The western sentinel. [volume] (Winston-Salem, N.C.) 1887-1926, 1898-05-05
THE OTHER WOMAN.

Sylvia Benson sat staring moodily inta
the fire.
"If she hadn't cheated me out of any
thing but love, " she thought, 81 wouldnt
have cared SO much, but to be robbed OF
home! 1t takes two people to make
home, and Ellen and Trypheny are mar
ried and Johns wife don't like me, and
I'm a lonely, homeless old woman, she
moaned, with an abandon of self pity that
was a luxury in itself. eff she hadn't
stole him from mel know her-her
smiles and pretty sayings and bold black
eyes-he'd have come back for me, as he
said. l never meant to hate not even p
snake, and I've begged the life of one
from John before now, but that woman
in the west! 1 hope l may be forgiven.
when the books are opened on the last
day. she thought tremblingly, "if they
find I've hated that woman in the west.
After a half hour she rose and lighted "a
small lamp From its place on the white
manteIshelf its rays fell dimly upon the
small oblong room, its full ingram carpet,
with its pattern of white fern leaves, the
cane seated chairs, the haircloth and will
low rockers, the marble topped center ia
BILE and the pictures of bygone faces, look
ing down from their homemade frames of
painted acorns and sections of walnut
shells. A few books. which looked as If
they were meant to serve any purpose
rather than that of reading, lay upon the
table. The whole room was arranged with
the precision of a carpenters square and
had the look of humble subsection which
matter sometimes acquires when it is I'M
der despotic control. Sylvia moved about
the room vaguely for a few minutes and
at las5 nervously rearranged a book in
hasty fear lest it's edge should not be in
exact parallel with that of another; then
she leaned upon the mantelshelf and
thought about the propriety of making a
cup of tea.
"I'm tired of tea she thought petulant-
". 'tIt's weak, f1imsy stuff, anyhow. I've
worn out its taste, guess. Things don t
have flavor to a body alone, anyway. To
think" she went on, after minute "that
year in and year out / never have put a
leaf into my table. -
She seated herself again by the hearth,
her face darkened by it's protest against
the injustice of fortune.
There was silence for minute, broken
then by the sound of step on the porch
and knock at the door. Sylvia opened 1t
and saw stranger there, a woman whose
only characteristics she noted were spare
ness of figure and pair of large, dark
eyes.
SIS this Miss Sylvia Benson?" asked the
stranger, in a clear, concise voice.
eyes, said Sylvia, withdrawing few
PAGES. "Won't you come in?"
The stranger stepped briskly into the
room.
"Won't you sit down?'' said Sylvia, al
she retreated to the mantelshelf where
she stood regarding her visitor with much
curiosity.
The stranger calmly seated herself in
one of the straight backed chairs.
"I'm Mary Andrews, from 1oway," she
said.
Sylvia started and grasped corner OF
| the shelf
81 married Tom Andrews, you know. u
Eyes faitered Sylvia.
"He was an old sweetheart of yours, he
said, though he didn't say anything to me
about you till after were married. II
he had, gracious knows she said, with
an odd, abrupt laugh, ''you might have
been comm to me stead of me to you
| Well, he died a few months ago, and il
was high time, . she said grimly; "for he
was gettin crazy with the drink and the
gamblin and all sorts of wickedness, and
was gettin heartsick of swearin an starv
in an beatinl TWAS in his family, wasn't
it?'' inquiringly. His father warn't none
of the best, was be?'
Sylvia made no motion of denial.
"And when he was dead, and I'd count
ed up my money, l wasn't settled in my
mind what should do or where should
60. l was tryin to think of some one that
would be glad to see me, or owed me
kindness and I'd often thought of you anC
how he'd said you d never married, and
thought ID come east; because" she sale
eagerly, 81 thought if there was anybody
in the world that Dug hit to be glad to see mt
it was you; for knew I'd given up my
life in the place of yours. l wanted to tel
you what you owe me. You never car
bat > I'll,
said with sudden vehe1nence; ''the shame
-the-the-hate!''
The brave strong voice broke, and Syl
via saw her set her teeth upon her lips.
"Take off your bonnet" said Sylvia
gently; ''because, of course, you'll stay
with me tonight. I'll make some tea, >
she said, Slipping hastily out of the room
When she stood again at the door with
her fragrant, steaming cup, she stopped t.
wonder why her life, lonely as it still wai
and promised to be, suddenly seemed east
was glad to be free from the burden of hel
resentment.
"It's good tea,' said Mrs. Andrews
looking gratefully from her cup.
"I'm glad you like it," said Sylvia sim
ply; then, after a few minutes pause
land now tell me what Iowa is like-ths
crops and the climate and the folks
Many years have passed since Mrs. An
| drews' arrival but she is still resident o.
| the New England town. She has developed
| great talent for nursing and is in con
| slant demand-too constant, Sylvia thinks
| for Sylvia's home is Mrs. Andrews head
quarters, to which she returns at interval!
| to report the details of her campaigns
| Sylvia misses her " hen gone and longs fol
| her home coming.
The two women sit together by the win
| ter fire and spend many an hour discuss
| ing Mrs. Lanes lack of wisdom in roast
| ing steak by a slow fire or Mrs. Gray's in
| difference to dust, but the months pass
and never a word do they say about thai
memory in whose shadow they sit while
| it makes for them a silent bond of sym
| pathy.
Mrs. Andrews thought wanders bach
to the unhappy scenes of her past and SHIT
| rejoices chiefly that they soften and los.
| their sharpness OF detail as they draw
farther away into the distance of time
| And Sylvia still dreams OF promise thai
| had the assurance of iron if it did no,
prove SO strong, and, turning her eye.
away in fear and shame lest the Other
| woman should read her thoughts, still be
| lieyes that her love might have saved lei
| Iover-even from hi!useaf.-SpringfelG
| Republican.
| Her Wish.