Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1889-02-16
A GOOD MANS DILEMMA.

| Archdeacon Yale OF Sudbury, in Gloucester
| shire, who had taken breakfast at the Athe-
nsum, walked down the club steps, eastward
bound. He was a man OF fresh compile xion
and good presence, of tolerable means, and
some reputation an author Of a curiously
| morbid book, 'TimOn Defended As he walked
briskly along::an unopened letter which peeped
| from his pocket seemed-and rightly-to in
dictate a man free from anxieties; man almost
without care.
But before he left the dignified stiffness of
Pail Mall, he found leisure to read this: Il en-
| close, !" wrote his wife, "a letter which came
| for you this morning. 1 trust, Cyprian, that
you are not fretting about the visitation ques-
ton, and get your meals fairly well cooked"
The arcbdeacon paused at this point and
| smiled family as at some pleasant reminis-
cence. Give my love to dear Jack. Oh-h'm-
L do not recognize your correspondents hand
writing"
Nor do r. said the archdeacon aloud: and
he opened the enclosure with curiosity that
had in it no fear of trouble After plaucinp Mt
the signature, however, he turned into a side
street and read the letter through. He sighed.
'Oh dear, dear!' he muttered. What can
do? must go! There is no room for refusal.
And yet-oh dear-after all these years. No.
IA Sldmouth street, Gray's Inn Road! What
place.
1t was shabby third-rate lodging-house
place, as perhaps he knew. But he called
cab and had himself driven thither without de-
lay. At the corner of the street he dismissed
the cab and looked about him furtiyelv For
man who had left his club so free from care,
and whose wife at Stubury and son at Lincolns
Inn were WELL he wore an oddly anxious face.
1t could not be-for he was an archdeacon-
that he was about to do anything of which he
was ashamed. OF course not. Bishops, and
Others OF that class, may be open to tempta-
tons, or have pages Of their lives folded down
winch they would not wish turned. But an
archdeacon2 Oh. no.
Yet when he was distant a house or so from
No. IA he started guiitily at a very ordinary oc-
curence-nothing more than the arrival of
hanson cab at the door. True, a young wo-
man descended from it, and let herself into the
house with latchkey. But young women and
latchkeys are common in London as common
as-as dirt. 1t could hardly be that which
darkened his face us he rang the bell.
In the hail. where dun sitting, there
was little to remove any prejudice he may hive
conceived; little, too, in the dingy staircase,
numbered with plates and stale food; or in the
frst-hoor rooms. from which some one peeped
and another whispered and both giggled; or in
that second-hoor room. at once smart and shabby
and remarkable for many photographs of one
young girl, where he was hidden to wait-little
or nothing. But when he had pished and
pshawed at the tenth photograph he was called
INTO an inner room, where strange silence
prevailed. Involuntarily he stepped softly.
1T was kind of you TO come" some on said
some one who was lying in great chair
brought very near to the open window that the
speaker might breathe the more easily-"very
kind. And you have come quickly, too"
Il have been in London some days" he an
swers gently, the fastidious expression gone
from his face. Your daughters letter fol-
lowed me from the country and reached me
only an hour ago It has been no trouble to
me to come l am only panied at finding you
80 ILL.,"
"Ah!' she answered Doubtless her thoughts
were busy, while his flew back nearly thirty
years to summer evening, when he had
walked with her under the trees in Chelsea
gardens and heard her pour into his ear--she
was young actress then in the first blush of
successful her hopes and ambitions. There
was nothing IL the memory of which he had
need to be ashamed. In those days he had
been reading for orders, and. having lodgings
III respectable street. came by chance 60
know two of his neighbors-her mother and
herself. The two were living quiet domestic
life, which surprised and impressed him. The
girls talent and the contrast between her no
toriety and her simple ways had certain
charm for him. For some months the neophyte
and the actress were as brother and sister.
But there the feeling stopped, and when his
appointment to country curacy closed this
pretty episode in his life, the exchange of
few letters had but added grace to its ending.
Now old feelings rose to swell his pity he
traced the girls features in the woman's face
lou have daughter. \ on have been married
since we parted" he said.
''Yes 1t 10 for her sake / have troubled
you" was her answer. ''She il a good girl
OH so good! But she has no one in the world
except me, and am leaving her. Poor Girls
seli"'
''She Ia on the stage?" he inquired gravely.
Yes; and she has succeeded young, as l did
We have not been unhappy together. You re-
member the life my mother led and led? l
think it has been the same with us again"
She smiled ever so little. He remembered
something of the quiet pathos of that life.
Your husband is dead?" he asked.
Dead, No; wish he were!' she answered
bitterly, the smile passing from her face on
the instant. MY girl had better by far be
alone than with her father. All, you do not
with another woman-I thanked God for it.
Dead? Oh, no! There is no chance that he is
dead
Mr.. Yale was shocked. "You have not got a
divorced" he said.
mo. Until last year. when Grissel made
good engagement, We were very poor. Then /
fell ILL., and there were expenses. We had to
come here. Now that her name is known he
will come back and find her out. She plays as
Kittie Latouche, but the profession know who
she is and-and what can / do2 Oh, Mr.. Yale!
tell me what can do for her."
Her anxiety unnerved him. Her terror of
the future. not her own, but her child's, wrung
his heart. He had presentiment whittier she
was Leading him. and he tried to murmur some
commonplace of encouragement.
you may yet recover" he urged. cat any
rate, there will be time to talk of this again"
There will not be time," she entreated him.
Il have scarcely three days to live, and then
my child will be alone. Oh, Mr.. Yale help
me. She is young and handsome, with no one
to guide her. If her father return he will be
her worst enemy. There is some one, too
some gentleman-who has fallen in with her,
and been here. He may be a friend-what you
we're to me-or not. Don't you understand
me?" she cried piteousy. "How can leave
her unless you-there is no one else whom can
ask-will protect her?"
He started and looked round for relief, but
found none. Il? 1t is impossibler' he cried.
"Oh dear, dearl 1 am afraid that it is impossi-
BILE, Mrs. Kent"
Not impossible! do not ask you to give
her home or money! Only care. If you will
be her guardian-her friend"
She was a woman dying in sore straits He
was a merciful man. In the end he promised
to do what she wished. Then he fastened to
escape her gratitude, unconscious, as he passed
down the stairs, of the whispering and giggling,
the slatternliness and dirt which had been SO
dreadful to him on his entrance.
He walked along Oxford street in reverie,
"Poor thing!' falling from him at intervals,
until he reached the corner Of Tottenham
Court Road, and his eye rested upon board
ing-at the first idly, then with q purpose,
finally with a timid sidelong glance. The adj
vertisement which had caught his attention