The Cheyenne daily leader. [volume] (Cheyenne, Wyo.) 1870-1884, 1883-10-07

he had made of the life of Della Grimwet BE
had gone away, married, and lived honored
and prosperous. He would nave for
gotten, had not some nobility of
his nature prevented. With the stub
bornness of his race, he had fought
long and determinedly against his conscience,
but he had been forced to yield at last. The
death Of his wife, to whom he had been ten
derby attached, had at once left him free to
make such reparation as might still be posi-
BILE, and had softened him as only sharp sor-
row can. He had come to Kempton with the
determination of finding Della, and of doing
whatever could bssdone, at whatever cost to
himself.
He had been unprepared, however. for the
woman he found. He had left a fresh, beau
tiful young girl; ten years had transformed
her into a repulsive old woman. He had no
means of adequately measuring the force of
the storms of scorn and poverty and sorrow
which had beaten upon Della Grimwe in the
years that had made of him the cultured,
delicately-nurtured man he was. What man
ever appreciated the woe of the woman he
betraysl indeed, what measure has a man OF
the sorrow of any womanl Farnsworth
had painfully to adjust himself to
a condition of affairs for which
he should have been prepared,
yet which which took him absoluteiy py sur
prise.
He fingered upon the bleak wharf, uncon-
sciously the object of much mildly specula-
tive curiosity, until the twilight began to fall.
Then, with a shiver, no less of mind than of
body, he shook off his painful abstraction,
and turned his steps toward the path, once
well known, which led to the home of Della
Grimwet. 1t seemed to him, as he paused a
brief instant with hLj hand upon the OLD
knocker, as if nothing here had changedin
ten years. The sunlight would have shown
him traces of decay, but in the gathering
dusk the house seemed a pallid phantom from
the past, unchanged but lifeless-
But his knock at once destroyed all illu-
sions, since it summoned the woman who be-
longed not at all to the past which he remem-
bered, but the pitiful and too tangible pres
ant. She held her guttering candle up with
out a word, and, having identified him, made
him, without speaking, a signal to enter.
When Farnsworth had left her in the after
| noon Della crouched in the bottom of the
grave she was digging, her first feeling being
an unreasoning desire for concealment. she
| thought she should remain passive IL the
| sides of the pit collapsed and buried her. In
| the old DAYS before her boy was born she had
been night after night out on the old wharves,
| praying for courage to drown herself.
| After the child came, her feelings changed,
| and she longed only to escape and to take her
| son away from the scorn and sordid life
| which surrounded them. Gradually she had
| become hardened; hers WAS one of those com
| mon natures to which custom and pains are
| opiates, mercifully dulling all sensibilities.
To-day the appearance of her betrayer had
revivified all the old impressions, and for a
moment seemed to transport her to the early
| laws when her anguish was new. The keen
-N,LLAl how ofraCh md
| She lived again the bitter moments of her sin
and shame.
But habit is strong, and presently
the fading light reminded the sexton that her
work was still unfinished. and that Widow
Pettigrove, who was past all earthly tribula-
ton, must have her last bed prepared, what
ever the woe of the living woman who
worked at it with trembling hands and a SEN
sation as if a demon had clutched her by the
throat. Yet work was not unmerciful; it
brought some relief, since it served to dilute
the thought which rushed dizzyingly to her
brain, and by the time her toll was completed
she was steadier. When she opened the door
to Farnsworth she was not unlike her usual
stolid self. She perceived at a glance that he
had learned who she was, and she hoped, in
a blind, aching way, thath he had not betrayed
his presence to the n~eighbors, thus to re-
awaken all the old singing flight of bitter
words.
Farnsworth followed Della into the
kitchen, without even those greetings
which habit renders so involuntary that
only in the most poignant moments are they
disregarded. With their past between them
it was not easy to break the silence. Farms
worth seated himself, and the woman stood
regarding him. There was in her attitude
all the questioning, the agony, Of her years
Of suffering. Her wrongs and her sorrows
gave her a dignity before which he shrank as
he could not ave quailed under the most
whitening reproaches. Whatever words he
would have spoken-and no man can come
deliberately to SO important a crisis without
formulating, even if unconsciously, the plea
which his self-defense will make-were for
gotten, or seemed miserably inadequate now,
What were words to this woman, palhd and
worn before her time with privation,
anguish and ~unwomanly toil The contrast
between his rich and careful dress and her
coarse garb, between his white hands and
her knotted fingers, between his high bred
pale face and her cowed, weatber-beater
countenance, was too violent not to be ap
parent to them both-as if they were IL
some strange way merely spectators looking
iispassionately at this wretched meeting o.
those who had once been passionate lovers.
With each moment the silence became
more oppressive; yet as each moment dragged
by it became more difficult to break the still
ness. Only n man utterly devoid of remors'
Dr. feeling could have framed upon his tongue
commonplace phrases at such a time. Il
seemed to Farnsworth as if he were brough
TO Judgment before the whole universe. Hi
throat became parched. He longed to hav,
the candle and the flames pickering in tn
Did fireplace go out in darkness and talk
from his sight the Nemesis that confronted
him.
He broke the silence at last with a cry:
"Ah, my God, Deliai What have / donef
She wavered as she stood, putting GU
1er hand as if reaching for support. Thei
the half staggered backward into a chair.
'There is nothing l can sayr' Farnswortl
vent on vehemently. There is nothing
ian dol | came here dreaming Of MAXIM
reparation; but there is no reparation / cal
make. There is nothing that can change TIN
oast-nothinh that will undo what ] hav'
lone to you. Oh, my Godi How little
lreamcd it would be like thisi"
NO" she said slowly, almost stupidity
nothing can undo it,"
"Why do you not tell meI' he began
Why"
But the words rebuked him before the
were spoken. He buried his face in his hand:
and again they were silent. Ii the VIC
man-this woman who had never been alb
to think much, even in her best days, an
who now was blunted and dulled almost t
,tupidity-what she felt in those bitter mt
ments, who can telll The mans soul was
tumult of wild regret and unavailing N
morse, while she waited again for him t
speak.
"But,n Farnsworth said at length, a ne'
idea seizing him, 'but the-our child, Delia
The boyf"