The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1912-12-16

 preme effort which demanded all his courage, as he turned toward her, 'it all had to come out somehow. It is the end now"
 She had brought with her a cup of water. Now she handed it to him without comment. His hand trembled as he took it..
 "You saw that?' He nodded toward the ruins. All she did was to nod in silence. 'tYes, 1 saw you come out with-that-in your ar1ns.''
 ''Who-what-do you suppose 1t was?"
 q don't know Then suddenly: f''Ten me! Tell me! Was it she?'
 Send them away" he said to her after time. She turned, and those who stood about seemed to catch the wish upon her face. They fell back for a space. silent or talking in low tones.
 Come" he said
 He led her a pace or so about the scanty wall of ehrubbery- He pulled back a bit of old and faded silk, a wo- mans garment of years ago, from the face of that something which lay there on a tiny cot scarce larger than a child's bed.
 
 yet of a strangely vague and childlike look. The Ifgure, never very large, was thin and shrunken unkelievably. The features, waxy white, were mer cifu1ly spared by the flames which had licked at the shielding hands and arms that had borne her hither. Yet they seemed even more thin, more waX1tke, more unreal, than had their pallor come by merciful death. Death! An, here was written death through years. Life, full, red 5Iooded, abounding, luxuriant, riotous, never had ,sEimated this pallid form or else had long years since abandoned it. This was but the husk of a human being, eHnging be- yond it's appointed time to this world. so cruel and so kind
 They stood and gazed soIemnly for time. The hands of Josephine St. Au- ban were raised in the sign of her re ligion. Her lips moved in some swift prayer.
 ''She has been there for years" he said at last tIlicBly. ''We kept her-I kept her-here for her sake. In this country 1t would be sort of disgrace for any-any feeble person, you know, to go to an institution. Those are our graves over wonder in the yard. You see them? We'll, here was our asylum. We kept our secrets. She was this way for more than ten years. She was hurt in an accfdent-her spine. She withered away. Her mind was gone-she was like a child: She had toys, like child. She wept, she cried out like a child. Very-often was obliged to play Ah, my God! My God.'' f'This was one of your family. It was that which we heard-which we felt-about the placer Her voice was very clear, though low.
 My wife! Now you know" He dropped back, his face once more be- tween his hands, and again she fell into silence.
 How long-was this? ?" at length she asked quietly.
 He turned scorched and half blind ed face toward her. Ever since was a boy, you might say" said he. "Even before my father and mother died. We kept our own counsel. We ran away, we two children. They counseled me against it. My people didn't like the match, but I wouldn't listen It came like some sort of judgment. Not long after we were married it came-the dreadful accident, with a runaway teana-and we saw, we kneW--in lit tie while-that she simply lived like child-a plant. That was ten years ago, ten centuries-1O,OOo years of torture. But I kept her. I shielded her the best knew how. That was her place wonder, where the bars were-you see. Nobody knew any more. It's all alone, back in here. Some said there was funeral out here. Jamieson didn't deny it. I did not deny it. But she lived there! Sally took care of her! Some times she or the others were careless. You heard, once or twice. Well, any way, couldn't tell you It didn't seem right-to her. And you were big enough not to ask. I thank youI Now you know"
 Still she was silent. They dropped down, now weary, side by side, on the grass.
 "Now you see into one bit of hu- man heart, don't you?" said he bitter ly. The gray dawn showed his dis torted and wounded face-scarred blackened, burned-as at length he tried to look at her.
 "I did the best knew. I knew it wasn't right to feel as I did toward you-to talk as I did-but couldn't help it, tell you. I just couldn't help 1t, 1 can't help it now But I don't think it's wrong now, even-here. was starved. When I saw you-well, you know the rest. I have got noth- ing to say It would be no use for me to expIaK. I make no excuses for my self. I have got to take my medicine. Anyhow, part of it-part of it is wiped out.''
 'tIt is wiped out" she repeated sim ply "The walls that stood there, all of them, are gone. It is the act Of fate, of God! I had not known how awful a thing is life. It is all-wiped away by fire. Those walls"-
 But not my sins, not my selfishness,