Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-08-02
that 1 was released and thought was in my

that I was released and thought was in my
"Dear." said Naomi. Forget the celli Oh.
Try to forget it, See. have brought you nv
friend-my best friend. OH my dear. he knows
all; he viii advise Us and help us. He has been
very good and kind to me, dear--while we were
parted Because il was lonely without you
and when one thought-no. no, it is all over.
On! my dear-rhy dear-it 10 all over and We are
anything"
The librarian tried to speak. But he turned
away his face and the tears rolled down his
cneeks even to his great gray beard Twas a
soft-hearted librarian
You have got to grow quite strong and well
aBain, my dear" he said. taking her hand and
noiding 1t while he sat down beside her. "Quite
thing. Poor childr'
shall never get strong or well again." she
replied. Il heard the doctor in the infirmary
say SO. That matters nothing, except that
snail De such trouble to everybody. Oh! Ma
T Umi, dear, what trouble have been to you!
what dreadful trouble. I have spoiled your
whole life, my dear"
mot you-not you. Ruth" Naomi answered.
noarsely. But that villain-oh! that villainr'
Don't, dear. 1t hurts me that anybody
snouid call him names. At first l was hard
upon him for the sake Of my baby. 1t is very
terrible for child to be born in a prison, isn't
nHIand for its mother to be convict No
chiid can ever get over that disgrace. But
God TOOK the child, and then l was happier.
mere was only myself to think about, and /
began to feel that it was worse for him than
for me. Nothing can undo the past 1 came
10 forgive him, dear, and would forget him il !
c0uid. But You can't forget your husband.
Women are made So
''They are" said the librarian. "God knows
they are.
Naomi, dear, you thought I was over
whelmed with the disgrace and shame Of it
NO, dear. l never could feel any disgrace
no. even In the court. The convict dress was
hothing to me, nor the prison rules. obeyed
the rules, and did not mind them. You see
9ear, was innocent. But had a sentence al
hrst lar more terrible to bear. 1t was the sen.
tence OF my child's disgrace. 1t was only wher
thought OF you, dear, that I felt the disgrace
to me-and this only-for your sake. For my
own felt nothing. When told the doctor
IT was only the other day-he cried about it.
He is kind man though be is prison doctor
on! my friend" said Naomi, what shall
do9 What shall do2 II tears nv heart to
hear her and to look at her."
well, there was very little to be done. The
librarian, who now showed himself person Of
INFINITE resource, went away that very morning
and brought back with him medical man OF
wonderful skiil-quite magical medical man
to see the girl and told him pieces of the story
The medical man said that, considering every
thing, 1t was fortunate she had not died in
many weeks; that to such an organization al
this woman seemed to have love and happiness
were the food Of life; then he added: What
murderer" He recommended something OF
other and went away.
One evening when she felt . little stronger
riage
Harry wouldn't marry me openly and take
me to his own people," she said because he
was dependent on his father, but he wouldn',
give me up, and one day he told me that he
had everything ready and would marry me Be-
cretly In registrars Office. But was to tell
nobody, not even you, dear; and ! promised
He took me in a cab don't know where. One
OF his friends, Mr.. Middlemist who was a clerl
in his fathers Office, came with us. We got out
OF the cab at the Office and went within. Sc
that his father should not find out, Harry
name and signed himself Henry Hendrick.
SEM"
And you remember the place, dear2"
mo, do not know where it was, because
never thought Of looking. Afterward he told
me that 1t was a sham registry, but know now
that 1t was not, because people who have sham
offices do not put up brass plates and print the
name OF the Office in the pillars OF the door
Besides, We had to wait while another couple
were married. 1 am his wife, dear, as much al
The law can make me-"
When Naomi told this to the librarian he
ing would be easier than to find out where the
marriage took place, because a register was
kept and could be consulted And he took GER
tain steps unknown to the two sisters.
After this they talked no more about the
past. Az the bodily frame grew weaker her
mind became more restfuL During the day
she seemed to forget the past; she listened,
her hollow eyes looking far away, while her
nurse-the physicians daughter-played to her.
On the wing Of the music she was borne away
to the land Of holy thought When she talked
it was of the future-now so near-when her
child should be restored to her. The past, az
she truly told her sister, had left upon her soul
no touch Of shame-not the least touch. That
it had killed her was nothing, because life had
nothing left for her. Only in the night she
would awake and stretch out her hands. feel
ing for the walls Of her cell. and moan and
weep in thinking Of the child born in the
prison and dead in the prison. Then Naomi
would weep with her and sooths her, until the
dying girl, in her turn, soothed and consoled
the girl who had to live.
One evening toward the end OF April when
there was u soft breath Of early spring. Ruth
began to talk of the old days. and she spoke of
the sweet service on the Sunday morning, and
OF the quiet shop, with its shelves of books.
round which the canons Of the cathedral would
slowly walk, reading the titles; and Of the dean,
who always came to shake hands with her
father and patted her cheek-all the old life
SO long ago, so long ago. Naomi fell asleep.
When she awoke again it was in the morning,
and Ruth lay dead.