The Portland daily press., 1879-03-08
born into life battle stoutly for existence, and
graphic fiercely With heart aud brain until

grapple hercely With heart ana brain Until
they gain recognition, if not acceptance.
$50 little-so very lttle," they whis per,
"and sklllfully managed; then Marie would
be yours, and if you do ask anything, you
will feel, at least, that you have earned and
proved your love by sacrificing your sou to
save her from life of pain or dishonor."
'tDidble! spare mep' cries the man again,
striving in vain to shake off the horror left on
his mind by these seductive reasoners. But
they are not to be dismissed.
"Aud yom life now, what is it? not
marriage surely, such as God loves. No it is
a hollow, harsh lie, an unnatural bondage.
Think of the long, slow years that have
passed; can you live through as many to
come? No-thrlce no. What, then. will you
end your life, aud leave Marie, impossible?
Then how escape-ah how? A very little
would do it. Here-do you see that shop, it
is full of drugs, you-a professor, skilled in
all kinds of scIence-what is easier for you
than to use your knowledge and defy detec-
ton? 1t is only the clumsy bungler who is
discovered, but you are capable of control
ing events to suit your purpose. Risks yes
ia everything there is risk; you risk your
life ever time you walk street, you may be
run over, you may-bah! thousand things
may happen, and is not your freedom and
Marie's happiness worth hundred such
ing life? Why, you are doing fellow
creature service to send him or Der to
heaven speedily ha! hap
Mon DieM save my reason ~ moaus the
the miserable man, awakened from his hide
GUS reverie by the sound of his own low
chuckling laugh; and recoiling in horror from
the spectacle of meditated murder, that the
demon of his imagination holds before his
brain with mocking irony.
All! he has passed the store where the
drugs are sold. Yes-he is safe. He has not
gone in, he has passed it, but the temptation
is not over. for there are more shops. Evesy
day be must pass them. Will he in the end
resist or yield? For every day these thoughts
will come, and at last the devils will over
master him, have him in possession. ImpOs-
sblel And yet-Marie! So little. What
shall she do?-Ah, what shall she do?
And he stands for moment appalled, by
the consciousness that demons are fighting
within him, hungering for the possession OF
the combat. He sees the fate that he is due
if he listens to them He feels the execu-
toner taking his life. It is short agony.
He is gone-Where?
"Fool-thou art in the streets of Paris"
laugh the demons or bis own heat. He cas-
not discern which. What is the use of your
brain, your intellect, if destiny is TO make a
sport OF you and toss you on the horns of cir
cumstances? 1t is only blunderers who wait
upon fate. If You are not able to defy it and
thrust aside the weight that threatens not
only to suffocate you, but the woman who
loves you, then, man or slave that you are
you are not fit to live, and death is your fit
test destiny. Bah! one would think you
were called upon to shed blood! Blood who
wants to shed blood? Macbeth was worse
than criminal in this, for he was a blum
derer. Had you been there it is not with
kuives you would put poor old King Duncan
out of his life into better; a better mark
why, that alone is a service. Kuivrs who
but fool would use them unless TO proclaim
the folly of their owners? The Borgias and
Medic knew better than this; when living
impediments stoop in their way no bloody
victim, CHASTITY aud hideous, was suffered to
bear witness against them publicly. But the
impeachment ceased TO exist nevertheless -
died, OF course, from natural causes, in de-
cent manner, and was piousy buried with
funeral donors. Natural causes Scieuce
and skill can compass them surely; if even in
an unnatural manner; but then so little does
it-so very little-aud judiclously admins
tered, why the verdict on all sides would be,
Natural causes.''
The words charm him. He keeps repeat
ing them over and over in his brain, as
1hNNeo ohCJ POSoCooCu d cPOuSC-Iih6 pTOp6TlY
that could ABSORB the evil from his intentions
and convert meditated crime into freak of
nature. They soothe and fascnate him.
Natural causes! He fondles the word
again and again. He will not part from them.
fney incose so many darling possibilities
tibet they become at length the angels of his
freedom and the messengers of his love to
Marie. What joy they will carry her! What
a long life OF happiness lies bound up in them.
the hooking demons have gone, so it seems
to him. But the sly traitors are still in am
bush, laughing at their victim because he
cannot recognize them in their changed dress
as angels of light.
He is almost in good spirits when he re-
turns to Madame, his wife, in the evening,
She has prepared savOry dinner for him, OF
which he partakes, and tonight he seasons
their usually silent meal with conversation.
Madame listens, but pays no attention to the
change from sentimental point of view. ST.,
lent or laxative, he is The same to her-her
husband-whom she has married to cook aud
mend and economic for She does her duty;
he does his. he earns money Tor the house, ),
which she lays out judiciousy. Nothing
more is required, and Madame is at all times
personally Indifferent to the trivi Il signs OF
change of manner. Glad or sorry are terms
that soon lose their meaning for many.
When Monsieur talks, she listens; when he
is silent she is not disturbed 10 fact Mad
anne is an excellent wife. What more could
be desired?
This evening, as on every other, as soon as
Monsieur has finished his dinner, he goes in
to the salon, while Madame remains to clear
the table and leave the Kitchen ready for the
concierge's wife, who comes each day to clean
and scour.
A week passes by.
Madame still goes on with her round, with
her routine of duty. Each afternoon fluids
her in her accustomed seat BY the window.
when not tempted out by the exigencies of
society. On one evening in every week she
receives. She sits now thinking over yester-
days reception, when Monsieur had enter
tanned some fe'low-professors, aud they had
talked learnedly together, while Madame was
listening to their wives. 1t interests her to
remember what this one said, wha, that one
wore. But in the midst of this indulgence
she recollects Monsieur's dinner, and she goes
into the kitchen to prepare for her husbands
return. Presently she hears his footstep on
the stairs and hurries with her preparation.
He comes up slowly, calmly, like one tired,
On reaching the top, he goes into the kitchen.
His wife is in the act OF pouring out the SOUP
into two separate basins, standing ready on
the table to receive it. 81 far as she can be
surprised she now is so, to see Monsieur come
III W uIuuor ueIore sue mas summoned him.
Such is not the habit. He is looking pale.
"What is it?" she asks.
Il have torn my coat" he answers grayely.
II must, find, go out Immediately after din
uer. viii you do me the kindness to mend
it for me?" Monsieur is always courteous
to Madame "Here, will pour out the
SOUP for you. Allow me-"
He takes the saucepan from her hand, and
gives her his coat, which he has thrown off
while speaking.
GAS you will" replies Madame. receiving
the coat. sit is long affair? If so. cover
up the soup after you have poured it in the
basins. You will find the covers on yonder
shelf"
eyes, it will take some few minutes to re-
pair; but never mind, I will wait, and keep
your soup warm"
Madame then leaves the kitchen. The coat
is over her arm, and she carries it into the
salon, where stands her basket of cottons and
needles. 1t is an ugly tear, and takes her
quite ten minutes to mend.
Meanwhile Monsieur is not idle. He pours
the soup into the basins, aud puts them into
their respective places. Then he goes to the
shelf Madame has indicated, and finds the
covers which he at once makes use of. 1t is
evident he is not accustomed to the minor de.