Waterbury evening Democrat., 1888-05-17
FORCED APART
By W. CLARK RUSSELL.


 By W. CLARK RUSSELL.
 Author Of the "Treck of the Grosrenor.n
 A Sailor's S,Ueetteart," Etc.
 One Of these boxes stood on the floor, and the packing of it, with many a long halt for a sobbing fit. and active protest and honafnl reassurance. had been Mrs. Strangfeld's oc- cupation for a part of the evening. Pres ently rising. Jenny went to the box and tried its weight. Light enough it was-with single change of apparel only; yet she took a turn with it about the room (treadino on tiptoe) as if to make sure that it was not a burden above her strength.
 She was restless and could not remain quiet. Now she would draw out her purse and count the money that it held: now she would approach the glass and gaze at the spectral, mournful beauty of her white face; anon, and with no more sound than a mouse creeping, she would pace the room: until the fever in her waned, and the passion ate spurring of thought ceased to lacerate and drive. Whereupon she extinguished the light and took a place at the window. and surrendered herself to contemplation of the stars
 Manifestly she meant to take no rest that night, or was very long in going to it.
 One would have had no need for sharp eyes to look at Jenny's face and know her as a girl on the eve of some wild business. To- morrow morning was she to be carried long and sorrowful journey by her father, and when ill London, from church to church they were to wander; and all the while her heart was to burn in the fire of his wrath, and her sacred purity to be blackened by his thoughts of Hari iOnO of m laft ftarS . she but foreseen all this, would have been easy to learn and remember, was so deep that even her mother had groaned over her that evening" The very neighborhood wherein Cuthbert had hired lodgings during his holiday in London she did not know; she had never had occasion to write to him. He had come to Sydenham and met her by an appointment planned before they left Grey stone, and all their arrangements were yer bally concerted with never hitch of weather to disappoint them, and that was why no let ters had passed.
 So, then, the London parish in whose church they were united was unknown to her. No light could she give, beyond taking Gods holy name in witness that she spoke the truth, which only her mother believed.
 But the uselessness of the journey, aud the fear of her fathers anger if failure should attend their search, were not the first causes of her present resolution.
 That night, she resolved, would be the last she should ever pass in the old wooden house. Call her mad if you please-and few such desperate resolves but have madness at bottom; but there was courage, too, a virtu- ous audacity, and of a most womanly sort, acting without reflection; that is; influenced by the present that was driving her, and taking no thought of the future upon which she was rushing
 l The church clock was striking the half hour after eleven, when with shiver she rose from her chair at the open window, and, stealing to the bedroom door, opened it noise lessly, and listened. The deep breathing in the adjacent apartment where her parents lay, the fall of an ember in the kitchen grate, the loud ticking of a clock, were the only sounds audible
 Leaving the door ajar, she put on her hat, to which a veil was attached, threw a shawl over her shoulders, and raised the little trunk. There was clear moonlight abroad now, and light enough reflected to give dis tinctness to all objects in the room. On tip toe she descended the staircase. and, the bet ter to make her exit soundless, went through the kitchen. In few moments she had lightly drawn the bolts of the back door, and stood in the moonlight.
 1uo ulSuJ "dS SOlU dI1u SWe6U WlUn OoW, and the mild stars shone lustrously. Now, was it that the cool air and the deserted length of the High street, and the black shadows of the soaring town, brought to her an unutterable sense of homelessness, and the chill and terror of the lonesome state. She came round to the front of the house, and under the gloom of the bay tree paused and reflected, not daring to lift her eye to her parents bedroom window ..-r..
 She crept softly out of the darkness and crossed the road and went up the street, hug ging the shadow of the houses. When abreast of the market place, again was she seized with numbing sense of helplessness and a great agony of spirit. The sympathy of a human wholesome one to tell her story to and take advice from, she wanted, and per- haps the very last person whom it would have entered her head to apply to under any other circumstances she now resolved to seek.
 This was Mrs. Mead, who had shown her some kindness that morning, and the sort of sympathy that was not likely to thwart if it did not profit her.
 So she fitted like some restless spirit through empty stalls and vacant, silent gloom, and, hesitating moment before Mrs. Mead's door, knocked lightly
 Although there was no light in Mrs. Mead's window, the old woman was not asleep, hay. Ing not two minutes before JennyS arrival extinguished her tallow candle and got into bed. Hearing a sound that resembled a knock at the door, the old woman lifted her ear out of the pillow and listened. After a little interval the knock was repeated, and there being no mistake about the noise this time, Mrs. Mead, greatly wondering, darted her withered legs out of bed, struck light, swathed her old form in the counterpane, which she plucked from the bed, went to the door and opened it, holding the candle over her head.
 She instantly recognized Jenny, and ut tered a cry of astonishment.
 "Michael Strangfeld's grill At this time O nightl Seekin' of me, tool Lord, Lord what is the matter."
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