Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1908-11-15

It was the letter which had suddenly
made the squalor so aggressively obvious.
for it had offered him change from pow
erty, dirt and a desperate struggle for
bare existence to a life of ease, money,
idIeness and luxury.
Three years before he had been exiled
from England because of his idleness and
debauclery; a bare pittance had been al
lowed him, and he had had to shift for
himself. For two years he had tried his
fortunes in the mining towns and camp
of Nevada and Montana, only to sink
lower and lower. until he had gained the
name of the camp sponge
Then by an accident, and no merit of his
own. he had won the heart of old JabeZ
Crocketts daughter Sadie. BY a strenuous
effort he had kept from the drink long
enough to make her his wife-believing
her rich father would support him. but
instead the girl wife had been cast off.
and. being a brave, clever Independent
soul, had toiled early and late to main
tain him and keep from the world the
knowledge of their poverty. Only illness
had beaten her, and their plight grew rap
idly desperate, until they were face 10
face with starvation.
At that moment had come the tempta-
tion-the letter:
neither wife nor chld-you may return
and all will be forgiven. 1t is rumored
that you are married; if SO. look for no
welcome here. Gable at once"
IF you are free!
He had had that thought many times
during Sadie's illness.
And now she was dying-he was sure of
that. The doctor was sure, too His first
thought was 10 leave her at once. They
had sent him money for the journey. He
had married her under his two first names
as Bert Hunter, concealng his family
name of Dorrison. He had kept from
her all knowledge of his family and
friends in England. She would never find
him-at least. she might not. On the
other hand, If she did he would be again
what he was already-an outcast.
She was dying-sure to die What harm,
then, if The unfinished thought had
driven him out to the saloon, where he
had muddled his wits with enough whisky
to give himself courage to do what an
hour before he had not dared to think OF
openly.
When he returned to the room he had
the stuff in his pocket He read the let
ter to nerve himself afresh. Then, with
lurch he rose and put the bottle he had
| brought in from the drug store among
the medicine phials-it was time for her
next dose-and went to the bedside
Sadie! Sadie!'
The wife stirred opened her eyes and
smiled She was still little more than a
girl. though now drawn and haggard
enough for n woman of forty. "Ah, Bert,
l think I'm better.
He hiccoughed. Its time for your
Dear Bert. how thoughtful you are. /
shall soon be about again and make
things easier for you"
She felt for his hand feebly but ne
moved away TO the table and turned the
lamp lower
whats that for, Bert?"
TOO much light for YOU he mumDled,
as he crossed to the shelf of medicine bot
ties.
The girl watched as he fumbled with the
bottle She thought she knew the reason
and sighed heavily. Don't spill if, Bert.
It's the last bottle we can buy, and It's
doing me so much good. Your hand $
shaky.'
Il sha'n't spill it,, he said His hand
did shake and the lips of the bottle ana
glass tingled as he poured out the dose.
shes dying, sure enough. Dying peo-
ole often think they're getting better
ne was saying to himself. as he stood with
his back to her, hesitatng a moment in
fear before he carried the medicine to
the bed. He was an arrant coward.
II am so longing to be well again.
Don't speak so much. Sadie. Here
you are" He held her up in bed and
trembied so violently that some of the
contents of the glass were split Drink
it-uuick.
What's the matter Bert?" she asked
putting his hand away with the testy
impatience of an invalid and looking at
him.
(TO he continued tomOrrow)