Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1897-04-30
A TALE OF DIVORCE.

June is not delightful except to those
who can be delighted, and Mr.. Clarence
Armitage Of IA Somerset square was not a
man to whom June or any other month
was delightful. He had just seen his three
little children off to their school close by,
watching them across the square, and he
came back to the dining room, where
breakfast was laid for him and where his
letters, a great heap of them, awaited him.
He YEARLY stood sorting them out, and at
last picked out one written in a lawyer s
handwriting and bearing the monogram of
Messrs. Clarke & Russell. He waited mo-
tionless almost while the servant brought
in hot coffee, bacon and eggs, and, reply
ing to her question that he wished for
nothing else, he took up the letter and
slowly opened 1t as the door was closed
upon him. 1t read as follows:
~ Lincoln's Inn Fields, W. G.. June /, 49,.
DEAR SIR-We hasten to inform you that the
rule was made absolute this day in court, and
that, therefore, the case is now finished in
your favor.
We are, dear sir. yours faithfully,
CLARKE 8 RUSSELL.
Clarence Armitage, Esq.
ooh, my poor wife My darling Kater'
he cried out to himself. "Why did go to
these lengths9 What is my life worth to
me nowp Why did you leave me? Why
did you leave me?"
Perhaps these questions are asked more
often than one would suppose. Perhaps the
dfeary silence Of the reply to them tells as
strongly upon the nerves Of others as 1t did
upon those Of Clarence Armitage. He
bore it all, though silently and apparently
unmoved His life was very methodical.
He saw after everything himself. In the
morning he was down carly enough to see
that the three younger children had their
breakfast properly and to afterward speed
them on their way to school and then to
greet his two elder boys as they set out for
University college He was reserved man,
and yet there was a world of affection for
his four boys and little girl, youngest and
daintiest of them all. The children seemed
to recognize it, for they loved their father.
After settling with the housekeeper the
necessary details of the day he proceeded to
his office, and then, at O'Clock, upon his
return he had high tea with his children,
helped them in their lessons, sometimes
saw them in their bath and always at the
last, when all the house was quiet, went
up to their bedside and saw that they were
comfortable for the night.
Once, about three months after Mrs.
Armitage had become free from the ties OF
wifehood, he had said good night and had
gone to his study, when up stairs there
arose screaming from little voices and
harsh, angry notes from the lips Of boys
who were not controlled yet by the world S
heavy hand of repression. Mr.. Armitage
flung his cigarette down and rose to go up
stairs, when the door was thrown open and
Ralph Armitagc stood there painting and
raging in his youthful heat.
Father" he cried out, you have moi
forbidden Katie and"-
The poor boy burst into tears. Some
thing I'd turned his first flash of indig-
nant defiance of his father into burst Of
heartfelt grief.
"Well, Ralph, what does all this mean
and what are all the crying and noise up
stairs about?"
"Oh, father, dear little Katie was say
ing her prayers, and she said-shc said,
God bless dear mother, and-and"-
The boy stopped abruptly, and Mr..
Armitage turned deadly pale.
"Well, Ralph" he said kindly, "tell me
all about it, my boy. Forbidden her to
pray for her mother? No, certainly not. -
"Oh, thought not, but Mrs. Cookson
said she mustn't do SO, and that it was
wicked to think anything more about
mother, and that Katie nor any of them
were ever to mention her, and that you
would be angry"
Mr. Armitage put his hand on the boy e
shoulder and went up stairs. There was
still crying going on there, still hot, def.
ant words of the raging boys, and then
Mr.. Armitage stood in their midst. He
took his little daughter in his arms and
kissed her again and again.
"Well, Katie darling" he said, "say
your prayers over again, dear, will you,
and let me hear them?'
"But, father, Mrs. Cookson says it's
wicked, said the child, looking over to
the housekeeper, who stood folding up the
children's things.
+ "No, my dear, it isn't wicked. So let
me hear it.
The child began at the beginning the
old, old prayer said by how many genera
lions of children, but with an additional
and pathetic sentence in this case.
"Pray God bless dear father and mother
and bring mother back to us all again.
Mr.. Arlnitage kissed his little one and
put her into her bed himself, and he told
Mrs Cookson never to speak to his chill
dren again in the way she had done, and
he learned from his eldest son, Ralph, that
1ift1o Koffa had coi %hio v,p,nS Ill m har
self for long time, and that afterward he
and his brothers always came up stairs t.
hear her.
Father" said the lad, breaking down
"why can't you let mother come again?"
Yes, this was the biggest stab he hai
had, and it took him some time to recover
1t was all SO real And one bright moon
light night, after he had seen all the light
out and the house locked up, he had de
scended into the drawing room to fetch 1
book, but stood in the darkness Of tn,
room looking out into the square garden
The figure Of girl, dressed in tho blacl
and white costume of q housemaid, ap
peared crossing the road from the houst
next door. Evidently she was going to thu
post.
"Well, that IL curious he unused
ssHow startlingly like her walk! Bah
How stupid and morbid l grow in my lone
linessl / am always imagining I see Kate
always, always imagining, but never
realizing What has become Of herP
The girl was walking back very slowly
and with dragging sort Of step, as If sh'
expected some one, thought Mr.. Arlnitage
She came opposite the house, and he coult