Connecticut western news., 1895-08-29
CANAAN CONN, THURSDAY, AUGUST 20, 1895

and the good Father Fabre. Letters, too, he refused to accept and read. He had no contact, wished no contact, with tho outer world, but lived his hard, lonely life by himself, silent, breeding, studious, for now books were to him a pleasure. And he wrote, too, but never to any soul outside the prison. This life had nothing to do with the world from which he came, and he meant that it should not.
 So perfect prisoner was he that the warders protected him from visitors, and he was never but once or twice stared at, and then he saw nothing, heard nothing He had entered his pris- on a wild, exoitable, dissipated youth, and he had become mature, Quiet, cold, breeding man. Five years had done the work of 20. He lived the life of the prison, yet he was not part of it, nor yet was he part of the world without. And the face of the woman who looked at him so strangely in the courtroom haunted him now and then, so that at last it became a part of his real life, which was lived largely at the window, where he looked out at the pigeons on the roof of the hospital. 7 "She was sorry for me, |" he said many a time to himself. He was sorry for himself, and he was shaken with misery often, so that he rocked to and fro as he sat on his bed, and warden heard him cry out even in the last days of his inn prisonment, 70 God, oanst thou do everything but speak?" And again, 'That hour, the memory of that hour, in exchange for my ruined lifep'
 But there were times when he was very quiet and calm, and he spent hours in watching the ways of the pigeons, and he was doing this one day when the jailer came to him and said: "M Con- verse, you are free. The governor has cut off five years from your sentence. '"
 Then he was told that people were waiting without-Medallion and the little chemist and his wife and others more important-but he would not go to meet them, and he stepped into the old world alone at dawn the next morn ing and looked out upon still, sleep ing town. And there was no one stir ring in the place, but suddenly there stood before him a woman, who had watched by the prison gates all night, and she put out hand in entreaty and said, with breaking voice, "You are free at lastp'
 He remembered her-the woman who had looked at him so anxiously and sor- rowfully in the courtroom. He looked at her kindly now. yet he was dazed, too, with his new advent to freedom and the good earth.
 "Why did you come to meet me?" he asked.
 II was sorry for you, she replied.
 ''But that is no reason"
 1T once committed crime" she whispered, with shrinking bitterness.
 That's bad, he said. Were you punished?'
 She shook her head and answered, "No."
 That's verse; he added.
 II let some one else take my crime upon him and be punished for it" she said, an agony ill her eyes.
 "Why was that?" he said, looking at her intently.
 ''I had little child, "was her reply
 And the other?''
 "He was alone in the world, 7" she said.
 A bitter smile crept to his lips, and his eyes were all afire, for strange thought came to him. Then he shut his eyes, and when he opened them again discovery was in them.
 ''I remember you now," he said. "I remember walked and saw you looking at me that nightl Who was the father of your child?" he asked eagerly.
 "Jean Vigot," she replied. "He left me to starve."
 II am innocent of his death!" he said quietly and gladly.
 She nodded. He was silent for mo- ment.
 "'The child still lives?' be asked. She nodded again. "Well. let it be so, '' he added. ''But you owe me five years and lost reputation.
 ''I wish to God l could give them back, !" she cried. tears streaming down her cheeks. 'It was for my child, he was so youngr"
 ''It can't be helped now," he said, and he turned away from her.
 Wont you forgive mel" she asked bitterly.
 Won't you give me back those five years?" he replied meaningly. ''If the child did not need me, would give my life, 5" she answered. "l owe it to you" Her haggard, hunted | face made him sorry. He, too, had suf. 1 fered.
 ''It's all right" he answered gently. '"Take care of your child"
 And again lie moved away from hel and went down the little hill with Q cloud gone from his face that had rested there five years. Once he turned around. The woman was gone, but over the | prison 3 flock of pigeons were flying. | He took off his hat to them. Then he went through the town looking neither to right nor left and came to his own house, where the summer morning was already entering the open window, though he had looked to find tho place closed and dark. The little chemist wife met him in the doorway. She could not speak, nor could he, but he kissed her as he had done when he went con demned to prison. Then he passed on to his own room, and entering sat down before the open window and peacefully drank in the glory of a new world. But more than once he choked down a sol that rose i'll his throat. Gilbert Parker in New York Herald.
 Reasons For Disinheriting.
 It has been remarked that the disinher iting of relations is mostly for vonial of lenses and not for base actions The las