Wiarus. (Winona, Minn.) 1886-1893, 1890-12-11

~S
change in the expression of her face.
but with Il voice whose rough grating
easily overpowered the noise of the
train:
jest you stop q worritin', Tommy,
else III tell yer bloomin' dad when we
git ono if ! don't
Stephen shut his eyes and only open
ened them as the little family bundled
out two stations further on.
The Monument" "NIark lane!'
No further passengers invaded his car
riagc.
II can't stand this any longer, and
the condensed fog chokes one. l shall
get out ut the next station and 60
back"
"Aldgate!"
Out he jumped and crossed to the
return platform, literally feeling his
way. The underground station at
Aldsate is often quite dark in the
middle Of summer, and on this day
the fog was dense. He found his way
to a sent, and $50 thick was the dark
messy did not discover, till he had tak-
en- his place at the end of it, that
there were two other persons near
him. One of them, a man. was speak
ing in a d~isagreeable, querulous voice.
I'm sure it's not my fault if l get
nothing to do. l am always trying to
find something.'
Eyes, in other peoples pockets"
answered a woman's voice. "You want
the wage, not the work:on
Good heavens! that is Millicent's
voice exactly" thought Stephen;
an extraordinary resemblance"
what becomes of money in your
hands can't conceive" she went on.
1T is Millicent's voice. What in
Cots name is she doing:?" and Stephen
tried to catch a glimpse of the figure
that was screened from him by the
man between them, and still more so
by the darkness.
What have you done with the
money | sent you last:9"
"Done with it9 Spent it, of course.
A family cannot live on nothing. 1t
was not much for you to give-you,
who live in luxury; you. whose hus-
band is rich; you--"
"My husband is very far from rich;
and If he were so it would benefit you
in no way. Every farthing l have
given you for your wife was my own,
made by own work. 1, a roman
worked to help a woman, as 1 would q
man, but not such as you.n
Whatever you may have given you
owed to my wife"
81 owed her?'
Eyes; for taking from her what was
hers by right
Shall let this brute 60 on speak
ing 10 her?' said Stephen to himself,
holding the edge Of the seat tightly in
each hand.
And O that she is i'll and in want
you in your prosperity grudge "a little
help TO her and her hungry children"
81 have lowered myself by listening
to you thus far said Miliicent, lin
order to see if you would not in time
say what [ expected of you-what I
waited for. Now that you have done
SO will answer you fully this oncc and
never speak with you again. l feel
that you cannot have lived your life
without some ones having called you
liar and coward or without YOU
knowing that many had a right to do
SO. Therefore will not pause to add
my testimony to theirs. When your
first letter came last year, addressed
to my husband, ito wait an answer,n
he was happily away from home. To
save time l. contrary to my inclina-
ton, opened your appeal. 1t con-
tanned a manly reference to your wife,
and my husbands regard for her in
past years and a cringing demand for
money for her and your children, if
not for you, and it ended with a suc-
gestlon as to the possible unpleasant
consequences to his domestic happi-
~ "AN 7HoJSSV " youI l6CGSF Dc-
came known to me. Every detail of
the story, rs far as it concerned him
self. my husband had long since told
me, and no mud thrown by you could
shake my trust.
"You lie when you say that took
from your wife what was ners bv
right. My husband once loved her
with all his heart and soul, and she
made him suffer bitterly. But he
had loved her, as l say, and for his
sake | consented (f the miserable
story should never reach his ears
to give him further pain) to help
the woman who had repaid his love
with betrayal, his confidence with
~treacherv. but who had been dear
to him before he gave to me what |
took from no one else. You lie again
when you speak Of her present suf-
fering and the ants Of her child