New Ulm weekly review. [volume] (New Ulm, Minn.) 1878-1892, 1890-05-07

the boy holding close to her, pulling at
her shawl, and continually asking her
in an nnintelligible mutter for some
thing that she had not got or didn't
mean to part with. Her bonnet was
slipping off her dull untidy hair; her
face was white, with tired, lusterless
eyes, pink, pinehed little nose and dis
contented mouth. The poor little
apology for a baby might have hung
round her neck by a ribbon, and the
other child was small and sickly. A
shrunken, depressing little group.
just as Stephen was beginning to
weave around in his mind a pathetic,
tender fancy, the small boy becoming
more than usually importunate, his
mother said, with no flicker of change
in.'the expression of her face, but with
a voice whose rough grating easily
overpoWered the noise of the train:
''Jest you stop a Worritin', Tommy,
else I'll tell yer bio omin' dad when we
git 'ome-se if DON'T
Stephen shut his eyes, and only
opened them as the little family bundled
out two stations further on.
'1The Monument!' MARK Lanen'
No further passengers invaded his car
riage.
Il can't stand this any longer, and
the condensed fog chokes one. l shall
get out at the next station and 90
back
"Aldgate!''
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 $50
thick was the darkness) did not dis
cover, till he had taken lis place at the
end OF it. that there were two other
people near him. One of them, man,
was speaking in a disagreeable queru-
lous voice.
"Im sure it's not my fault if I get
nothing to do. ana always trying to
find something"
Eyes; in other peoples pockets" an
swered a woman's voice. ssYou want
the wage not the work.
Good heavens! that is Millicent's
voice exactly" thought Stephen; "What
an extraordinary resemblancep'
'What becomes of money in your
hand / can't conceive, y she went on.
lit is Millicent's voice! What in
Gods name is she doing?' and Stephen
tried to catch a glimpse of the Fl gure
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 giveeyou,
H who live j.! in IN luxury; you, whose hus-
"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 own work. I, a woman,
worked to help woman, as I would
man, but not such as you"
Whatever you may have given YOU
owed to my wife,
II owed her?''
Eyes; for taking from her what was
hers by right"
'shall l I let this brute go on speak
ing to her?" said Stephen to himself,
holding the edge of the seat tightly in
each hand.
And now that she is i'll and in
want you in your prosperity grudge a
little help to her and her hungry child
rem"
Il have lowered myself by listening
to you thus far" said Miliicent, sin
order 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 can not have lived your
life without some ones having called
you a liar and coward, or without your
knowing that many had 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, to wait an answer he
was happily, away from home. To
save time, I, contrary to my inclination,
opened your appeal. It contained a
manly reference to your wife, and my
usband,s regard for her in past years,
and crlnging demand for money for
her and your children, if not for you,
and it ended with a suggestion as to.
the possible unpleasant consequences
w LIS uOmeSIlc happiness II LhehS SUBJECT
OF your letter became known to me.
every detail of the story, as far as it
concerned himself, my husband had
long since told me, and no mud thrown
by You could shake my trust.
s'Y GU lie when you say that I took
from your wife what was hers by right.
My husband loved her with all his
heart and soul, and she made him
suffer bitterly. But he had loved her
| say, and for his sake I consented (if
the miserable story should ever reach
his ears to give no further pain) to
help the woman who had repaid his
love with betrayal, lis confidence with
treachery, but who had been dear to
him before he gave to me what I took
from no one else. You lie again when
YOU speak Of her present suffering and
the wants OF her chlldren-silenee!n as
the man attempted to speak. DO you
think that in dealing with one like You
should take no steps to verify your
statementsp OF the two children that
lived with you and that you called hers,
d.