Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 October 1892 — A WOMANS INFLUENCE [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A WOMANS INFLUENCE

By LULU JAMISON

CHAPTER XVlll—Continued. Brian slept all day, aud at dinner time Margaret, pausing outside of his ■door and hearing no sound, fancied he must still be sleeping. But two hours later, when the loneliness and silence ■became oppressive, and the desire to •see and talk to him could no-Jonger be resisted, she put aside the book she had vainly tried to read, and, going to bis room; tapped upon the door. There was no answer, and she knocked more loudly. Still r.o answer. Becoming frightened, she tried the door. It opened to reveal an empty room. Brian was gone. She stood for -a second motionless, trying to realize this fact, and then without a word or cry she went to her own room. He was gone; that was all. It was ■easy to say it. Why should she mind so much? Had he really been home? Perhaps she had only dreamed, that Bertie had talked with her, or that she fcai heard Brian’s voice. Maybe if she ■should rub her eyes very hard she would awaken presently to find herself back at Elmwood, and these last two months a horrible dream. “We should never despair except in the face of positive defeat,” Wilson had ■once said to her. “Wasn’t this positive defeat? Could she see hope beyond it? Was the long, hard struggle and the bitter travail of spirit through which ®he had passed to avail her nothing? Ah, heaven would be more kind." This thought brought a Certain hope and trust with it. And she could think ■quite calmly of the hopes and longings which had filled her heart when she married Brian; of the unfulfilled dreams *nd ambitions which had become a part of her life, and her vague ideas of those wife duties and attentions which were to win him bark from a lite of indolence to a position high and' honored before, the world,, '/njey.Ml been in wain. All in vaiii. She tried to put aside tfye overpowering regret this knowledge brought her. 6he would forget it. She would sit here no longer. The window was open ■and she was coll and chilled,, Besides she heard —what? A step. Yes, a step, and, thank Qod, she recognized it. Without a second’s hesitation she left the room, and whep Brian entered the hall outside he found her standing like an apparition in the dim, uncertain moonlight. He started back, but it was too late to avoid her. Yet even in that moment ■of supremo agony he saw that her White, pained face held no anger, no reproach, only the unutterable sadness ■of one who has hoped so much and been ■disappointed. “You!” he said, motioning her from •him with a hand whoso trembling he vainly endeavored to control. “You!” What pen could describe the shame, the misery and despair that simple word held.

“Have you come to add the last dreg to my cup of bitterness?” he continued rather huskily. “Ah, you turn your face •away. lam beneath oven your notice. Why did 1 come home to-night?” “Because you still have a little feeling forme,” she answered, in a voice that was lull of tears. “I can’t beai 100 much. ” “Some little feeling for her," he reflected. “My God, have I shown much feeling for her? Yet I touched nothing to-day—nothing since this morning.” “Why did you go out?" she asked, leaning rather heavily against the door, though she was conscious of much relief at his assurance. .“To forget, Margaret, to forget myself —to forget you. Here every memory haunted me. I must have died had I staid in that room one hour longer. I have walked and walked. My body is weary, but my mini is active. It is a Jiving furnace of bitter agony. It tortures me. I cannot escape ’’ “From your better nature. No, Brian. Thank God, you cannot escape from your better nature. It is the thought of the man you might be which tortures you. Oh, Brian, Brian! Where is your promise?” He laughed unsteadily. A meaningless laugh which jarred upon her. “You see, it is worse than useless,” he returned, recklessly. “I’m too worthless to waste one thought upon. I have bioken your heart and ruined your life, Bertie says. Why don’t you hate me? Why don’t you strike me as I stand here a villain and a coward.” “Ah, no," she cried, raising her hand to her face. “Not that weak and unfortunate, but with heaven’s help a man.” He grasped the door for support. Her gentleness unnerved him. Contempt would have found him stronger. “What can I say, Margaret?” he aske'd, looking in her faee with pitiful helplessness. “What can I say. Your trust is heaven for me. Can I find any excuse after that. Yet I struggled. If you could know how hard.” “But you took nothing to-night?” she questioned, a soft light stealing into her eyes. “No, nothing; tut the temptation was never more terrible. When I recalled these last two days I thought I should go mad. I remembered that I had again broken my solemn promise. Again overwhelmed you witu shame and sorrow, notwithstanding all jour kindness .and all your sympathy. The worst criminal on earth never felt greater misery and degradation. I was sure you would never trust me again. Sure that you would dread to look upon my face. I could see no hope. And when I went into that accursed place they seemed so happy, The wine was there to bring forgetfulness, to drown my misery. It was before my eyes. Close -to my hand Yet I did not drink. A thought of you, like the last straw to a drowning man, hold mo back. I pushed it from mo. Though I saw heaven in itsdep'hs and hell in my own mind. Then Wilson came ant I ” He cpuld go no farther, emotion overpowered him. Margaret’s own eyes filled with tears, and impulsively she placed her hand in his. “Poor Brian,” she said very softly. •“It has been very hard for you. I never knew how hard until now. To-night has marked your first victory, and after this you shall not fight alone. No matter how rough the path may be, no matter how often you may stumble, I know the time must come when you will stand strong and firm. It is this belief which keeps my faith and courage so warm within me. And until tnat time does come, I always want you to remember that my hand is ever in yours, and, side by side, we will meet and overcome all that is hard to you. Through better and through worse, always '/gether. Don’t, Brian; it pains

