The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1899-02-03

| ural prejudlces, emotions and fall1ngi
of poor, weak human nature. He
shrank before the thing he knew she
was about to utter.
"Do not say it, Joyce" he cried; "dc
not say it?''
She had faltered a little at his look
of horror. Have l said anything sc
terrible, then?" she asked, almost
proudly. SIS it crime to help ones
father?"
"Hush," said Tresham; yes. Yor
are child; you cannot know What you
are doing. Your father"
She dropped his arm. "My father
knows nothing of this" she said
haughtily. "No doubt he would be
angry if he knew that had conde,
scended to beg for him. No doubt he
will be honorably acquitted without
your help" Then she sank into a
chair. laid her head against her arm
and quietly wept.
Tresham laid a gentle hand upon heI
shoulder. "You must not think | don't
pity YOU" he said, softly; but, indeed
I too am to be pitied. l am in terrible
position When we came here some
few weeks ago. you with your unhappy
father. and his luckless judge, al,
three of us snatching at the legal de.
lays to rest in mind and body; wher
l met you, and saw how lovely you
were, and knew, as-God help mel
l knew soon enough that your smile
or frown was the only bar at which
trembed. why. | should have beer
brave for you and for me, I should
have put by the temptation for us both
! should have fed before you"
He paused, but the girl gave no sign;
and he went on. brokenly: do you
think it is only you that suffer? Dc
you think it is nothing to NE to see
you like this, and to feel that if honor
were not a reality l could save you as
readily as | can lift my hand? Yet
| living as we Go in world and in time
in which honor rules, l am as utterly
powerless 10 help as if my hands were
fettered."
Again he paused. ard this t!c.e the
girl slowly li4,,G A,r eyes to his face;
then she asked, gently: "Are you
powerless, Roger?"
The swift blood surged through the
young judges face; a light flashed in
his eyes, He made quick. involuntary
gesture. Joyce Boniface saw and un.
derstood.
81 know what you would say" she
cried, lifting her head proudly. Like
father, like daughter, you think. Well,
you are right | would save him if
had to lie or cheat or steal" Her voice
shook helplessiy. "Oh, if you could see
him as l do-so broken, so changed
from his former self! A poor, sick old
nan, bounded by the law and-Heaven
help me!-by the man love-" She was
still striving for her father with all the
strength she had, and yet now she was
not acting.
Tresham uttered low cry, and los
ing all his habitual self-restraint
caught her to him.
"Roger" she whispered, and it was
the voice of eternal woman tempting
eternal man-"Roger, you will save
him. 1t is so pitiful. What can a
wretched pair of girls, persons we have
never seen, matter to US? know you
will be good to him."
In the shock of returning conscious
ness and conscience, produced by her
strange sophistical plea, he could not
help a smile at the very womanishness
of it all. 1t was a very wan smile
though, and then he put her from him
"What feudal princess you would
have made!" he said, with grim humor.
"You wouldn't have recommended cake
in default of bread; you'd have asked
what poor folk, persons you didn't
know, had to be in the world for"
He knew it to be very far from a
laughing matter, and yet the air of ag-
grieved surprise with which she regard
| cd him gave him some ado to keep his
countenance. At the same time he
knew her to be a sweet, true woman.
| He knew that she would be at much
pains to relieve any distress that came
within the range of her vision. But
the case of her fathers unfortunate
victims-that was barred out from her
contact, hidden by cloud as dense
rs prejudice could make it, utterly
swept away by the current of her
| daughterly love. 1t was without mean
ing to her, something distant, vague,
with which she had not to do. Her
mind was necessarily busted with the
| picture of her wretched father, vic
timized. martyred, as he seemed to her.
There is inherent in women-handed
down to them, perhaps, as "A legacy
from time when they did not think
or act for themselves-a strong tribal
bias. From men it has been to a GER
tain extent eliminated by advancing
| civilization; in women it exists to-day.
a living witness of the narrow confines
| that once held them.
Joyce Boniface spoke now with the
fervor of despair. She had risked her
highest stakes, and she could not afford
to lose. She silenced Tresham with a
gesture, and broke out passionately:
"You pretend to be above tempta-
tion. to be superior to egoism; and you
look down on people that have-blun-
dered as if they were lower order
of creatures. Oh, you needn't deny it:
it's quite true. And all the time you
nre hard and cruel and unjust-yes,
unjust. too. Suppose | were the Grim
inal; just suppose it were whom you
nad to condemn, would you be so high
and contained and self-righteous? OF
course not. You are like all the rest.
You can see man suffer, no matter
how old and sick and miserable he is;
i; is nothing to you. But a woman.
YOU say, is different. most of all lady.