The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1892-05-11

suited to the role he was playing. Had
he forgotten his lines?
The prompter came to assist him,
but Carter heard him not, needed him
not.
"What's the matter?" asked the
| lookers-on, both behind and in front of
| the stage.
"Carter! What's the matter? Fool!
idiot! Dolt!"
This last he heard; his whole being
flashed fire, and he drew himself up,
prouder, bolder than the Roman glad
iators of old; and gazed with flashing
eyes on the manager; he spoke not a
word; presently his muscles relaxed, he
clasped his hands to his head, gazed
around vacantly, and with a groan fell
senseless to the floor.
The manager and an assistant raised
him and held him on his feet. The
audience ieered and hissed, mutter-
ing their displeasure.
Carter raised his hand and said:
"Pm coming-tell her-to wait for
for mel"
They carried him from the stage,
from the theater, apparently lifeless.
That night as he lay unconscious
Louise passed away, calmly and quiet
ly, with Dene's name on her lips.
For days and weeks Carter hung be-
tween life and death. All New York,
looking over the morning paper, learned
the sad story and the trial of Dene
Carter. The audience that had Kissed
him in his grief only a few short hours
before grew penitent and gave heart
felt sympathy.
Weeks passed; the actor became
stronger; the story of his wife's death
was related to him. He heard it and
yet did not seem fully to realize the
extent of his loss.
He asked for the little Dene-her
boy-and when the child was brought
to him pressed him to his heart and
sobbed aloud. A few days after he
placed his son under the guardianship
of kind and gentle lady, and leaving
all his wealth, save few hundred dol
lars, for the child when he should come
of age, without even bidding his most
intimate friends adieu, left New York,
wandered toward the hills of Califor-
MIA and was lost to the world that
knew him.
Nearly fifteen years passed away.
At a little theater in a small village of
California the curtain rose one evening
and couple of hundred curious spec
tators, composed chiefly of miners and
cattlemen,. eagerly fixed their eyes up
on the stage.
The play was good, the actors we'll
informed. A big, handsome man, in
whose face an unreadable tale was
written, seemed particularly interested
in the performance.
A flash of applause greeted the
young star as he made his entrance
upon the stage. What handsome
boy he was!
The spectator who moment before
showed so much interest in the play
looked at him with an intense gaze.
His face was colorless as he bent for
ward eagerly, longingly, thirstily. He
half rose in his seat-the young actor
turned full upon him-for a moment
the sentence he was speaking trembled
on his lips, when he stopped short.
For one instant they gazed each upon
the other, then
"Father!"
"My son!"
The big man leaped from his box.
Face to face after neaBly fifteen years!
"Dene! My boy!"
Dene Carter held his son in his arms
and sobbed aloud.
"Father! I knew it!"
The old actor released his son, held
him at arms length and said:
MY little Louise you have her face,
her eyes!"
There was not dry eye in the
| house; cheer after cheer rent the air.
With face to look upon that he
loved, manhood and energy came into
his breast again. Dene Carter, like a
man who had for fifteen years been a
corpse, appears in the theatrical arena
of the metropolis with his son-his life,
his pride-a reminder of all he once
loved and loves Wauerley Maya