The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1897-11-09


that his son IS i'll, and causes him to be
gin his adventurous journey home.
(Chapter Nv Continued.)
At Charing Cross l did not wait for
my luggage, but gave foolish tip to a
porter and told him TO send my things
after me. Within half minute of my
arrival was driving out of the station.
What l suffered during those last
moments of waiting before | reached my
house no tongue Of man could tell. L
read my wife S telegram again, and OBJ
served for the first time that it was now
six hours old. Six hours! They were
like sig days to my tortured mind. From
the moment when we turned out of Ok
ford street until we drew up at my own
door in Wimpole street [ did not once
draw breath. And being here l dared
hardly lift my eyes to the window lest
the blinds should be down.
| had my latch key with me, and I
let myself in without ringing. A moment
afterwards l was in my darlngs room.
My beloved wife was with our boy, and
he was unconscious. That did not trouble
me at ALL for | saw at a glance that
was not too late. Throwing Oft my coat.
L sent 10 the surgery for my case, dis
missed my dear girl with scant embraces,
drew my darlings cot up to the window
the light, for the spring day was far spent
Then, being alone with my darling, I
did my work | had trembled like an
aspen leaf until entered his room, but
when my time came my hand was as firm
as a rock and my pulse beat like child's
l knew l could do it and l did it. God
had spared me to come home, and I had
kept my VOW. had travelled ten days
and nights 10 tackle the work, but it was
a short task when once begun.
After had finished opened the door to
call my wife back to the room. The poor
soul was crouching with the boys nurse
on the threshold, and they were doing
their utmost to choke their sobs.
There. cried, there's your boy.
He'll be all right now.
The mischief was removed, and I had
never doubt of the child's recovery.
My wife flung herself on my breast,
and then l realised the price l had paid
for SD much nervous tension. All tie
nerves of organic life seemed to collapse
in an instant.
I'm dizzy; lead me to my room,' I
said.
My wife brought me brandy, but my
hand could not lift the tumbler to my
mouth, and when my dear girls arms
had raised my own the glass ratified
against my teeth They put me to bed I
was done-done.
Father, that was month ago. and 1
am lying here still. 1t is not neurasthenia
of the body that is killing me, but
neurastheniaEof the soul No doctor drug
viii ever purge me of that 1t is here
like fire in my brain, and here like ice in
my heart. Was my awful act justifiable
before God? Was it right in the eyes of
Him who has written in the tables of His
law, Thou shalt do no murder? Was it
murder? Was it crime? If outraged
the letter of the holy edict, did 1 also
wrong its spirit?
Speak, speak, for PHYS sake, speak.
Have mercy upon me, as you hope for
mercy. Think where 1 was and what
fate was before me. Would l do it again
in spite of all? Yes, yes, q thousand,
thousand times yes. ] will go to God
with that word on my lips, and He shall
Judge me.
And yet suffer these agonies of doubt.
Life was always sacred thing to me.
God gave it, and only God should take it
bowman took the government of the
world out Of Gods hands. And Them
and then-Father, have l not told you all?
On the day when l arrived at Tangier
from Fee | had some two hours to wait
for the French steamer from Malaga that
was to take me to Cadiz. In order to be-
guile my mind.of itsIimpatience 1 walked
UhlOusSli uuC UOWu DIS lar tts bu6 OutST oOk
the Sok de Barra. 1t was market day,
Thursday, and the place was the same
animated and varied scene as l had
looked upon before. Crushing my way
through the throng l came upon the
Saints House ear the middle of the mar
ket. The sight of the little white struc-
ture with its white flag brought back the
tragedy l saw enacted there, and the
thought of that horror was now made
hellish 10 nv cOnSpianca nv the Tnanorv
OF another tragedy at another Saints
House.
l turned quickly aside, and stepping up
to the elevated causeway that runs in
front of the tents of the brass workers. I
stood awhile and watched the Jewish
workmen hammering the designs on
their trays. Presently l became con-
scious of little girl who was sitting on
bundle of rushes and plating them
into chain. She was tiny thing, six
years of age at the utmost. but with the
sober look of little matron. Her sweet
face was of the color of copper, and her
quiet eyes were deep blue. A yellow
gown of some light fabric covered her
body but her feet were bare. She worked
at her plating with steady industry, and
as often as she stopped to draw "a rush
from the bundle beneath her. she lifted
her eyes and looked with wistful gaze
over the feeding ground of the camels,
and down the lane to the bridge, and up
by the big house on the hillside to where
the sandy road goes off to Fee.
The little demure figure, amid so many
romping children, interested and touched
me. This was noticed by a Jewish brass
worker before whose open booth stood,
and he smiled and nodded his head in the
direction of the little woman.
Dear little sober-sides'' l said, 'tdoes,
she never play with other ohildrenp''
NO." said the Jew, "she sits here
every day and all day long-that is, when
her father is away
"W,ose child is she?' I asked. An
ar f,,1+ baI on