Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-07-12
UNDER WHAT LEADING
THE MYSTERY OF A MOTHERS
ILLREQUITED LOVE.
CHAPTER /.

familiar quotation II 10 because nowhere
else can find such simple and beautiful
words expressing 90 much; also, because the
two of whom / am about to speak-mother and
son-ars so welded together in my memory
that cannot think Of them spart-of the one
without the other. She-thst widowed
mother-had no life apart from his; he, in
spite of sin, sorrow and estrangement, loved
her to the last, as he loved no other.
The pathetic and the commonplace jostle each
other strangely in this world of ours, and,
surely few would have expected to find mate
rial for romance in the unpretentious row OF
suburban houses where lived Mrs Ruthven and
her son, Malcombe, q slender, dark-eyed boy
of twenty or thereabout, with clustering locks,
whose richness and ripple and golden sheen
were the admiration of every feminine Great
ure in Radley Crescent
Yes we called ourselves q Crescent by virtue
of a very slight curve In our center; and were
not little proud of certain narrow slips Of arid
land at the back Of each house, which We were
pleased to call our gardens, and in which the
ground had apparently made up its mind to
produce nothing but marigclds, no matter what
else was set therein. BY reason Of these garish
fowers-varied here aud there by the pallid
green sprays of the plant called indlscrimi-
nately "old man" and lads love"-we were,
some Of Us, wont to speak Of the Crescent as
thoroughfare within stones throw of US
where omnibuses rolled and ratified all day
long, and by-streets, striking off on either
hand, the surroundings Of which were squalid.
the tenements Of which were crowded, and
which led. by narrow and devious ways, into
some OF the busiest parts OF London.
This juxtaposition, however, suited many Of
the tenants of the Crescent, for there were
more workers than drones In our hive, and
transit was easy for those who tsiled in divers
ways to make both ends meet-a feat that re-
CURED good deal Of pulling. In my own case,
pull as i might, there was sometimes a gap, for
the number of my music pupils varied, though
rent and other expenses did not. However, /
have always looked upon q grumbler as being
who ought to take rank in the lowest scale of
creation, and generally managed to keep up
my heart when a London fog pressed its dank,
gray-green face right up against my windows
on q day that a lesson had to be given ever so
far away, for could any nectar be so delicious
as the cup of tea partaken of on returning from
that misty journey. any beacon brighter than
the CLINT of the fire that Sister Janet always
coaxed into a blaze to greet my return?
/ do not mind in the least saying that Sister
Janet and myself were what may be called
''old maids, nor is this the place to speak of
hopes that once blossomed in our lives and
now lay withered like dead flowers pressed
within those closed books-our memories. /
am concerning myself with the lives of others,
not of ourselves.
have to tell is over me as / write. Sister Janet
has not been we'll all day and has gone to bed
early. SO am all alone and the better able to
apply myself to my task. The wind blows out
side, driving down the shallow bend of the
Crescent like thing with living will and
longing to rend and tear. Outside, in the
bitter cold. some one is singing-a woman with
a thin, worn voice, that yet holds something Of
pathos and sweetness. Little mouths at home
have to be filed. though the rain drift ever so
nNraAnalv md ha oil ind 1tu Evff
but oh, sing any song but that 1t brings such
terrible memories with the swing of Its plain
tive refrain:
some are gone from US forever.
They have reached a fsirer region,
Far awsy-far away.
Things have gone rather well with me this
week-ends have met and Tapped over. That
weary singer shall be sent home rejoicing
That song shall be sung no more, else will INV
thoughts become a tangle and run riot in spite
OF me, so that no thread Of narrative shall be
spun tonight. / take a shilling. bright and
new, out Of my purse, huddle shawl over my
head and SO accoutered present myself at the
open door. The singer is through the gate and
up the steps in . moment see an eager. hun
cry face, an o1tstretched hand, q sudden CLEAN
IN the sunken eyes, a clutch at the shilling and
then she is gone; both she and her song are
shut out into the night and can work in peace.
But that sad refrain has taken possession Of me-
1t runs in my head-now like the strains of a
distant band now like the sough and sigh of
the wind Well, let it go on and will tell my
tale to its sad rhythm.
1t was well on In the summer-indeed the
marigolds were in full bloom-when new ten
ants came to the next house. Little lives have
little interests and the little interests fill the
little hves. Sister Janet and myself were full
of the new comers-remarkable people toilook
at III their way-and, as have mentioned be-
fore, consisting of a mother and her son.
Hra he TO ad
Ruthven wore her widows veil over her face;
we could, therefore, in the short glimpses we
got of her between the gate and the door form
small idea what manner of woman she was
that Is, In face. Her figure and walk, however,
were unmistaksbls; both bore every sign of dis
tinction- Her son-the bright-haired boy of
whom L have already spoken-was sometimes
with her; sometimes she was alone But here
all variety of circumstances ceased. Neither at
hrst nor at any other time did we ever see any
one-man, woman or child-with these two No
visitor ever rang the bell very seldom did even
the postman mount the steep narrow steps that
led to the door. There was an old servant
with face like a Ratchet and apparently stone
deaf, and that was all
Sister Janet became so devoured with Curl
osity that she asked the postman what was the
name OF our next-door neighbor, and he told
her II was Ruthyen-Mrs. Ruthyen-that Was
all he knew. There was q young gentleman,
roo, nne young fellow, with a pleasant tongue
surely, and again that was all
Sister Janet was very much ashamed of this
adventure and always had an uncomfortable
feeling that the postman might tell Mrs Ruth
ven what she had done. But do not think she
Iad any cause for fear. Men have generally
ehiValry enough to keep them from petty tattle
about anything woman says to them. and this
sort OF chlyalry Is quite prevalent in the
"orklngman as In the prince; IL is an attribute
of sex. felt sure Sister Jsnet's postman was
nv md tnl h., h.
size had qualms.
Nenlent to speak of our nelghbor as Mrs
Kuthven than as the lady next door" 1 con-
s.dered Sister Jam =: had scored. 1t must not
be thought that We kept vulgar watch upon
our nelghbors. We had been too we'll brought
UP Tor that. Ii was no idle curiosity that gave
u an interest in Mrs Ruthven. Our sympathies
were called out toward her because of her lone
Iiness We were somewhat alone in the world
ourselves. Sister Janet and /. and our sympa-
thies were like some pent-up stream that now
ana again oyerfows Its banks, so deep and
strong Is It's current. We had not many to love,
30 We went out Of our way to find channels for
love TO How In, and II came about that in a
week or two the unknown woman In the simple
black veil and snood-like bonnet became the
Que deep interest of our lives. Not but what
she bright-haired boy had something to do with
al this
oh, yes, We were quite elderly. dare say
some people thought Us really old, but we
loved TO look upon what was young and fair to
see. We delighted in the sight Of the boys
slight, graceful figure swing out of the little
Iron garden gate and were fhOrouUbly faniI