The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1876-10-04
IN A TENEMENT HOUSE.
BY MRS. sALLIE \. RAMAGE.


The wind whistled drearily around Il tene-
ment house, on narrow back alley The
place would be forlOrn enough with all the
brightness of sunshine but to-day. with the
gray leaden skies of autumn over it. the frOs-
ty air and keen wind chilling all within
it, the old tumble down habitatiOn looks a
thousand times worse than ever before. Only
poor people live here and yet if you believe
i'm guardian angles. many spirit of light
Movers over the poor weary mOrtals, who ev-
cry night sleep under it, roof. They are too
poor TO have 4 home all alone, and they hud-
die together here each room holding fam
lily OF some deSOlate one. To whom even the
blessing of loved ones i denied. Poverty
lies AZ every door, and sickness and death
have fitted through the halls, where have
echoed through the long days and nights
means of the suffering.
In a small room under the roof, where the
patter of the rain can be heard and tie wild
wind shakes the loose single young girl
has been sick for months. As she lies prop
ped up with pillows. you can tell fIJm the
scarlet that flames in the paid checks that
consumption is doing It's worst, and that
with the Autumn. the young life Will
fade away She has been reading, but now
the slender fingers, weary with the slight
task of supporting the book, have dropped
upon the quilt, and the lids have closed over
the beautiful eyes. She is too tired to think,
but with a restless motion, turns her head
from side to side. until she falls asleep, and
so quiet is the room that she does not awak-
en- even when the door Is pushed open
and a girl about her own
age enters But you could scarcely picture
more perfect contrast. Standing by the
bedside of the sleeper Alice Bray is the
personification of health and beauty She is
the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in
town. and her dress ard manner bespeak her
riches and station. She i the belle the
pride of her social circle. and she tolcratcs
nor fears neither peers nor rivals. She i
imperious and naughty. repulsing with a
word, a gesture, those with whom she de-
sircs no intimacy. She has had admirers
SuitOrs, but she had given each the same
answer. Her heart has never been touched.
she declared, laughinglv. a year ago. but
since then she neyeralludes 10 hcratfeCtiOnS,
nor receives the attentions of gentlemen.
And yet, a. she steals softly To- the side of
poor Marion West. the cold. hard mask
slips from her face, and her eyes are full of
tears that drip down on the rounded cheeks.
She gsszes steadily at the pale face, the
sunken temples netted by the blue veins, at
the thin lips, the slender fingers until the
sobs she can not suppress shake her form
and arouse the sleeping one. ''Why, my
dear Alice" and Marian tries tO raise her
self to clasp her friend to her, but the hack
ing cough that chokeS her utterance weak
ems her until she sinks back among the
pillows exhausted. Alice seeks by every
means to quiet her until ut last she sees the
quick breath cease to tiutteT and the pulses
throb less wildly.
Now, Marian. you must he quiet, darling
and let me tell YOU what a splendid plan
have. ! am going 70 take you home with
me In an hour or ~ the carriage
will be here and then, with
out any annoyance or pain to you,
/ think We can carry You then, now do not
1pbject, please; you do not know how much
| owe you, and / believe you will grow
strong and well then. We will have for you
the good old doctor that has been our phySi-
fian for years, and know he will soon get
youpp out of this dreadful old bed" No,
no, Alice, il would be useless TO attempt
such a thing. / cannot live many days,
probably not a week longer, and will not
burden you for the little time | can be here
Let me die here in nv old room But YOU owe
me nothing All, but for you should have
suffered from hunger and want You have
treated me more like sister than poor
serving girl. No, the debt is mine To pay,
and If could only win from you the story
whose sadness clouds your eyes and now
and then darkens your face, perchance
could in some little measure repay you"
s'You owe me nothing. You have. taught
me to live a. knew not how. You have
given TO me the best precepts the best adj
vice that have ever had, but better than all
YOU have showed me that have something
left 10 live for. You have done this uncon-
sciously, but nevertheless il has saved my
heart from breaking. But to-day am SO
lonely and sad that | would fain tell you all
were / not afraid that / would tax your
strength and patience. Well, let me fix you
nicely and then will tell you what have
never told any one else. Two years ago |
met Or. Barton Neal and
loAed him ~ have never loved any one in
the world. What makes you shiver, dar-
ling? Are YOU cold? You are so pallid.'
1T is nothing, Alice. Do not mind me.
am nervous; that is all.
''IIe visited me regularly and sought to
win me 70 love him. for L was far too
naughty to let him know that / cared for
him more than did for any other gentle
man met. / was fond of gay society, fond
of pleasure and merriment, and l liked the
admiration that turned my poor, giddy head
and made my foolish heart so hard to the
only man had ever loved. He was grave
and RI served, and / was half afraid of the
dark steady eyes that seemed to rebuke my
silly life He almost wOrshipped me, and
oftentimes when had repulsed him harshly
he would plead 50 tendeIly for the words OF
love that were on my very lips, but which
would not speak. He was patient and gem
tie with me, bearing all my many faults
without q murnur. At last i promised to
marry hirn-gaye my heart for one brief