The Bridgeport evening farmer. [volume] (Bridgeport, Conn.) 1866-1917, 1911-04-28

nurse doesn't understand. You do. !
You see, don't you, that I must get
to the light somehow
81 asked her, curiously, DO you
mean that this room seems to you to
be in darkness-that- you cannot see
me, nor the sunshine, nor the garden
out there?'
"'Oh no., she said, almost plying
ly. I mean the darkness that is inside
us. I shouldn't mind it's being dark
in this room
''The attendant was watching me
anxiously. I think she saw that the
interview was, to me, terribly I'M
nerving. She interposed, trying to
turn the patients thoughts in another
direction. But we could not do this
She was most loath to part from me
and when I said goodbye, wistfully
begged me to come again. In the
hall 1 gave Tay TO my tears, and
turning to the nurse, asked her if the
case we're quite, quite hopeless.
"'The doctors think So was her,
answer, but / have seen such won
derful cures that I never venture 10
say anything is quite incurable.
sometimes fancy that if her husband
would have her live in the house with
him, with a properly trained attendant
she might get a lot better. But OF
course it's very painful for him, her
L hi ho
You can't wonder that a man like that
still young, does not want constant
drag like the care of her would be-
81 went home; and on the journey
thought g. great deal Cecil met
me at Euston, and we went to tea to-
gether.
ST said to him, DO you know that
if marriage is dissoluble for you and
Amy, 1t is dissoluble for you and me?
Suppose we have railway accident
on our honeymoon, and you lose your
reason, will you like to think of me
married to somebody else?"
"He was very angry. T wouldn't
have let you go if I had known that
it would make you morbid he said.
The whole point is of course, that
should not know what was happen
ing, any more than if were dead
ct believe Amy does I said The
nurse said she thought she would be
happier if you took her out Of the
asylum, and let her be in your house.
think she thought it possible her
mind might improve. Poor little
soul!-she talked to me of you and
the child all the time, and 1t was
rather horrible and terribly pathetic
"'This is quite absurd. She does
not know me when I go there, she
never speaks, and they say she hardly
ever mentions me or the child now
II told him then all that she said
to me. And / expressed to him the
feeling Of which my mind was full
namely, that he had a duty to his
wife, that he ought not to think of
her as one who had passed out of
reach of his love. He could not, of
course, be to her what he could be to
me. But this was calamity that
he must bear. I said, IF you had a
little son who lost his reason, he would
still be your son; or a father, who
was a drunken reprobate, he would
still be your father. You could not
help that. And Amy is your WIFE,
should be your mistress, and I
should feel that I was So.
His only answer to all this was
that my present mood was ono of
mawkish emotionalism, and that it
would wear off. It was the inheri-
lance from generations Of Calvinistic
ancestors, but my own powerful mind
would triumph over such bondage |
very soon.
'"Then began the most terrible
month of my life Even now, looking
back, I feel the scorching, soaring
heat of the furnace I went through. I
held to my resolution for many days.
Cecil brought against. me all the ar
fervor of passion of which he was ca
pable He read me books, he took
me to hear lectures, he himself argu-
ed, and he was a brilliant man. And
above all, he loved me. He gave me
his terms-all or nothing. If
would marry him, should never see
his face again.
cit is not likely that T could with
stand him for ever. I had no strong
hold to which to fee. had thought
Of commandments for so long as Con-
ventions', that I should have been
ashamed to urge any law of God or
man as a justification of my attitude
My only ground was that of sentt-
ment-of altruism, perhaps you might
call It. And it was not strong enough
to stand the onslaughts of a great
passion. More and more the question
of right and wrong faded from sight
till at last I knew that, no matter
what happened afterwards-no mat
ter what misery awaited US in the fu-
ture-I must marry him in the pres
ent, or I might run the risk of join
ing poor Amy in her madhouse.
my final surrender was perhaps
precipitated by the fact that, for a
fortnight or So CaciI had saaynad NV