Democratic Sentinel, Volume 19, Number 27, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 July 1895 — ONE WOMAN'S LOVE. [ARTICLE]

ONE WOMAN'S LOVE.

BY JESSIE FORSYTH CLINE.

“You are free, my darling, as free as lam innocent. The law detains me, but there is no law which binds you to a convict husband. Remember, Elizabeth, you are free.” “O, Herbert! No, no, I can never be free in this world or in the next —never freed from my great love for you.” “Then you do love me, in spite of all?” he entreated, raising her face that he might read her eyes. Her answer was to catch his hands in both her own and press her lips tenderly, passionately, upon each broad palm. “Elizabeth, if you indeed love me, say the words, ‘Herbert, I 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? What is love without faith? My God, thou hast indeed afflicted me! I 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 his head fall upon his chest, his whole attitude one of despair. “Herbert, my husband, I did not say I believed you guilty,” sobbed Elizabeth, throwing her arm s around his great form and pressing him to her breastHerbert Norton abandoned himself to her endearments as he had to his “I’oor little wife,” he said, drawing her to his knee. “It is so much harder for you than it would be if you trust«d me as I trust you. Do you think, •darling, if I saw you do a dishonorable deed I should believe my own •eyes? No. I should say, ‘My faculties are playing me false, not Elizabeth.’ I should doubt my reason before I could my wife.” “Stop, stop, Herbert, I cannot bear it. Ido not believe you guilty, and yet—” “You are a tender judge convinced against your will,” interrupted the man, “and I forgive you. Some time you will know that I am innocent, if it is not until the judgment day. “Yes, my love, I believe you now. I have been mad. You are innocent! How could my faith have been shaken for one moment?”

'‘Mamma, are you going out to-' day? O surely you are not. Ido so hate these Fridays; I thought you •would surely stay at home to-day. See how it rains—and you know the .umbrella is no better than a sieve. Tfit rained cats and dogs it 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 around her another's neck. ■“Where do you go every Friday, mamma? Cannot Igo in your place and carry the basket? It is such a big' basket, and you are so small. What big appetites the family must have, to whom you take the food so regularly,” she laughed. “Tell me -about them, mother, dear.” With a tender kiss the mother drew herself away and quietly prepared for a rainy day walk. “My Friday visits are not happy (occasions, dear,” she said, “and I do mot want to bring unhappiness, even the unhappiness of others into your life so early. Some day you shall come with me.” “You have already made me unhappy, mamma, by not letting me share your grief. I know how miserable something makes you every Friday. You go out looking quite bright fresh, but you come back —oh, so haggard.” “Do I look fresh, really, when I starton my errand, dear?” questioned

the slight, pale faced woman eagerly. '“That is well, and reminds me that I want you to pick me that new blown rose. lam glad if I can take a little sunshine into the gloom surrounding these poor people.” The girl picked the rose from the plant in the window and, lifting the •cover of the basket, which stbod upon ■the table, placed it on the snowy linen which hid the viands. “No, dear,” remonstrated her -mother; “put it on my coat, right bere. I want to wear it.” “How queer you are, mamma,” •exclaimed Bessie. “I believe you’re getting vain; but how out of place a flower looks on that common •old coat.” “‘lt is a pity more roses do not bloom in unexpected places, dear.” Bessie Stood at the window anti watched her mother until she disappeared down the road. There were tears in her eyes; two large drops fell upon the back of the cat, which sat upon the window ledge. Pussy rubbed her soft sides against bur mistress and purred sympathetically.

“Tabby, what do you think it means?” asked Bessie, sitting down and hugging her pet tightly in her arms. “Poor little old Puss, you’d tell me if you could, wouldn't you? You don’t want mamma sad any more than I do.” Puss purred softly. “Isn’t it funny, Tabby, how mamma goes away every Friday afternoon, with that basket full of good things to eat, things you and I seldom get, Tabby, because mamma says she can’t afford to give us goodies. But how can she afford to take jelly* and fruit and everything to that poor family? Can you tell, Puss? She dresses up, too, as if she were going to church, and always seems so excited. No matter how many people come to see her that day about orders, and no matter how much work she has on hand, she leaves everything and goes.” Just then a knock came at the door. Before Bessie could open it a woman entered. A small plaid shawl was thrown over her head and she carried a cracked teacup. “How d’ye do, Bessie,” she said. “I seen your ma goin’ down the street, an’ bein’ ez you wus alono thought I’d run over a spell; an’ I did want some sugar, es you could lend me a little. I thought as how your ma might have granoolated in the house after all her fine cdokin’. My sister wuz took wuss las’ night; can’t seem to settle any food, an’ I thought I’d beat her up a custard. How’s your ma these days; mopin’ ez us’al? ” The unexpected visitor babbled on, arranging herself comfortably before the fire. “Pretty lonesome fer you an’ your ma livin’ here all alone,” she continued. “You don’t seem to hev much company. Your ma never goes out 'cept Fridays, does she?’ Bessie wanted to say that her mother did not find congenial society in the neighborhood. She wondered how this woman knew about herself and her “ma.” She never came to the house, and Bessie knew she was a person of whom her mother disapproved. “How long has your pa been dead, 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 I was a little child, but don’t ask me about papa ;it makes me feel so bad,” she cried. ‘Why?” questioned Miss Gower. “Why” repeated Bessie, “Why does it make any one feel badly to think of one’s dead father?”

