Iowa County democrat. [volume] (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1877-1938, 1892-07-01
CHAPTER XXI.


Night after night Florence's lamp
burned until the morning sun shamed its
feeble rays. He had small room, closely
resembling the one in which he had lived
with Frank. He worked constantly; but
alas! youth and hope were gone. and with
them all the charm of the old life. To be
sure, Frank and Mrs. George were still left
him; their love and their friendship were
real, and of these two he could think with
out sadness. Annie envirOncd him with
kindly attentions, and Frank wrote con-
stantly. AS he never spoke of Sylvia, Flor
ence felt sure that some one had told him
all that had happened and, in his turn. he
equally avoided any allusion to the humil-
iating subject.
'When I can summon him home" was
Florence's constant thought. 1t was his
only ambition; first, to place the manufac-
tory on solid basis, and then to recall
Frank, and pass the remainder Of his life
with him. The days were all much alike !;
every morning he descended to the work.
rooms, where the respect he inspired, his
serious face, and decided manner, had re-
stored order and discipline.
For some time there had been much
gossip in regard to Sylvia's disappearance
Some said she had eloped with lover,
others that Florence had driven her away.
But the thing that disturbed both of these
beliefs was the position assumed towards
each other by the former partners. Some
times. however. when theV were alone to-
gether, Florence had sudden access OF
rage as he remembered how thos- lips had
lied to him-those eyes betrayed him.
Then he felt a mad longing to IL" George
by the throat. and crush his very life out.
But the thoughts OF Annie always re-
strained him. Should he be less courage
Gus. less strong. than that {2ail Womar2
Neither Mrs. Speed nor her husband sus-
pected these thoughts; they simply saw
restraint and GOODNESS that were not al
together natural. The operatives were
uneasy under the glance Of his steol-hlue
eye. and felt reverence for his grey hairs.
for he had grown very grey and very
thin
Thanks to him, the old bell Of the fac
tory had resumed its ancient authority;
and Florence. kind and considerate as he
was to the industrious, allowed no in
Engagement of rules. On the last day of
every month Mr.. Chip made his appear
ance, and as punctuaIly was paid three
quarters of Florences salary, retained by
Job for that purpose. Once or twice Mrs.
Chip. who sincerely loved and pitied her
son-in-law, made an attempt to see him,
but the mere sight of her well-known
shawl put him to flight. Was it that the
courage with which he armed himself was
more apparent than real2 Did the remem-
brance of his wife never leave him7
what had become of her9' he asked
himself constantly; '.where was she|
He wished that Job Denman would speak
to him of her; and that letter, above all,
that letter which he had not the courage
to open, haunted him, waking End sleep
ing. Had he dared. he would have asked
Job for it. One day the temptation was
too strong. He was alone in the office. the
old cashier had gone to his lunch. leaving
a most unheard- of thing-his key IN the
desk. Florence could not resist this; he
opened the secret drawer, but the letter
was not there Job had placed it in some
safer place. or perhaps meant to avoid ex-
actly what had now taken place. In re-
atty Florence was glad of this. for he
knew only too well that when he read
that letter his resignation and apparent
serenity would come to an end. He man.
aged to endure the week; he rose early
and worked hard. and at night slept the
sleep of utter exhaustion. But Sundays
| were inexpressibly painful to him, the
deep silence that pervaded the building
| left him leisure to think. Sometimes he
| tried to draw, to invent new combinations
of flowers and foliage; but, While he
| moved his pencil, his thoughts rioted in
| the past. He thought of his utter blind
| ness. Of his laughable simplicity. of his IL
retrievable shame and misfortunes, until
| his whole soul guivered with pain.
Oh. those fearful Sundays! Remember
| that he sprang from the working classes,
| that he had all their love for that day as
day Of rest and of simple, quiet enjoy
ment. Had he gone out, the sight Of an
| artisan with his wife and child would have
| stabbed him like a knife; but his seclud-
| ed, solitary life preserved him from these
] pangs.
| Often in such sad moments the door
would open. and Annie Speed appear. The
| desolation of this poor man on these long
| Sundays filled her heart with compassion,
| and she came with her little girl, know
| ing by experience that children have a
| strange power of soothing sore and ach-
ing hearts. The child ran to her friends
with shouts of delight. Florence heard
the little hurrying steps, and turning.
| would take her in his arms, feel her soft
| kisses on his cheek, and her dimpled
hands smoothing his worn brow and then
| he grew calmer.
| Come Annie would say, with gentle
! smile-"Come into the garden with us; it
is so fresh and lovely. You work too
much. my friend"
| MY work is my best friend, Mrs. Speed
| it keeps me from thinking"
But you must try to forget, Mr.. FLOR
ence."
rs that possiblef One may forgive,
but not forget"
Almost always the child succeeded in
dragging him away-he must play with
her; but soon his gravity even struck the
child. and she learned to walk quietly at
his side through the flower beds bordered