Custer weekly chronicle. [volume] (Custer City, S.D.) 1890-1931, 1894-04-07
A DOUBLE TREACHERY.


And now Frank was gone-gon6 with
out q look OF word. He had been guilty,
first, Of a lovers treachery, and now Of a
friends. Where could she turn for aid in
this terrible hourl Her mother would
not understand her, and would only beg
Of her not 10 trouble her father.
Sylviai Alas! she knew now that she
had better hope for consolation from her
little birds, whose expressionless eyes
drove her mad with their CLASSY stare.
Her work no longer interested her; her
hands were as weary as her heart. Who
but her Father above could help her nowi
Alas, she did not think OF him.
In London. in those narrow dingy
streets, the blue heavens seem 30 far
away; between the sad uplfted eyes and
the sky intervene fogs and clouds; life is
% bard for the greater part Of these
people that, II the thought OF watchful
avenger and tyrant. This is why there
are so many suicides in London. Those
who know not how " pray, are, Deverthe-
less, ready TO die. Death seems 10 them
q deliverer and consoler.
IL was thus the little lame girl thought.
She would debut howf Motionless in
her chair, while her mother prepared tea,
and her father recited a long monologue
against the ingratitude Of human nature,
Dora decided on what she should do.
Never going out, 1t was vain to think OF
buying poison. There was, to be sure, the
window opening on the street; but the
thought Of giving her parents the shock
Of seeing her mangled remains, the idea
Of the inquisitive crowd. all decided her 10
relinquish that plan. Nothing, then, was
left but the river, whose waters might
carry her so far off that she would never
be seen again.
She shivered as she thought Of the
river, bat it was not with fear Of the deep
dark waters; she could throw her shawl
over her heal, and she would not see it,
Bot she would have to 20 through the
streets alone, and at night, and that
thought terrified her.
While she sat in silence. with her soft
eyes distended and fixed ON vacancy, her
father had his tea comfortably. and then
sailed forth TO the theatre, first ascer-
tanning that he had some money about
him for emergencies.
THE dear man made good tea" said
his wife, "snd am glad of IL, for he need
ed IT,"
"Yes," thought Dora "it will lie terrible
10 20 alone into the street; must wait
until the gas is all out in the house, and
when my mother is asleep, will creep
down the stairs, and out into the street,
where shall meet men who will stare at
me and perhaps speak TO me-"
This timidity Dora had felt from child
hood. When she was little, and had been
tcilt upon errands, the children in the
street had mocked her. and followed her
as she limped along. Now. she feared the
omnibuses and cabs; the river seemed SO
far of how tired she would lie! But there
was nothing else for her to do
Il am going TO bed, my child; how much
longer do you mean 10 SIT upT
With her eyes on her work, Dora an
swered that she must finish her twelfth
bird
"Good-night, them" said her mother,
whose failing sight could not bear the
bright light. IL have put your fathers
supper by the fire, look at it the last
thing"
Dora had told the truth. She meant to
finish the dozen. so that her father could
take the work home in the morning; and
no one would have supposed. 10 see the
peaceful scene. that within that fair little
head so fatal an idea was developing
itself.
The bird was finished, wonderful bird.
whose' wings were green. like the deep
sea, and whose breast glowed like living
sapphire. She carefully placed it with the
others in the paper box. Each needleful
ot silk was gathered up. the pins and
needles placed in the cushion. She turned
the dish that held her fathers supper
and lowered the lamp. 50 that everything
should wear its ordinary look. Finally
Dora took small shawl from the chest
of-dlawers and went calmly forth, with
out one look at her sleeping mother; foi
at last. in this supreme moment. she fully
comprehended TO what selfish love hei
childhood aud her youth had been sacri
| feed She knew. only too well, that a
word from her father would console hei
mother. When one voluntarily choose
death, it is with cry against the injustice
of man and the pitilessness of fate.
! At last she gained the street. All was
uuiet there, but in the large thorough.
fares there were still lights and noise
Dora walked quickly. with her shaw
drawn about her slight figure. Without
| looking Ia the right or left, she went
straight on. The wind blew in her face
and the air felt damp as it came from the
river, which seemed itself TO recede as
Dora advanced.
Did you ever see wounded bird run
ming along the ground, dragging its brok-
en- wing. seeking only some shelter where
ii may die in peace
| Doras little figure and hesitating walk
would have recalled, involuntarily, u
your mind the image of that wounded
| bird. And TO think that, on the same
night, almost at the same hour, and among
the same streets, Frank wandered equal
| " unhappy, equally desperate!
II they could have met, if she, without
hooking up, had stopped him, and said
Tell me. If you please sir. the way TO The
| Thamesf" and he would have exclaimed
.Why, Dora! In the name of wonder, why
are you out at this houri" she would have
burst into tears. and he would have
wrapped her in his strong arms, and told
her that he needed her for n comforter
and guide. But meetings like these. II
spite of all that poets say. do not otter
| happen; real life is hard mistress, anC
when sometimes such a very slight thing
would turn bitterness into joy, she stern
| ly refuses 10 grant that trihe. In thi:
melancholy truth is To be found the reasor
why romances Of real life are always sad
Street after street, and, at last, the riv'
er-an autumnal fog hanging over it--anc
il was here she meant to die She felt s,
little, so desolate, in this great city. j
seemed 10 Dora that she was already
dead. She turned down on the Sure!
side Of the water, when suddenly an odol
Of fresh flowers, OF wet moss, and damn
earth, came 10 her. She stood still. Oh
the edge of the pavement lay bundle o
shrubs. their roots tied up in moss; and {
number of flowers in pots, in readiness fol
the early market. Some women sat by
envelopcd in shawls and half asleep. Ro
ses of all colors, pinks. and mignonette
filled the air with their delicate perfume
Poor little Dora. The scanty joys of hel
youth. the memory of her brief happiness
with her lover all rushed over her. Sh'
walked softly by these flowers. She ro
membered the day h the country will
Frank; that breath of Nature, that sh'
enjoyed for the first time that day, cam,
again to her as she was about to die.
DO you rememberi" the flowers seemed
10 say, as they swayed gently towards
her.
"Ah, yes, 1 rememberw she answered
with vague smile upon her girlish lips
She remembered only too well.
At the end Of the silent wharf the LITTLE
figure stopped at the steps which leat
down to the river.
| prasantly 1oud cries were heard stem