The Monitor. [volume] (Woodstown, N.J.) 1884-1892, 1886-09-03
A SEIF-RELIANT WOMAN.

was narrow, extending only to the oppo-
site side of Chestnut street, but her vision
was not hemmed in by walls of red bricks,
and shutters of white wood, and doorsteps
of white marble.
Indeed, | do not know that her vision
was turned outward at all, for introspec-
ton showed upon her face, in her very at
observe it.
But she was alone, and it was twilight,
and her thoughts ran riot.
"My birthday Forty years of my life
gone, and what have they brought me
Has it, after all, been life, or only cxis-
tcnce? Has it paid? Whathas it brought
me? Have the rewa rds been equal to the
sacrifice? p"
Swiftly her thoughts turned back to an
evening in the far-away past-how long
ago iu seemed to-night-when two roads
had lain open before her, and she must
choose between them.
Two roads /! And at the head of one
| stood brave lack Merton-the good friend
of years, who had helped her through the
tangled maze of settling up her poor dead
fathers involved estate, and secured for
her the few hundred dollars that could be
saved from the wreck. AT the head of
one, | say, stood Jack, with honest eyes
that could Away S meet his fellowman's-
or woman's-and said to her:
"~IIelen, my loved one, here lies my way
Walk with me in it, and my willing arm
shall gladly lift you over the stony places;
my eye search out for you and lead you III
the brightest paths. Come with me, my
love, my own"
And as he held her hand and pleaded
manfully for the love she could not give,
she had turned aside her head to hide her
tears, and had given
Jack, my friend, my brother, | should
wrong you beyond measure were | to say
from gratitude what love does not prompt.
| cannot marry you, nor would you for one
moment wish it, could You see my heart.
| do not love you as your wife should love
you-as You deserve. 1t could only end
in u~nhappiness for us both; in the end we
should come to realize our mistake, and
should yainly beat against our prison-bars.
Look for one who can love you as you
need, and let our ways diverge."
And Jack had answered:
"~IIelen, | had hoped, i'll the new life
that is opening ont before me, to have you
by my side. | had come TO tell you to-
night that business of our firm in India
necessitates the presence there of one of
our house, to remain perhaps for years.
1t has been decided that, as the Junior
member of the house, | should go. | have
loved you long, Helen, and had fondly
hoped you could return that love. Your
fathers death has left you poor for three
thousand dollars-all you have left from
the wreck-can never be invested so as to
bring you even a bare support, and you
must see your little principal constantly
diminishing. | cannot leave you here like
this. Come with me, Helen, my love, my
wife -
And her answer had been:
IL hpilh ~ w iShbt "Roh w IN
love you as | should love The man | should
marry, but rather as a friend, long tried;
a brother, if you will. You ask me what
| shall do? / had proposed to tell you to-
night, had not this happened. When in
Philadelphia, last week, / made range
ments, after a careful computation of the
cost, to enter upon n course of study III the
medical college for women, and hope and
intend TO fit myself for the practice of med
iciue among women and children. | shall
study hard there, and live economically,
and have made an estimate that the money
| have will support me through my college
| course, and give me a year of hospital
study in Paris, before entering upon my
work here. The Dean of the College,
noble woman-has but Just returned from
a two-years course of study under Madame
La Chapelle in Paris, and from her | have
obtained close estimates of the cost of liv-
ing there, as well as of my necessary ex-
penses in Philadelphia prior to going
there. Through her aid | have secured
board in a quiet, retired Quaker family,
and | enter at once upon my career.
But Helen! my friend, " urged Jack,
'look at the obstacles You must meet; the
opposition you must encounter. The
world is not ready to accept women as
physicians. And, after all, is not a wo-
mans noblest, truest career found in her
home? In the hearts of husband and
children ~
And she had said: "Of the great mass of
women, Yes. But it is not given to all
women to be happy and useful in their
own homes; and to such must happiness,
or ut least content, come through work
suited tn their talents. | cannot see my
way clear to become the happy wife of a
Happy husband whom | do not love, but
| do believe | have ability to make quite
as able and conscientious a physician as
the average half-edncated young man
turned loose upon the community by our
medical colleges at the 'Ides of March each
year. Yes. Jack, there lies my vocation.
Don't try to turn me from it,"
And Jack had gone out to Calcutta, and
had never returned.
The years had sped on quickly enough,
each bringing it's work, its cares, its dis