me to see you give way so. We will j only be giving mutual help. You shall lean on me, as I shall often lean on you. I have had so many hopes and ambitions , for you. So if you will insist on mag- ! nifying my simple duty into such gen- j erous proportions, I shall expect my j reward in my own way. I can say no more to-night; I feel so utterly weary. ' To-morrow I will have more to tell you. J Only keep your courage strong, and re- ! member that my desire to help you is above every other.” “May God make me strong, Margaret, \ to be worthy of your faith. In his pres- \ ence and in yours I solemnly pledge my word that the day shall come when you | will see in me something higher and • better than the weak creature I am tonight. I can say no more than that. Words are powerless to express my thoughts. I can only feel.” “And I can understand,”she returned, with tremulous lips. “I can hold my hand to you now and say: ‘There is only faith and trust between us.’ ’’ A lone in his room. Alone with feelings and emotions which filled his heart to overflowing, Brian went over every word of this conversation, and in the fresh strength and courage which had come to inm he repeated his pledge. Then his mind passed iu review the events of the evening. He remembered that when he could no longer bear the tide of bitter, remorseful thoughts which surged over him he had found his way to his old haunts with the almost overwhelming desire to seek oblivion in the usual way. How Wilson had found him and drawn him away from the temptation that had well nigh conquered him. They had walked for a long time in the fresh, cool night, and while Wilson talked in the kind, confidential manner he had so often used in their student days, Brian had felt himself overpowered by a rush of feeling, and he had longed with intense longing for something of the noble personality of the man beside him. “You have saved me from myself,” he had cried under the impulse of the moment. “I thank you. not for my sake, but for hers. Men who are strong you seldom pity men who aie weak like me. I have fallen without the breastworks. Shall I ever find safety?” And Wilson had answered, just as he often answered in those old days, when he had promised such rich fruition for Brian’s many talents: “There is safety for you in strength ,of purpose and determination of endeavor, and safety,” he had added in a lower tone, “in the faith and trust of a loyal wife. -Think of her and be strong.”

CHAPTER XIX. MARGARET SEES SOME SUNLIGHT. “I think the clouds must be rolling by,” Margaret said to herself one morning. Brian had just told her of his talk with Wilson, and of the latter's promise to help 'him in every possible way. And as if this was not enough there was her long delightful letter from Miss Hilton, ana the promise it held, that this dear old friend would be with her so soon. Only a thort visit —five or six days at most—yet the prospect of even that made her so happy that she could scarcely speak of it to Brian. The happy moment arrived at last, when she looked into the dear brown eyes and kissed the smooth cheek, which was still so round and rosy. She could only let her tears fall, and feel how sweet it was to lean once more upon that true and tender love. “It is so nice to have you, so very nice to have you,” she cried, in glad tones, as she divested Miss Hilton of bonnet and wraps, and made her take the great arm-chair. “So like the old times. I am going to sit on this low stool by you and stroke your hand just, as I used to do. Do you remember how you used to like me to stroke your baud. Ah, I have missed those times, Miss Hilton. You cannot guess how I have missed them, even at Elmwood; but here a thousand times more.”

