Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1902-05-22
A CHILD'S HAND.

! God in Heaven, how the car crept! 1t
would be an hour, at least, before he
reached the house. She would be waiting
for him; her preparations for flight all
completed; torn with impotence and
terror. 1t might be that in these lingering
moments of delay her courage would fail,
her resolution die, and all would be lost
lost after all these years. He shivered as
though with sudden chill, and gripped
his cane to keep himself at least seemlngly
calm.
/ The feeling of fear passed. No, she
would not falter He was sure of her
determination-she was too strong to go
back now Too strong or too weak, what
mattered it?
/ The car rushed on, with an occasionl stop,
and one by one the passengers got out. The
! long seats grew empty.
A feeling of apathy stole over Middle
ton. He seemed with his subconsclousness
to realize that his mind was not working;
that he was tired SO tired, and that 1t was
best that he did not rouse himself from this
lethargy 1t came to him, at length, that he
was intently gazing at an advertisement
card in the top of the car across from him.
1t slowly evolved itself from amid its gaudy
! lettering into sweep of seacoast, with white
gulls. Rather cleverly done, Middleton
thought, examining it with critical pleas
! ure.
The green waves and the sea gulls.
The apathy was creeping over Middleton
again.
i Suddenly, like blow-like sting of salt
spray in the face-he remembered. That
was it, of course. He recognized it now.
! The sweep and curve of the shore, the
! sparkle of wet sands, and the CLEAN of white
wings that drifted across the sky. 1t was
| the day he had told her good-by. He saw
! her, suddenly, as distinctly as he had seen
! her then, and noted that her eyes were
filed with tears He smiled little as he
remembered that her parting words had
been half childish entreaty that he be true
to her because she loved him so. OF course
he had not asked her for her promise. She
! loved kim-that was enough.
Middleton laughed aloud. Aroused by
the sound to a sense of his surroundings he
glanced quickly around. The car was al
most empty-no one seemed to observe, him.
He sunk back.
Better, perhaps, to have gone down in
! that green abyss of water then when life
! was full. Better than to have lived to de-
spise her, having loved her, and, more bit
ter still, to love her, having despised her.
Her marriage, he thought, YEARLY pursuing
the track of his past life as tired horse
started on familiar road will plod pain
fully onward-her marriage had not panied
him as it had stung and cut him. He re-
membered that the suffering of which he
had been most acutely conscious at the time
was the knowledge that Williams, who had
always scoffed at love, had known of his
1 II. 1;ox bol l.,
he had taken no summer trip for years in
order to save money to marry her; that
j Williams had always been called in to see
! the pieces of furniture he had slowly accu-
mulated-for her; that Williams knew of
the bank account he had started-for her!
! The agony of mortified vanity he remem-
! bered had been his sharpest pain.
! Well, it was past. He had triumphed.
He wondered, suddenly, as though the
thought had never occurred to him before,
whether she had ever loved her husband,
even at first. Or was she capable of love
/ at all, he asked himself?
II am brute to doubt it, after that night
at the OPERA" he unused. He trembled a
little at the recollection of her beauty and
| sweetness.
"And, after all, it was she who sought
me-" he thought; then hated himself, that
even to himself he had betrayed her.
| cam [ coward, | WONDER" Middleton
asked himself, cor a scoundrel"'
He let his mind dwell on this idea with
some interest.
| II don't feel as | have always imagined
a wicked person would feel,o he unused.
II don't experience any moments of re-
morse or shame, or self-loathing, though |
! suppose [ could scare up some pretty lively
| censure for another fellow in my position.
However, it doesn't matter much, per-
| haps."
J Suddenly the train of his thought was
| broken by touch on his arm. He pulled
| himself together and looked around. The
brilliantly lighted car was speeding on its
| way All the passengers had disappeared
but three-two women, large, red and jovial,
| who talked and laughed with their heads
close together, and, seated between him and
them little child. As he turned to look,
the child's heavy eyes closed, and it's head
dropped against its mother. Mindful of the
touch that had aroused him, Middleton
glanced at his arm. The babys hand rested
contidingly upon his sleeve-a little, soft,
white hand that lay like flower on his
rough coat. He noticed, half amused, half
touched, how small and dimpled it was
how white and soft. A sudden pain, vague
and underlined, smote his heart. How soft
and white.
Yes, the world would blame him, he
thought, with rush of sudden bitterness.
The hard, virtuous world, SO sure of it's
own merits, SO stainless. They would both
sink, drowned in sea of shame and obloquy.
Let it be SO! What did the world know of
their suffering, of the hopeless days and
nights which they had passed, chained to
the burden of a bitter sorrow? Now, wave
of fierce JOY swept over him-let the tongues
of condemnation wag as they would! Let
the pious lift of their skirts and pass by on
the other side! SO she was his, what mat
tered the rest?
Middleton started, and his eyes fell on the
baby's hand. He was conscious of vague,
inexplicable desire to shrink from ito
dash it aside, but some power held him mo-
tionless. He put out his finger, unobserved
by the mother, and touched it. He stroked
it again. 1t was so soft and small. 1t was so
helpless and so weak-why did his soul
shrink back like a coward?