The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1903-10-25
therefore sharing his mothers suspense

He had spent many hours with her since
their first meeting, and his love had grown
steadily with the knowledge of her charac-
ter. She was indeed his ideal woman, and
If she had a past, he only blessed that past
because it had made her what SIC was.
The papers had been full of Mrs. LES
FRANCES death; and the dramatic incident
OF the unknown woman who travelled from
Manchester to attend the case, and who
had tainted in court. had been freely COM
mented OH. She was spoken of as lone of
the thousands. doubtless. to whom the de-
ceased lady had been a savior and bene-
factress"
Il deserve it, was Marion's comment,
when Bertram had brought the insult to
her notice. He had hoped that she would
pronounce it libel. He bore the blow
bravely, and loved her the more.
Every day he brought her home from the
office where she was employed, but she
resisted inquiries as to how she spent her
evenings, and he forebore TO make them:
Once or twice she had startled him by the
announcement that she was going away the
next day. aud he had accidentally dis
covered that she went to London. But of
these Journeys she gave no account. His
trust was absolute
cab drew up TO the door, and Bertram,
his Impotence grown too great for formali-
ties, fastened downstairs and met in the
hall a lady whom at the first glance he
took for a stranger. 1t was Marion dressed
as he had never seen her before, and look
ing startlingly handsome. She was, as
usual, entirely in black, but the material
was velvet and she wore string of large
| pearls round her neck.
| She laid her hand lightly on his arm, and
her eyes shone with suppressed excite
ment as she said simply: Take me to
| your mother, Bertram
Mrs. Keen was overcome with astonsh-
ment and admiration TO the point of being
nervous. The dinner passed off well, how
ever. Chiefly owing TO the tact and charm
of the visitor When the mothers heart
was fairly won. and they sat in the draw
ing-room over log fire. talking of the
! future openly and with serious happiness.
Marion laid her hand on Bertrams and said,
| quietly:
you both"
Mrs. Keen shuddered and tried to ejacu-
late.
NO don't. dear,'
| But Bertram said unfalteringly: What
you wish to say shall love to hear
| Il believe you are the noblest man on
the EARTH she cried, with sudden passion.
| II have let you live under a cruel misappre-
| hension, but 1t came about in the first place
so unavoidably. and though 1 could have
cleared myself to you, there would have
| been thousands still believing the lie and
did not see why you should be the excep-
| ton. What did il matter? asked myself.
| But it did matter, and / was deceiving my
self. l wanted to try you, to see whether
| you could be magnanimous as woman
| is usually expected to be. Now | will tell
| you why l went TO hear that cruel case
| why ] tainted when you made that an
nouncement Mrs. L'Estrange was my
| mother
Your mother," Bertram began dimy to
recall that he had heard of Mrs. LES
TRANCE having a daughter. who was absent
| at the time of her death. Since then he
| had thought no more about the matter.
| Eyes. am Marion l. Estrange-my moth
ers heiress. and am going to carry on her
work. My lawyers know all my history,
and why 1 wanted to keep quiet these few
months. People think L am abroad. 1 told
| you once that my mother had saved me
from an awful fate; it is true. Her influence
did it. All through my childhood 1 was a
disputed possession. My mother wanted
me, to bring me up according to her own
| ideas. My father, whom / adored. wanted
to make a toy of me. L loved him best.
until learned to know him. At last l was
| given the choice with whom 1 would live.
My mother warned me, with tears of
anguish. 1 refused to believe her story. /
| considered that she had sacrificed her wifely
| duties to her philanthropy I, child, who
knew nothing of the world. judged her. 1
said those cruel words to my mother, whose
wrongs 1 now know TO have been unendura-
BILE! SO we parted in bitterness. / lived
with my father in the Riviera or in Paris
anywhere where there was excitement, and
what / then called pleasure. I cannot re-
| late how my eyes opened-it is too
| horrible a story. / will only say that he
| cast me off-my fortune was dissipated, and
L was penniless. He died soon after. My
+ mother thought that he could not touch
| my money-she never knew that part of the
story; and thinking 1 had gone my own
way, she counted me lost to her. But 1
returned to England, and tried to earn a
living by teaching. That falling. / took to
| typewriting, which had once had a fancy
| TO learn, and so / came TO settle In Man.
| chester. NY object was to prove myself
| worthy of my mother before falling re-
| pentant at her feet. did not know she was
| i'll, and thought the future mine.
became voluntary helper at the Refuge
| where 1 am we'll known. They call me Sis
| ter Lee. Some day had hoped to take my
| mother a record of the work of Sister Lee,
| and lay il before her as an Offering of
| aonement. 1t was my mistake. / should
have gone to her empty-handed, for she
would have forgiven me freely. I have
learned. Bertram, that there is such a
thing as free forgiveness and pure-hearted
| magnanimity in the world. But my mother,
alas. will never know
| Mrs. Keen, weeping surreptitiously, muir
| INJURED something about faith and "a
| mothers blessing But Bertram, condens-
| ing into one look such ineffable scorn and
| satire that it seemed as though he would
| have no further store to draw upon for pro-
| fessional purposes, and hiding his face in
| his hands because he could bestow that
look on no one but himself, declared:
i've been the biggest fool lately that
ever / had TO deal with
Copyright, 1867
The Maskcrs.
The great gods in their merriment
fn1n mas n ma cd