San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1895-11-03
CHAPTER XXI.

SIdQu dSlue, MOll, Cries blWSOl
stepping to the fore and facing Mr.. God
win This is my crime, and l will an
swer for it with my blood Here is my
breast" tearing open his jerkin).
Strike, for / alone have done you
wrong, this child of mine being but an
instrument to my purpose. "
MIR. Godwin's hand fell by his side,
and the knife slipped from his fingers
Speak" says he thickly, after mo-
ment of horrible silence, broken only by
the sound of the knife striking the floor.
''If this is your daughter-if she has
lied to me-what, in Gods name, is the
truth? Who are you, ask?'
John Dawson, player" answers he,
seeing the time is past for lying.
Mr. Goodwin makes no response, but
turns his eyes upon Moll, who stands
before him with bowed head and clasped
hands, wrung to her innermost fiber
with shame, remorse and awful dread,
and for terrible space heard nothing
but the deep, painful breathing of this
poor, overweight man.
"You are my wife, says he at length.
Follow me- And with that he turns
about and goes from the room. Then
Mol, without a look at us, without q
word, her face CHASTITY pale and drawn
with agony, with faltering steps obeys,
catching at table and chair as she passes
for support.
Dawson made a step forward, as if he
would have overtaken her, but l with
held him, shaking my head, and himself
seeing twas in vain he dropped into
a chair and spreading his arms upon
the table hides his face in them with
groan of despair.
Moll totters down the dark stairs and
finds her husband standing in the door
way, his figure revealed against the
patch of gray light beyond, for the moon
was risen, though yelled by thick pail
of cloud. He sees, as she comes to his
side, that she has neither cloak nor hood
to protect her from the winter wind,
and in silence he takes off his own cloak
and lays it on her shoulder. AT this act
of mercy ray of hope animates Moll's
numbed soul, and she catches at her
husbands hand to press it to her lips,
yet can find never word to express her
gratitude. But his hand is cold as ice,
and he draws it away from her firmly,
with obvious repugnance. There was no
love in this little act Twas but the
outcome of that chivalry in gentlemen
which doth exact lenience even to an
enemy.
So he goes ON his way, she following
like whipped dog at his heels, till they
reach the court gates, and, these being
fast locked, ON a little farther to the
wicket gate. And there, as Mr.. Goodwin
is about to enter, there confrontS him
Peter, that sturdy Puritan hireing of
old Simon's.
'Thee canst not enter here, friend"
says he in his canting voice as he sets
his foot against the gate.
"Know you who l amp asks Mr.
Goodwin.
"Yea, friend, and l know who thy
woman is also. / am hidden by friend
Simon, the true and faithful steward of
Mistress Goodwin in Barbary, to defend
her house and lands against robbers and
CNlluOSIs VI every hillNAs anu MlILOu1 lS-
spect of their degree, and with the
Lords help" adds he, showing a stout
cudgol, "that will do, friend.
" IT'S true, fellow, returns Mr.. God
win. 81 have no right to enter here"
And then, turning about, he stands ir-
resolute, as not knowing whittier he
shall go to find shelter for his wife. For
very shame he does not take her to the
village inn to be questioned by gaping
servants and landlord, who, ere long,
must catch the flying news of her shame
full condition and overthrow. A faint
light in the lattice of Anne Fitch's cot
tage catches his eye, and he crosses to |
her door, still humbly followed by poor
Moll There he finds the thumbpiece
gone from ths. latch att t9 him q well
ont Amusing
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