Short Story.

Lake County Press, Issue 905, 5 April 1900, Page 7

Short Story.

Cii 3 Woman’s Love.

(By Jessie Forsyth (Mine. in the “ Detroit Flee Press.") “ You are free. nt> darling, as free as I am innocent. The law detains me, but there is no law which binds you to a convict husband. Remember, Elizabelii. you are free.” "o Herbert! No, no, I can never be free in (Ids world or in the next -never freed from my great love for you.” ’■ 'Mien yon do love me. in spite of all V" he entreated, raising her fare that he might read her eyes. Her answer was-to eateh his bands in both her own and-press her lips tenderly. passionately, upon each broad palm. “ Elizabeth, if you indeed love me, say the words, ‘ Herbert, 1 believe you innocent.' ” he begged.

But his own heart beating away the seconds was all he heard. Finally he spoke again. “ You do not care for me V What is love without faith ? My God, Thou hast indeed atilicied me ! 1 thought the jurors bloodhounds because they did not believe my testimony, but if my wife doubts ” He could not finish, but sank into a chair, letting Ids Head fall upon his chest, ids whole altittide one of despair. " Herbert, my husband, I did not say I believed you guilty," sobbed Elizabeth. throwing her arms around ids great form and pressing him to her hi east.

iierbert Norton abandoned himself to her endearments as be bad to his despair.

" Boor little wife,” lie said, drawing her to iiis knee. “It is so much harder for you than it would be if yon trusted me as I. trust yon. 1 cannot understand a love without confidence. Do yon think, darling, if 1 saw you do a dishonourable deed 1 should believe tnyown eyes V No. 1 shot) I<l say, ’My (acuities are playing me false, not Elizabeth.’ I should doubt my reason before 1 could my wife.”

'■ Mop. stop; Herbert. 1 cannot bear it. Ido not believe yon guilty, and yet- ” “You are a tender judge* convinced against your will.” interrupted the man. " and 1 forgive yon. Some time yon will know that 1 am innocent, if it is not until the Judgment Day.” •• Yes. my love, 1 believe you now. 1 have been mad. You are innocent ! How could my faith have been shaken for one iioiip-ut

“ Mamma, are you going out to-day ? o surely you are not. Ido so bate these Fridays ; I thought you would surely May at homo to-day. See how it tains — ami you know the umbrella is no better ilian a sieve. If ii rained eats and dogs d might be a little protection, but anything smaller than a kitten would find it easy getting through that worn covering."

The speaker was a pretty girl of about 15. She stood with her arms thrown affectionately, a round her mother's neck. •’ Where <io you go every Friday, mamma ? Cannot I go in your place and carry the basket V it is such a big basket, and yon are so small. What big appetites the family must have to whom yon take the food so regularly,” she laughed. “Tell me about Idem, mother dear.”

With a tender kiss the mother drew herself away and qnießy prepared for a raiuy-day walk. " My Friday visits are not happy occasions,'dear,”* she said, "and 1 do not want to bring unhappiness, even the unhappiness of others, into your life so early, tsoine day ym shall come with

“ You have already made me unhappy. Ktammii, uy not letting me share ybm in i. f. 1 know how miserable something makes you every Friday, i'mi go out looking quite bright and Iresli. hut you eoino back—oh. so haggard.” "Du 1 look IVesl . really, when 1 start on my errand, d *ar i” questioned the slight, pale-faced woman eagerly. " That is well, and reminds me that I want you to pick me that i.ew-hlown rose. 1 ami

glad if I can take a little sunshine imo The gloom sur; ounding these poor

people.” Tlie girl picked the rose Irom the plant in the window, a ad. lifting the eover of the basket, whicli stood upon I lie table, placed it on the snowy linen which hid the viands. “ No, dear,” remonstrated her mother ; “put it on my coat, right here. 1 want to wear it.”

“ How queer you are, mamma, exclaimed Bessie. “ 1 believe you're getting vain ; but Imw out of place a flower looks on that common old coat.” “ It is a pity more roses do not bloom In unexpected places, dear. Bessie stood at the window and watched her mother until she disappeared down the road. * There w ere tears in her eyes : tw 3 large drops fell upon life back of the rat which sat upon the window ledge. . Fussy rubbed her soft sides against her mistress a id purred sympathetically “Tabby, wluit do you think it all moans ?” askel Bessie, sluing down and hugging her pet tightly in her arms - Poor little old puss, you d tell me if vou could, wouldn't you V Von clout want mamma tad any more than I do. Puss purred softly. “ Isn't it fumy. Tabby, how mamma goes awav every Friday afternoon, with that basket full of good things to cat, things you a;id I seldom gel, Tabby, because mamma says she can t attord to give us goodn s. But how can she a Hurd to take jelly : nd fruit and everything to that poor fat lily V Fan you tell, puss? She dresses t p. too, as if she were going to church, :n <1 always seems so excited. No matter lu.w many people come to sec her that day about orders, and no matter how much work she has on hand, she leaves t ;erything. and goes. Just then a knock canto at the door. Before B< ssie could open it a woman entered. A small plaid shawl was thrown ove- her head, and she earned a cracked tea up. “How d'y do. Bessie.” she said. t seen your ma goiu' down the street, an bein' ex you wttz alone thought Id run

