The Bon Homme County independent. [volume] (Tabor, S.D.) 1904-1913, 1911-11-02
end--a fit punishment from the hama
OF God! The past was buried with
him It must be as thought It had never

end---a At punishment from the HAND
OF God! The past was buried with
him 1t must be as thought 1t mad never
been
Mary Jarvis acquiesced Life It
| seemed, held nothing more for her The
future, no less than the past, was to
her a dark and lifeless thing. She
would have welcomed death. but It did
not come. She grew slowly better. and
at last she was able to go with her
father to Scotland for a long visit
among his people there, while he
hastened home for his revenge-his
pound Of flesh. Whatever fault she had
been guilty of, she expiated by taking,
without love-for she knew that love
would never come into her life again
the husband of her fathers choosing.
And seemingly she had never suspected
that her child was living: certainly she
never dreamed that her instructive
tenderness for her daughters lover was
that Of a mother for her son.
So the years passed. and cast veil
about this sorrow; not concealing 1t,
but rendering 1t less sharp, less poig-
nant. To her daughter no whisper Of
| this secret ever came until that terrible
moment when she opened the letter
marked "1mportant--reada at once" The
blow. Of course, must have fallen-it
was right that it should fall--but OIL
u y
is what she read in that half darkened
| library, whittier she had fed for refuge:
Marcia Lawrence: / suppose that
you have never heard Of me, yet am
your mothers only living relative, her
fathers sister. There are painful men,
cries, perhaps which have caused her
to wish to forget me, and 1t Is not to
claim relationship or ask for love or
| sympathy that / write this letter. but
| to fulfill a sacred duty. A merciful
providence turned my eyes this morn
| ing to an article in the Tribune, de-
scribing your approaching marriage. Of
which have hitherto been kept in ig-
cumstances given concerning the
bridegroom's life, am certain
he is your brother, your moth
er's son, born in sin In this
house 81 years ago. So are the iniqui-
ties Of the parents visited upon the
20: 10; LIST Cor. GLIB; Ro. 1923. I thank
God that He has enabled me to prevent
this last iniquity. II any doubt remains
to you, ask your mother for the story,
or come to me and will tell it you.
Margaret Heminway."
One can guess how this horrible let
ter palsied her; how this first face-to-
face encounter with the worlds sin and
misery tortured and sickened her. But
she shook the weakness off-they
would be seeking her in a moment; she
must flee, must hide herself, until she
had time to think, to adjust herself to
this new, corroding fact which had
come into her life. So she sought the
Kingdom cottage, the nearest most
convenient refuge, and there had writ
ten that hasty, despairing note and en-
trusted ii to Lucy Kingdom, who had
brought her gown to replace that
mockery Of satin. She had remained
there, hidden, during the long after
noon, secure in the knowledge that
these women, whose devotion to her
had peculiar intensity which she had
not quite understood, would not betray
her.
Then, as soon as darkness fell, she
Ehad come to New York and sought Mrs.
Hemingway. She must be quite GER
Ptain; she must know the whole truth.
And that old, old woman, with all the
,grimness Of her creed told her the
Estory bluntly and cruelty, as she told
| it to us. The child had not died, but
had been placed with the family of the
manager Of her husbands estate on
Long Island, who himself did not know
Its history: who had, in the end,
adopted 1t and given 1t his name. There
could be no installing.
have called her merciless, for she
seemed to glory. in another's anguish,
| counting 1t fit retribution and punish
ment from the Lord. Yet trembled to
think how more merciless she might
have been had she withheld the truth!
And when she had heard the story,
Marcia Lawrence could no longer
doubt But one great load was lifted
from her, for sne knew in her inmost
heart that the story Of that wild night
Grive was true-she knew that her
mother had been guilty of no sin. There
was sweet comfort in the thought
which made her burden less, though 1t
did not alter the problem which she
herself must face. She had been stab
bed to the heart, and the wound was
bleeding still. She had gone forth from
the house white with agony; she
wanted time to rest, to think. to grow
accustomed to the world again. She
had battle to fight; and, hastily pur-
chasing such clothing as she needed,
she had taken the first boat for Eng
land, where she hoped to hide herself
until the tumult in her heart subsidized,
and she had gathered courage to face
the world and her lover.