The Minneapolis journal. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn.) 1888-1939, 1902-05-03

trembling lips what explained her rags,
the degradation which had fallen on her
beauty, and the whole pitiable. downfall
of womanhood which once struck my
heart as ideal and worthy of mans un-
selfish Worship.
Drawing the flower from my button
hole, crushed 1t IN my hand. If could
have donned the clothes of some Of the
men lolling about us in greedy curiosity,
l would have done SO at that moment, if
only the contrast between our outer
| selves might have been less apparent.
But this was impossible, and could only
stand in silence in face Of this wreck
OF bygone delights, and in one moment
and under the gaze of a dozen pairs OF
eyes peering from behind the counter and
gaping in at the doorway, live down my
bitter humiliation at this untoward resur-
rection Of love had learned to-rejoice
in as buried. For this was no wretched
waif of the streets I could pity and
leave. This was my wife, the mother of
my child; the woman whom had once
vowed to hold in honor to the end, and
to succor. no matter what her need or to
what degradation she might come. Be-
sides, there was an appeal in her droop-
ing attitude and quivering mouth which
touched my heart in spite of my judg-
ment. I felt her misery as I had never
felt my own; misery all the more pro-
nounced because Of the Joy SO openly pre-
!
the old cord Of union that had made our
hearts one, I quietly asked her If she
had lost all love for me. She gave me
one quick look; and saw her eye
quicken as she softly faltered, NO Only
she made haste to add, I cannot live In
big houses under the eyes of people who
think m, ways odd and wrong. If you
take me back to him cannot help going
wrong again But would like something
pretty to wear and something good to
| eat
II took her to an East Side hotel
bought her clothes and gave her food,
over which she laughed like child. Then
would buy her home in pretty coun-
try place, where she need not fear in
trudlng eyes. There she should live with
| some woman I could trust and who would
be kind TO her. A piano, music, flowers,
books-she should have all. and if, in the
course OF time, she came to wish it, 4
would bring our child to see her Did
she think she could be contented in a
home like this? Wouldn't it be better
than the cold and squalor OF the streets
and these wild dances before unsympa-
thetic eyes?
"She answered with a burst Of affec-
ton which was real enough at the time;
then asked if was going to let my father
know she was living. This brought to
against us ever since I first recognized
her as the woman I had sworn to, love and
cherish. Could tell my father? Could
I bring down again upon myself the old
coldness, the old distrust, the old sense
of division that was gall to me because
Of the reverence and love naturally felt
for him?
II could not; recognized the coWardice
Of It,, But I could mot I was ready to
give her succor: / was ready to devote
time, money, and care, to her ,esta blish-
ment and we'll being; could deny myself
the pleasures and pursuits natural to. men
of my age, and even the uninterrupted
enjoyment of the home. had come. to
prize, but could not tell my father that
the wild-eyed creature he was forcing
himself to forget, still .lived,s and might
any day bring down fresh humiliation
upon him
''she saw my doubt and smiled as in
the early days Of her untrammeled youth.
"'Better So she cried; then if I fail
to be good it will not SO much matter.
And may fail; 1t is in my blood, Leigh
ton; in my unfortunate Bohemian blood.
Oh, why did you ever care for me?'
"Such gusts of feeling and regret over
the havoc she had caused were common
to her They made it impossible for me
to hope in her ultimate restoration to re-
spectability and quiet life. But, alas
they were but gusts, and after few
months of peaceful harborage in the rose
covered cottage 1 found for her, she fed
from me again and was lost for years.
But I never ceased searching for her.
The unrest of knowing she was restless
under the roof I had provided for her was
nothing to the restlessness Of not know
ling where she was and in what misery
and under what deprivation she was pin
ing away III the dark holes where alone
She could And refuge. have sat hours
under my fathers eye, talking Of stocks
and bonds ana railway shares, while my
every thought and feeling were with her
whom in my fancy saw wandering from
river to river, III dark nights and IN cold
rain on the pavernents Of siush In the
streets, drawing up TO lighted doors for
warmth or hiding her brown head with
It's flying curls under sheds dog might be
glad TO fly from. ,Ys S. 81.
at mas happened to HE often to be
In the presence Of women at church or
concert or festival, and with their eyes
on my face and the PEI fume Of their pres
ence floating about me, to behold IN my
minds pslIpect TIN ne sol1e eage ne 81
some dock, in whose lifted arms and up
strained countenance read despair, the
DESPAIR that leads to death; and, forget
ting where I was and to whom my words
were due, have rushed out to do-What
| Wander those downtown SLreetS anu LIE
Bleak places had seen in my fancy, IN
the hope OF coming once again upon the
being who, unaccountably to myself, still
held the cord whose other end was bound
indissolubly to my heart. What wonder
that was looked upon as eccentric,
moody, strange, or that my father, who
naturally explained these freaks accord
ing to his own lights, showed displeasure
at my unaccountable whims? Yet went
on with my search, and finally the day
arrived when my perseverance. was re-
Warded and I came upon her once again.
.She was in low dance-hall. but she
was not dancing. She was simply gazing
at another woman attempting those dizzy
whirls which, under the sway Of her own
genius; had once attracted the applause
of d different crowd from this. There
! was Infinite longing in. her eyes, mixed
with the sadness which will sometimes
creep over those who are homeless
through their own choice. Il. When She
saw me-. and this was perhaps ,e sooner
than was best for either herself or me,
! saw tie ia look of terror rise in her
eyes, but mingled With it was a certain
i recognition of my faithfuIness and self
forgetfu1 care for her which melted the
A ice about my heart and reawakened the
old hops for her But she did not follow
me when beekoned her out; nor could ]
induce her to do so without risking a
scene which would necessarily attract all
eyes to us. But she promised, If gave
her money, to return the next day to the
q little house In New Jersey.
...And she did; but her stay was short
and 1t became common thing for her I'd
Il drift hac1s there YOf. d day ~. ID and IN pr