over a spoil ; an’ I did want some sugar, of vat’)* couid lend me a Utile. 1 though ' ez hSw vo-ir ma might Lev granoolated i„ die house alter all her cookm . My si i: ’ ; r wuz took wuss his night . can i seem to settle any food ; an’ 1 thought IVI beat her up a eiisiard. flow's vour ma these days—mopin' ez us’al Y ' The unexpected visitor ha bided on, arranging herself comfortably before the tire.

** I'reuy lopesome for you an’ your nia livin' here all alone. she continued. “ You (lout seem t<> lit*v much company. Your ma never goes out 'eepl Fridays, does she V" Bessie wanted to say that her mother did not find congenial society in the neighbourhood. She wondered how tats woman knew about herself and m-r ’• mu.” She never came to the house, and Bessie knew she was a person or whom her mother disapproved. '• Ufw long bez your pa ben ueaa,

child ?” was the next blunt question. Tears sprang to the girl's eyes. “ O, Miss Gower, papa has been dead a long, long while, ever since 1 was a little child, hut don’t ask me about papa ; it makes me ('eel so had,” she cried. “Why ?” questioned Miss Gower. “Why V” repeated Bessie. “Why does il make any one feel badly to think of one’s dead fat her ?”

“ Most gener’ll.v because they recollect how good he wnz,” was the ambiguous reply. “ An’ you surely don’t remember n« tbin’ about your pa

" No,” sighed Bessie ; “ not much, but I've always wished that I did remember.”

“ 1 suppose your ma talks a good deal to von about hint ?’’

The questions were becoming intolerable. “ No. sin* doesn't, it makes her unhappy to talk about him. I used to ask her questions and questions, just like you are asking tin*. Miss Gower. I never knew before why it made her feel had to be asked questions; now 1 know,” said Bessie. " Hum." muttered the spinster, (ho consonant held a long while behind her thin lips. Bessie thought it would sound almost like pussy's purr, only it was too disagreeable— :t purr with a claw in it. ’’ These poor folks must be in awful straits to take your ma out sieh a day ez t Ids." “And you must have wanted sugar vi-rv miii'h. Miss Gower, to have come out in sm"h weather," ventured Bessie ; " and I am sorry we cannot oblige yon about line sugar. We use the light brown; if that will do you’re welcome t<> it." “ Yon hain’t alters lived in Th-miaste.n. hev you ?’’ asked Miss Gower when Bessie went into the pantry to till the cup. No answer. “Seems ez though I'd heerd thet you used to live in Bangor. Whatever made your ma leave a lovely city like that to come to this little town ?” For some unknown reason Tabby elevated her yellow back and gave a vicious little spit. “ I told yon Bp* last time you wore here that I was born in Bangor. I guess that is how yon heard it. Miss Gower, and hew mamma moved here because she could not live in our old home, where she and papa had been so happy, without him. and how she could live cheaper in a small place and maybe get more work. Mamma said when yon wanted to know more to come and ask her.” Bessie came out of the pantry. “ Hum.” said Miss Gower, and as her young hostess stood with tin* door open suggestively, she could but take the hint, and the offered cup of sugar and go, but not without a parting shaft. “Ff yon followed your mn some Friday when site went to visit them poor folks. 1 guess you'd bo surprised.” “Fussy.” said Bessie, when sip* was alone with her confident. “ we'll have to go without sugar in our lea to-night, for I’ve given the last grain to that hateful woman : but, dear, you do not. need sweetening as much as she does.” {several weeks went by. Bessie could not help think of the last words Miss Gower had said to her that rainy I- riday afternoon : “ Ef you followed your ma some Friday when she went to visit them poor folks, 1 guess you d be surprised.” The vernacular of the ignorant woman came back to her again and again. What could she have meant V W liat could the surprise be V Judging 1 rum Miss Gower’s tone, ii would not bo a pleasant one. Bessie was possessed ol the old sin. etirhisity. She had realised for a long while That her mother was keeping some sad secret, but until now it bad been enough for her to know that, her mother did not wish to tell hei. Fvery!hing that mamma did was right, but now

She was angry with herself for lotting any insinuation that odious old maid hail dared to make a fleet iter. One evening her mother did a very strange thing ; she left Bessie all alone and went to see her triends. 1 lie next night site went again.

