The wageworker. (Lincoln, Neb.) 1904-????, 1908-01-17

sent to the nursery, loving, lovable,
always ready to spring into her ia
theirs arms, the baneful root in
Lillian's heart took fresh start.
Every caress he gave to Nellie she
felt herself defrauded of, every fond
word a robbing of her right; to her.
self she said she could not bear it,
that her own child should come be-
tween them, and at times she almost
hated the child for it.
One day there was white Grape on
the door. and white casket was car
ried out of their home
Lillian shed many tears, she felt
the keen stress of grief; but yet deep
down, far deeper than Helen's death.
lay the thought that she would hardly
have owned to herself, but was none
the less present, that now, for the
first time, Robert was hers alone,
no longer was there right or claim
beside
And yet, impalpable as the thinnest
breath of vapor, not to be grasped or
dehned, but none the less present and
felt, was the shadowy something that
seemed to have come between her and
Robert in the hour when she could
claim him as hers, and hers only. At
first she recognized this with an in
credulous petulance that in turn gave
place to vague alarm. Not that he
was less tenderly kind or attentive
the more SO, if anything; but he went
his way as if no longeR touched by
her moods; frequently he said he had
writing to do, and shut himself in
the little room that had been Nellie's
play-room, now made into a "den,", it
almost seemed; but then it could not
be that he was living life of his own
apart from her.
At last one evening petulance and
alarm famed into speech, and as he
was leaving the room on the plea Of
writing little WHILE" she threw her.
self before him. Robert" she cried,
holding him fast, what is ite What
has come between us so? What are you
doing?"
Il am writing on the book you have
often heard me speak Of" answering
the last of her questions.
But don't want you to write that
to gather. you are SO changed to
me, and now for that to come in.
You have never been the same since
Nellie died; I always knew you loved
her the best; I wish l could have died
instead of her. You never loved me,
or you would not make me SO miser-
able"
Lillian and there was a note in
his voice she had never heard before,
Il married you because I loved you;
I have loved you always; I love you
now. You are sweet and true at
heart. The trouble has been that
you wanted and exacted of me what
did not ask of you, what no one has
right to demand of another, my
whole and only love. Love is like a
fountain, the more freely and in larger
measure it flows, the purer and fuller
it is; choke it up, and it either dimir-
ishes or becomes unhealthy. This,
your selfish jealousy-forgive me if I
speak plainly-has done for both of
us. Because of it you hardened your
heart to Helen, who would gladly have
loved you, and loving whom would
| have made your own life the richer.
| and led me to weakly fail in the graft
| tude and devotion l owed to her; be-
cause of it you were an untender
| mother to Nellie; you neither gave
| her your own love nor allowed me to
show her mine, for the lack of which
her whole young life was clouded.
DO not think that blame you
alone for this; l blame myself even
| more, that seeing it I weakly yielded,
| that / was not strong enough, clear
sighted enough, to have crushed it for
| you as you would not for yourself;
but as it is, it has spoiled my home
and marred my happiness and filled
my heart with remorseful memories.
"You say that I have changed to
you since Nellie died. 1t is because
l have thought of these things since
then as l never did before, and have
come to some conclusions that it
were well for boths of us had I done
SO long ago. In the future I shall
| give to you, as / have always had it
| in my heart to do, the best of my love
and confidence and care; but at the
same time l shall remember that
have my own life to live, and give to its
duties and claims what 1 feel they
deserve. You ask me, Lillian, what
has come between us? 1t is the only
thing that ever could have come
yourself"
She had loosed her hold on him
and dropped into a chair; he bent and
gently kissed her and left the room
For once I.illian's usual flow OF
words failed her. If there had been
trace of passion in his tone-but
there was none-it was the pitiless
calmness of his words that had chilled
her heart as with an icy touch. Heavy
draperies at the windows shut out
the wintry storm outside: in the crate
the fire glowed red; warmth and light
were all about her, but she shivered in
their midst And this was her Rob