“What a delightful little home you have," answered Miss Hilton, allowing her eyes to travel about the room in an effort not to see the expression of pain which had accompanied Margaret’s words. “I am charmed.” “Are you? lam so glad. I think it rather nice, too, though at first it did seem rather small. Now I have become accustomed to it, and we are doing nicely Norah and Nanny are both with me. They both like New York better than I do. I fear lam lacking in appreciation, but No, I’ll not' tell you any more of that. I have really made a great many friends here. I find the people very nice and pleasant.” “1 am pleased to hear it, Margaret. I never doubted your faculty for winning love. You are happy, too, I hope.” Margaret continued to stroke the hand that rested on hers, but she found it impossible to raise her eyes, and the earnest question only won an evasive answer: “I am contented now.” Miss Hilton was a keen observer, and Margaret’s reply did not satisfy her, but she answered with apparent readiness: “I am glad for even that much. I fear you have not trusted me implicitly. I think there has been some heartache, or your letters were not true barometers of your feelings. Some were very hopeful; others despondent. (Jften I fearod you were breaking down, and then I wished to borrow wings and come to you. ” “Ah, if you only had,” faltered Margaret, burying her head in Miss Hilton’s Jap. “Ycu were 60 kind to want to do so. It has been heartache, so much heartache, I could not tell you. It was too bitter to put on paper. Yet I knew you would read between the lines, that you would see and understand. And I felt sure of your sympathy —always so sure of that. If all had fallen from me I believed I should still have you. Sometimes! was tempted io ask you to come just for a little while. Then I reflected you might find it hard or impossible, and so I always put the wish aside.” “Your letters would have brought me, Margaret. Absence has not lessened my love for you. I want you to feel that it is always with you, though I may be far away. I was very much surprised when you told me you were leaving Elmwood. I felt that Brian was at the bottom of your reason, and I begged heaven to bless my brave girl. lam so happy to hear of Brian’s improvement. Industry is certainly a concession for him.” “I always hoped for something better,” Margaret returned, wondering why she should make her words apologetic. “Then, besides, he is my husband, and there is less a question of personal feeling than of wifely duty. There’s du‘y again. I am glowing to detest the word. I Oh, Miss Hilton, you are tired. How thoughtless I am. In my selfishness I’ve quite forgotten what a journey you've had. Come; you shall go right to your room. Then I shall bring you a cup of tea, and you must rest until Brian comes. He will be delighted to see you.” When Brian returned that night he found Miss Hilton installed in his particular chair. “Don’t be jealous,* laughed Margaret, after the warm greetings were over. “I gave Miss Hilton your chair

because she is a visitor, and must enjoy all the privileges.” “On the principle of ‘The poor you have always with you,’ I supposo.” “Don’t quote Scripture so lightly, you thoughtless boy,” said Miss Hilton, with a smile. “I have been hearing some good accounts of you.” “I know who to thank for that,” returned Brian, with a grateful glance at Margaret. “How Jong have you been here discussing me?” “I have been here since early this afternoon, lut we discussed other subjects besiues you, sir. Aiargaret has been telling me a budget of news, and I have been admiring this de ightiul little home. “All Margaret’s taste,” was Brian’s reply. "I jtt 11 you, Miss Hilton, she is ” “Won't you come to dinner, please?” interrupted Margaret at this point. “You’ll find that a much more interesting sub ect for discussion." When Brian returned home next evening he found Miss Hilton alone. “We have spent the afternoon in shopphg," she explained, "and the experience proved too much for Margaret, so I sent h:r away to rest before dinner. Shi will be in-presently, aud meantime you must put up with my company. ” “I am not displeased at the prospeot,” he responded, lightly, though an anxiods expression settled over his face. “I am becoming serious y worried about Margaret,” he added, more gravely. “Don’t you think she is looking rather ill?” “She doesn’t seem particularly well. I fear she finds this spring weather trying. Her case Is not difficult to diagnose, however, and the medicine she most requires is—Elmwood.” The old lady gave Brian a searching look as she gave expession to this opinion. He bore it, without flinching and answered With scarcely a moment’s hesitation: “You are light. I have thought the same. She shall go to Elmwood as soon as possible.” Miss Hilton shook her head, with thoughtful gravity. “That won’t do, Brian. Such a halfway method would be as effective as taking only one part of a seidlitz. You must see this in its proper light, my dear boy. Margaret shou d not make all the sacrifices.” “She shall make no more,” was the impulsive answer. “I see it all now. When she goes to Elmwood I go with her. ” “To stay, I hope. Otherwise ” “Yes, Miss Hilton,.,Jts- stiiy. I have been sufficiently neglectful and brutal. Now I have turned over a new leaf, and I am determined that my future shall be worthy of her husband. I l.ave much to make up. ” ».r “•Now I recognize the rpal Brian," answered Miss Hilton, with smil net eyes. “I have always been confident that he would show himself some day.' I am very glad to see him.” “jf he lives at all,” returned Brian, with unusual feeling, “it is to Margaret’s credit. Her trust gave him life, and her influence led him on. Asjou cannot understand the depths to which I had sunk, neither can you realize to what extent she has proved my salvation. Had her nature been less noble, less genercus, less pure than it is, I could not love her as I do, and—here she is to hear me say so.” “And to thank you for such sweet words,” aided Margaret. “Brian, have you been heme very long? I thought I should be here before you enmo, but my eyes would not stay open, and the time weht so fast.” “If.you are rested I sha’n’t regret It,’.’ returned Brian, drawing her unresistingly to the chair beside him. “I am glac. those refractory eyes compelled your obedience, even though they deprived mo of your company. In your absence Miss Hilton has made herself vastly entertaining. We have been exchanging Ideas. See how she lies back in my chair, which she takes without the least compunction, and smiles at something I have told her. I wonder if it won’t make you smile, too. Wo will try the experiment after dinner." But after dinner Wilson made his appearance, and Margaret forgot all else in her effort that he and Miss Hilton should have ample opportunity to se* and admire each other. ITO BE CONTINUED. |