The Republican journal., 1899-02-16
THE GUILTY MAN.


be pale, too, but how different his pallor
from her own-his pallor was like none
other in the world.
A shiver passed over her. Did she love
her father? But anger went out to him,
not her love. Her love was for Jack and
he could never be anything to her. Last
night she had written to Jack and told
HIM the truth, and the truth would sepa-
rate them forever. She was the daughter
of a thief
What uselessness it had been for her
mother to move hundreds of miles from
the Old home. 1t had been done for the
husband, not for the daughter. For the
daughter there had been half year S
residence IN the new place, and a learning
to love man whom she had last night de-
clined to marry. Her father had wrought
this unhappiness as he had wrought SO
much more.
What grief had her father not wrought? ?
The day he went to prison for the defalca-
ton in the hank where he had been cashier
and her mothers fathers manager. had
not her mothers father fallen dead? The
world had said the old banker could not
stand the disgrace. And what more?
Had not her mothers mother. always an
invalid, been stricken by her husband S
sieath and never been told of her SON in
avs crime? There had been a mass of
deception, the poor, feeble woman being
led to believe that her daughters hus-
band, whom she loved as a son, had gone
away on business, and letters written in
his prison cell had been read to her, and
they told her OF great prosperity in the
West, with cheertunesS that was appal-
Ing. " s, the girl almost hated hen father
as She thought over the events of the past
four years. And yet would she have tated
him save for Jack?
She pressed her hands tiercely to her
eyes.
suddenly she started. There was step
on the stairs. Her mother was bringing
her father up to her. How should she
meet him? Had it not been for Jack she
knew how she would have met him. But
her father had forced Jack from her.
The steps ascending the stairs stopped
There was a cough outside the library
door. She knew the sharp little cough.
She used to fly to meet her father four
years back when she heard that little
cough in the hall in the dear old home.
Now she did not move from the chair she
sat in.
She heard voice outside the door
her mother urging her father to enter the
room. Then the handle of the door turned
and her mother led in q strangely aged
man.
The girl arose. Her father stood before
her, expectancy written on his face. She
went slowly to him and held her forehead
up to his lips. Her mother looked angrily
at her, but she went back to her seat and
caught up some sewing.
Annie, said the mother sharply, sis
TINS the way to meet your father9 Do You
know that all that has occurred has been
more TO me than to any one else in the
world? And yet forgive because | love.
And you who have a lover?'
II have no lover" coldly interrupted
the girl. 81 couldn't deceive him any
longe'. [ wrote BIN last night | told
him the truth and that | would not marry
him.
"Ah" said the mother, ''now / under
stand. She turned to her husband.
Marx, do not mind, dear You have
mt. ANA | shall never fail you Have |
ever failed you? What is done is done.
1t is ali wiped away. 1t is only remem-
bered by your daughter, not by me, and
you are as much TO me after all the mis-
takes and sutferings as the day when
stood By your side and vowed to be a
loving and true wife till God should part
us in death. We always spoke of YOU.
mother and !.
"lour mother" his dry lips said,
'where is she?''
His wife caught his hand.
''Deai, she said can you bear little
more?
He looked at her.
annie She st+d, sternly, ''get me
those letters"
The girl went and took from the book
case packet, which she brought to her
mother.
My letters to your mother the man $
lips seemed to say, land unopened.'
His wife fondjed his hand
at was only few months ago. she
said Il could MOI tell you the truth any
mole than | could tell her The truth
would have made you unhappier, and
wished to tell you myself. She loved you
as she loved me. One morning one of
your letters came, and until | could read
1t to her she asked me to let her hold it.
An hour later we found her with the let
ter held np to her heart and she was very
white and quiet. There had been no
struggle whatever, no pain. We laid her
beside father, whom she never ceased
grteying for and who had given her every
comfort IN life, even when | am sure he
couId hardly afford the extravagances or
dered ~ her physicians. 1t is all over,
and happily over for both OF them. dear,
and you were always kind and good to
them"
A low, long sigh broke from the man.
Then silence fell, the sound of the tram
bells In the street came distinctly to them.
and the ticking of the clock on the mantle
was strangely loud.
There was a movement on the part of
Annie. She rose and came and kneeled
beside her father chair
Father" she said, ''you must forgive
me. am not very happy. do not mean
to be hard, but can't go back from my
reasoning. You have not only mother,
bat you have me also. | will do what |
can. | am sure you know that, and after
a while you will not miss anything in me. -
Go back to your seat" commanded
her mother. DO you know that you are
in the presence Of broken heart? Doesn't
your father accuse himself of more than
you accuse him of? Who are you, with
your paltry love troubles, to come to him
in time like this?''
Hush, Mary" said her husband.
"Hush!'
The silence fell again.
Annie sat alone She was apart fl ON
everything. There was no love for her
aDY more Her father had eypiatad hiS