restaurant, London, under the auspices of the - Legitimation League; paper; 16 pages, .05 - - Liberty: Political, Religious, Social and Sexual. By A. F. - Tindall, A.T.C.L.; an essay towards establishing an - Anti-Persecution Society to defend the rights of individuals - against state interference and Puritan persecution. Paper, 8 - pages. .05 - - Loma, A Citizen of Venus. By William Windsor. One of the most - startling books ever published. A scathing criticism of the - civilization of the nineteenth century; pathetic, romantic, - revolutionary. Handsomely printed and bound in silk cloth, with - gold title. 426 pages. $ 1.50 - - Love, Marriage and Divorce. A discussion between Henry James, - Horace Greeley and Stephen Pearl Andrews, including the final - replies of Mr. Andrews, rejected by the New York “Tribune,” and - a subsequent discussion, occurring twenty years later between - Mr. James and Mr. Andrews. Handsomely printed on fine paper; - 121 large pages, .35 - - Mary Jones, or the Infidel School Teacher. By Elmina Drake - Slenker. Paper; 40 pages, .20 - - Mind, The Nature of, and Its Relation to Magnetism; also an - Inquiry Whether Individuality can Persist after Death. By - Albert Chavannes. 1898; paper; 50 pages, .25 - - Mutual Banking, A Simple Plan to Abolish Interest on Money. - Reprint of Colonel W. B. Green’s masterly work. The very best - book yet written on the money question; paper; 78 pages, .10 - - Perfect Motherhood. By Lois Waisbrooker. Indicates the powerful - effect of environment during antenatal existence upon the - character of the child; paper, 25c; cloth, - $ 1.00 - - Personal Rights and Sexual Wrongs. By Oswald Dawson. Handsomely - bound in boards, yellow and gold illuminated cover. Contains - four full page half-tone portraits of Ezra H. Heywood, Moses - Harman, Lillian Harman and Lois Waisbrooker, .25 - - Proudhon and his Bank of the People. Being a defence of the great - French anarchist, showing the evils of a specie currency and - that interest on capital can and ought to be abolished by a - system of free and mutual banking. By Charles A. Dana, late - editor of the New York “Sun;” paper, .15 - - Red Heart in a White World. A suggestive manual of Free Society; - containing a method and a hope. By J. William Lloyd. Handsome - illuminated paper cover in white, red and green; 50 pages, .10 - - Revival of Puritanism. An expose of the spirit “which makes - cowards of editors and teachers, and spies and blackmailers of - officials; which emasculates our literature and degrades our - art, and which harries, robs and imprisons the few who are so - organized that they will not sacrifice to what they hold to be - a falsehood, even though death be the alternative.” By E. C. - Walker. Paper; large pages, .10 - - Revolution, The Next. A series of tracts or essays on sex reform, - republished from back numbers of Lucifer, each, .10 - - Ruled by the Tomb. A discussion of free thought and free love by - Orford Northcote; paper; 24 pages, .10 - - The Social Question. A discussion between Juliet H. Severance, M. - D., and David Jones, editor of the “Olive Branch.” If you think - women’s minds are inferior to those of men and that they are - not logical reasoners, read this pamphlet and see how a woman - physician defends the right of women to ownership of their - persons; paper; 48 pages. Edition limited, .15 - - Unrevealed Religion. An address by J. K. Ingalls. “To the - unrevealed religion, that which springs from a normal love of - Truth and Justice and of Freedom, the race owes all its - material, social and spiritual progress;” paper, .10 - - Wherefore Investigating Company, a novel dealing with the land - question and social freedom, by Lois Waisbrooker. Paper; 313 - pages, 75c; cloth, $1.25 - - Why the Undertone? An open letter to Judge Joseph E. Gary, who in - 1893 sought to justify his participation in 1887 in the - lynching, under hypocritical guise of law, of men who - entertained and expressed unpopular opinions. By Sarah E. Ames. - Published June 25, 1893, the date of the unveiling of a - monument at Waldheim cemetery to the memory of the victims of - mob spirit masquerading under the pomp and panoply of justice. - Edition limited, .20 - -The above list comprise only a few of the books sold by us. Address M. -HARMAN, 1394 W. Congress St., Chicago, U. S. A. - -Send twenty-five cents to us for trial subscription to Lucifer, the -Light-Bearer, the exponent of the ideas promulgated in this book. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES - - - 1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in - spelling. - 2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed. - 3. 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