“Most gener’lly because they recollect how good he wuz,” was the ambiguous reply. “An’ you surely don’t remember nothin’ about your pa?” “No,” sighed Bessie; “not much, but I’ve always wished that I did remember.” “I suppose your ma talks a good deal to you about him?” The questions were becoming intolerable. “No, she doesn’t. It makes her unhappy to talk about him. I used to ask her questions and questions, just like you are asking me, Miss Gower. I never knew before why it made her feel bad to be asked questions; now I know,”, said Bessie. “Hum,” muttered the spinster, the consonant held a long while behind her thin lips’. Bessie thought it would sound almost like pussy’s purr only it was disagreeable—a purr with a claw in it. 0 “These poor folks must be in awful straits to take your ma out sich a day ez this.” “And you must have wanted sugar very much, Nliss Gower, to have come out in such weather,” ventured Bessie; “and lam sorry we cannot oblige you about fine sugar. We use the light brown; if that will do you're welcome to it.” “You hain’t allers lived in Thomaston, hev you?” asked Miss Gower, when Bessie went into the pantry to fill 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 you the last time you were here that 1 was born in Bangor. I guess that is how you heard it, Miss Gower, and how mamma moved here i because she could not live in our old home, where she and papa had been so happy, without him, and how she thought she could live cheaper in a small place and maybe get more work. Mamma said when you wanted to know more come and ask her.”

Bessie came out of the pantry. “Hum,” said Miss Gower, and as her young hostess stood with the door open suggestively she could but take the hint and the offered cup of sugar and go, but not without a parting shaft. “Es you followed your ma some Friday when she went to visit them poor, folks, I guess you’d be surprised.’ “Pussy,"said Bessie, when she was alone with her confidante, “ we’ll have to go without sugar in our tea 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 thinking of the last words Miss Gower had said to her •that rainy Friday afternoon; “Es you followed your ma some Friday when she went to visit, them poor folks, I guess you’d be surprised.” The vernacular of the ignorant woman came back to her again and again . Whatcould she have meant? What could the surprise be, forjudging from Miss Gower’s tone it would not be a pleasant one. Bessie was possessed of the old sin, curiosity. She had realized for a long while that hbr mother was keeping some sad secret, but until now it had been enough for her to know that her mother did not wish to tell her. Eyerything that mamma did was right, but now . She was angry with herselt for letting any insinuation that odious old maid had dared to make affect her.

One evening her mother did a very strange thing; she left Bessie all alone and went to see her friends. The next night she went again. “Forgive me, dear, for leaving you; and I may be gone until very late, as one of the family is dangerously ill. Shall I not get some one to stay with you? I cannot bear to leave you alone,” she said, when she kissed her good bye. “No, no, mamma, I’m not afraid, and Tabby is company for me,” said Bessie, and then burst out impetuously: “But O, mamma, do let me go with you, do, do. I know I should not be in the way, and perhaps I’d be a help.” Another 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 threw on a w’rap 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,” she cried, and hurried on block after block until the destination was reached, and Bessie saw where the poor family lived. The surprise was complete, and turning she fled home sobbing aloud. The only information she had gained w’asthat her trusted and honored mother haa 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 twelve, but Bessie did not hear it and the mother did not heed it. The former lay prone upon the bed, deep in a troubled sleep; dressed, even to the dusty shoes which had carried her on her errand, the latter knelt by the bedside and Dressed her cold face to her daughter’s fevered cheek. In Bessie’s hand was clutched an old-fashioned case containing a photograph. * ‘Her father’s likeness. Poor little girl,” exclaimed the mother. Neither Bessie nor her mother read the newspapers much; in fact, they seldom bought one. Miss Gower must have known this, too, for one morning she came running across the garden, waving the morning paper in her hand. Bursting into the kitchen like a whirlwind, she panted: “0, Bessie, where’s your ma? Hev you read the paper?” “What do you mean. Miss Gower, what paper? ” questioned Bessie’s mother. “Here, look," cried Miss Gower, pointing to an item at the head o! one of the columns. Bessie glanced over her mother's shoulder, and this is what she read:

AFTER MANY YEARS. HERBERT NORTON, SENTENCED FOR FORGERY, PROVED INNOCENT. ALREADY SERVED TWELVE YEARS OF HIS FIFTEEN YEAR SENTENCE . GEORGE GRAHAM, AN EX-TELLER OF THE FIRST NATIONAL BANK, THE GUILTY MAN. A DEATH BED CONFESSION. They needed only the headlines to tell them 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. “O, 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 common faintin’ fit,” urged Miss Gower, working over the still insensible woman. Bessie ran for their physician, who fortunately happened to be just down the street with his horse and carriage. When they reached the cottage his professional services were not required, for Mrs. Norton was up and almost ready to go out; she was just tying 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 you and your mother right down. I was on my way there, and 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, come with me; I tried not to let you share my grief, but all my joys are 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 for twelve years.” “Can my husband bear this excitement, doctor!” inquired Mrs. Norton. anxiously, as the three went flying over the road toward the prison. For Herbert Norton lay at death’s door of typhoid fever in the prison hospital. “Joy seldom kills, madam, and I think this joy will cure. The worst feature of the case has been that he did not want to live. Wait till you and Bessie get him out of that place,” said Dr. Morgan. “And may we take him home very soon?” “The sooner the better. Here we are. Whoa, Billie. Now, not too much excitement, my dear ladies.” “God bless you.” None witnessed the meeting between the three souls united after many sad years; therefore no one can tell what they did or what they said. At last when the doctor came into the room he thought he heard Herbert Norton saying—though he could hardly recognize the voice, for the joy there was in it.: “Was ever a prayer answered like this? How I have prayed for liberty, thinking only death could bring it — and now—well, heaven has dawned for me on earth. Justice, 1 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.” The most easterly point of the United States is QQoddy Head, Me.