" Forgive me. dear, for leaving you ; and I may he gone until very late, as one of tin* laimly is dangerously ilk Shall I not gel some one to stay with yam V I cannot hear to halve yam alone, she said, when she kissed her good-hye. •• Xo. no. mamma. I'm not alraid. and Tahhy is company for me,” said Bessie, anil then burst out impetuously ; “ Hut t), mamma, do let me go with you. do, do. 1 know I should not be in the way, and perhaps I'd be a help.” Anoilter kiss and tender embrace was the answer, and the mother hastened away.

The third evening Bessie's curiosity mastered her. As soon as her mother left the cottage she throw on a wrap and followed.

“ I shall die if I do not find out what this secret is that is weighing on my poor mother’s mind and worrying away her life,’ 1 she cried, and hurried on block after block until tlie destination was reached, and Bessie saw where the poor family lived.

The surprise was complete, and turning she lied homo, sobbing aloud. The only information she had gained was that her trusted and honoured mother had deceived her. What mystery lay beyond the gate which her mother entered she knew not. She had not dared to pass in after her. When the mother returned the little clock on the kitchen shelf was striking BJ, but Bessie did not hear it and the mother did not heed it. The former lay prone upon her bed, deep in a troubled sleep : dressed even to the dusty shoes which had carried her on her errand, (he hitter knelt, hy her bedside ami pressed her cold face to her chi ugh tor's fevered cheek. In Bessie’s hand was clutched sin old-fashioned case containing a photograph. -Her father's likeness. Poor little girl.” exclaimed the mother. Neither Bessie nor her mother read tlu‘ newspapers much ; in fsict they seldom bought one. Miss (lower must have known this, too, for one morning slu' came running across the garden, waving the morning paper in her hand. Bursting into the kitchen like a whirlwind. she panted : “ Oh. Bessie, where’s your ma ? Ilev you read the paper i ’ " What do you mean. Miss Cower—what paper ?” questioned Bessie s mother. “ Hero, look,” cried Miss Gower, pointing to :m item at the head of one of the columns, Bessie glanced over her mothers shoulder, and ibis is what she read; AFTER MANY YEARS. HERBERT NORTON SENTENCED FOII F< lU< IER Y—PIIOVED IN N < WENT. ALREADY SERVED TWELVE YEARS <»F 111S FIFTEEN-YEAR SENTENCE. rjFOIICF GRAHAM. AN EX-TELLER OF THE FIRST NATIONAL BANK, THE GUILTY MAN. A DEATHBED CONFESSION.

They needed only the head-lines to toll thorn the blessed meaning ; then the paper fluttered to the floor, and Mrs. Norton lay unconscious in her daughter's arms.

“My heavens ! she hain’t dead, is she ?” cried Miss Gower in affright as she helped Bessie to lay the unconscious form upon the couch. “ Oil, no ! God have mercy upon us. He cannot take her now. She has just begun to have something to live for,” exclaimed Bessie.

“ Run fer the doctor ; ’taint no com mnn faintin’ lit,” urged Miss Gower, working over the still insensible woman. Bessie ran for their physician, who fortunately happened to he just down tin* street with his horse and carriage. When they reached the cottage his professional services were not required, for Mi's. Norton was up and almost ready to go out ; she was just tj ing her bonnet strings, under a very flushed face, with trembling fingers. But the carriage was needed. “Get on your cloak, Bess, and I’ll drive yeti and your mother down. I was on my way there, an/1 if I saw him first, I’d have to tell the news, and you two must do that,” said the cheery doctor. “ Yes, my darling, comp with me ; 1 tried not to let you share tpy grief, but all my joys arc yours,’ - said Bessie’s mother. “ And it was my father that you have been going to see : papa in prison ?” Bessie asked, hardly understanding the mystery yet. “ Yes. every Friday fj>r twelve years.” “Can my husband bear this excitement. doctor ?” inquired Mrs. Norton anxiously, as the three went flying over tlie road toward the prison. For Herbert Norton lay at death’s door of typhoid fever in the prison hospital. “.Toy seldom V.ills, madam, and I think this joy '.till cure. The worst feature of his c'i'Ac has been that he did not want to live. Wait till you and Bessie get him out of that foul place,” said Dr. Mot gam “And may we take him homo very soon ?” “ The sooner the better. Her« we are. Whoa. Billie. Now. not too much excitemem. my dear ladies.” “ God bless you.” None itttnessed the meeting between tin* three souls united after so manysad vents ; therefore no one can toll what tiny did or what they said. At last when the doctor came into the room he thought la* heard Herbert Norton saying-'though he could hardly recognise the voice, for the joy there was in It : “ Was ever a prayer answered like this V How 1 have' prayed for liberty, thinking only death could bring it—and now—-well, heaven has dawned for me on earth. Justice, the future before me, and my guardian angels. May God grant me power to make for you the crown of glory you deserve, my little martyr, my wife.”