The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1890-05-22

| -; OA~Ao VI DaDy, and push
ing before her little boy. She sat
down, the baby keeping its position in
tne sing formed by its mothers arm.
Cne BOY holding close to her. pulling at
ner shawl, and continually asking her
In an unintelligible mutter for some
thlng that she had not got or didn't
mean TO part with. Her bonnet was
slpplng OFF her dull, untidv hair: her
lace was white, with tired, lusterless
eyes punk, pinched little nose and dis
contented mouth. The poor little apol-
ogy Tor baby might have hung round
ner neck by ribbon, and the other
child was small and sickly. A Ashrunken.
depressing little group.
just as Stephen Mostyn was beoin-
ming to weave round in his mind a
palmetto, tender fancy, the small bow
becoming more than usually importu
nate, his mother said, with no flicker of
change In the expression of her face.
but with voice whose rough grating
easily overpowered the noise of the
train.
jest you stop worritin', Tommy.
else I'll tell yer bloomin' dad when we
git 'ome-see if don't"
stephen shut his eyes, and onlv opened
them as the little family bundled out
two stations further on.
The Monument" ssMark laner' No
further passengers invaded his carriage.
Il can't stand this any longer, and
the condensed fog chokes one. L shall
get out at the next station and 90 back,
"Aldgatep'
Out he jumped and crossed to the re-
turn platform, literally feeling his way.
The underground station at Aldgate is
often quite dark in the middle of sum-
mer, and on this day the fog was dense.
he found his way to a seat and (so thick
was the darkness) did not discover, till
he had taken his place at the end of it,
that there were two other people near
him. One of them, man, was speaking
in disagreeable querulous voice.
''I'm sure it's not my fault if get
nothing to do. l am always trying to
find something"
eyes; in other peoples pockets" an
swered a woman's voice. ''You want
the wage, not the work.
Good heavens! that is Millicent's
voice, exactly" thought Stephen; s'what
an extraordinary resemblance!'
What becomes of money in your
hands I can't conceive" she went on.
''It is Millicent's voice! What in Gods
name is she doing?" and Stephen tried
to catch 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?'
Done with it? Spent it, of course.
A family can not live on nothing. 1t
was not much for you to give-yop, who
live in luxury; you, whose husband is
rich; you -"
"My husband is very far from rich,
and if he were so it would benefit you in
no way. Every farthing I have given
you for your wife was my own, made by
my own work. I, woman, worked to
help woman, as would man, but not
such as you"
Whatever you may have given you
owed to my wife"
81 owed her?'
eyes; for taking from her what was
hers by right"
Shall l let this brute go on speaking
to her? said Stephen to himself, hold |
ing the edge of the seat tightly in each |
hand.
''And now that she is i'll and in want |
you in your prosperity grudge little |
help to her and her hungry children"
II have lowered myself by listening
to you thus far" said Millieent, ''in or
der to see if you would not in time say |
what expected of 'you-what / waited |
for. Now that you have done so, will
answer you fully this once and never
speak with you again. feel that you
,an not have lived your life without |
some ones having called you liar and
coward, or without your knowing that |
many had a right to do so; therefore I /
will not pause to add my testimony to
5heirs. When your first letter came last
year, addressed to my husband, to wait
IN answer he was, happily, away from
lome. To save time, I, contrary to my
opened your appeal 1t
contained manly reference to your
wife, and my husbands regard for her
n past years, and a cringing demand
or money for her and your children, if
lot for you, and it ended with sug-
yestion as to the possible unpleasant
to his domestic happiness
f the subject of your letter became
lnown to me. Every detail of the
tory, as far as it concerned himself, my
husband had long since told me, and no
mud thrown by you could shake my
rust.
"You lie when you say that I took
rom your wife what was hers by right.
Ny husband once loved her with all his
leart and soul, and she made him suffer
utterly. But he had loved her, as l say,
nd for his sake / consented (if the mis-
rable story should never reach his ears
o give him further pain) to help the
woman who had repaid his love with be-
rayal, his confidence with treachery,
'ut Who had been dear to him before he
ave to me what took from no one else.
lou lie again when you speak of her
resent suffering and the wants Of her
hildren- silenceI'' as the man attempted
0 speak. .'Do you think that in dealing
nth one like YOU I should take no stems