The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1896-11-24

hardly. and, indeed, brutally, but
know this. That such things as these
come, woman, of people setting them
selves up to be better than their neigh
bors-when they are as poor as church
mice. They come Of sighting honest
fellows and setting caps at those aoove
you, Your dauchter-Or you, woman.
If you like it better--set the trap. and
you are caught in it yourselves! That $
ALL"
You wretch!" she gasped. And he
will not marry herr"
Not while 1 live" ne answered,
firmly.
And that is your last word?"
''It is" he said.
He was on his guard. prepared to de-
fend himself against her violence. But
after tense pause of suspense, during
every moment of which he expected
her to fall upon him, she said only:
Where is he?"
y shall not tell you." he answered.
and that is all?"
That is all
1t was not their first interview. She
had plead with him before. had knelt
and wept and abased herself before
him, had done all that the love that tore
her heartstrings. the love that made it
so much more difficult to see her child
suffer than to suffer herself. the love
that every moment painted the bare
room at home and her daughter pros
trate there in shame and despair-she
had done all that even that love -Nuld
suggest. There was no room here for
further pleading; and she had threat
encd and failed. What then remained
to he done?
Nothing, the Rurgomaster thought
as in flush of triumph and relief he
watched her go, outfaced and defeated.
Nothing; and he hugged himself on the
prudence that had dispatched his son
out of the way in time and rendered a
match with that proud pauper brat i'm
possible. Nothing; but to the woman,
as she went, it seemed that everything,
everything, was yet to be done. AS
she left the little square and plunged
into the narrow street that led to her
House on the WALL the story of her life
in Huymonde spread itself before her
in string of scenes that now--noW
alas. but never before-seemed to find
their natural sequence in this tragedy.
Nine years before she had come to
IIuymonde with her artist husband; ;
but the great art of the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries was dying or
dead in Flanders, and with it the ar
tistic sense and the honor once paid
to it. Huymonde made Delft still, and
in endless repetition of old formal pat
terms. with no touch of genius or APP
probation. Trade, and a desire to win
the tlorid ease, the sleek comfort. of the
burghcr. possessed the town wholly.
The artist had found himself stran-
ger in a strange land; had struggled
on despising and despised, in the
quaint house on the wall. at which he
had snatched. on his first coming. be-
yaI tInn ,t,,x-.
and there after seven years had died,
scarcely better known. and no whit
more highly appreciated, than on the
day of his arrival.
After that the story was of two
wCmen living sola cum sola. one wholly
for the other; suspected. if not diSlikcd,
by their neishbors, and for their part
alien in all their thoughts and stand
ards, since the artists widow could not
forget that he had been Peter Paul's
favorte pupil or that her father had
counted QuarteringS. SOla cum SOla.
until one day the war began, and,
Huymonde setting itself to look to it's
defenses, young man appeared one
certain evening to inspect the House
on the Wall and see that the window
which looked out Owe" the country was
safely and properly built up and
strengthened.
You must have sergeant and
guard billeted here!" was his first sharp
word: and the widow had sighed at this
invasion of their privacy which was
also their poverty. But the young girl
standing sideways in that very win
DOW, had pouted her red lips and
froWned on the intruder, and the SER
geant had not come. Instead. the
young man had returned. at first week.
ly, then at shorter intervals. to see that
the window defenses remained intact;
| with his appearance life in the House
on tie Wall had become a different
| thing. He was the son of the Burgo-
master of the town. he would be the
richest man in the town, his wife might
repay with interest to advantage the
| dull bovine scorn to which the city
| danes had treated her mother. The
| widow permitted herself to hope. Her
| child was beautiful with the creamy
fairness of Guelders. and as pure as the
sky. The young man was gay and
handsome; and doubtless these quail