Evening capital news. (Boise, Idaho) 1901-1927, 1912-10-06
- ~ 80
Nc1el NzEZE
ssWhen did she die?v

month OF rOmantlc, happy cOurtSnlp the girl
lay dying. To believe this old woman would
be to believe her husband monster. He
had been making gentle, tender, laughing love
to her while the poor deserted mother Of his
child was dying
ut was bad day for Mary" Mrs. Moran
went on, "that ever she came to the Castle.
But Mrs. OLeary spotted her in the chapel
and took fancy to her face, thinking she
looked clever and teachable. And oh! me
Lady, she was both. A little thing she was,
not near so tall as your Ladyship; but oh! the
pretty face Of her and the soft little voice!
She had little hands, too, almost like lady's,
for never let her do the hard work. She
seemed too little and weak for that, and l was
always strong. Signs on, here am I alive and
strong still, God help me! as far of from death
as ever. And her lying under the sod. And
nothing left to me Of her but the child you're
taking away from me, and the little bits of
jewelry the landlady gave me at the end"
"What landladyw asked Dorothy.
CUP in Dublin, your Ladyship. He took her
to an elegant house. She had lodgings like
queen. Twas there the child was born, and
it was there they let me see her at the end
when all was over. He wasn't there himself
when came, but the landlady, good woman,
God bless her! told me something Of how
happy Mary had been there and she gave me
the child-he was-a big bit Of boy then-and
the brooch she used to wear and a chain and
two rings beside the wedding ring. That's
all, me Lady. That's all have for all the
years loved her, and Pm still strong, your
Ladyship, and still far from me rest"
"But don't you understand" said Dorothy,
speaking connectedly for the first time, "that
neither you nor have any choice. We must
do what is right and best for the child. His
fathers SON should live in his fathers house.
You know that. You must know it. He must
be educated, sent to school. He must have
all sorts of things which you could never give
him, but which you would always want for him.
II gave him to you now and you took him
back to poverty and care, you would be doing
selfish thing and you're not selfish woman.
You'd regret it as long as you lived. Don't
you see that you wouldw
"But oh, me Lady" cried the old woman,
thinking of the desolate days and the lonely
nights before her, "you don't understand
There's no one to work for now. Nothing to
hope for"
81 do think Of that" said Dorothy, 81 do
understand. And with all my heart, Pm sorry
But you could not be with him always You
say you are very strong, and indeed you seem
SO, but you'd have to leave him some time, and
you'd have to leave him poor. Let me keep
him now and you'll never have to fear that he
will suffer want. And oh, believe me- I'm not
taking him from you entirely; you can always
come and see him when you will"
II will not come" said the old woman, proud
ly after some thought. 81 told your Lady.
ship 1 had strength, and so have. What
would the gentleman you're going to make Of
him be doing with grandmother like me?
have done me duty by him ever since he was
given to me, and I'll do that last duty now. I
beg your Ladyship's pardon for keeping you
so long and bothering you with my troubles.
I'll be getting back now. But will you tell me
what room you're going to put him in? Which
vii no Win Mo VIII l:~hk
shining in it of night. And will you tell
them that has the charge Of him that he'll
do nothing for fear--he doesn't know what
fear is-and everything for love. And he
likes milk on his potatoes when they're hot,
and don't let him have his tea too strong.
l always knew the time would come when
he'd be taken from me. I'm not fit to bring
up the likes of him, and Pm glad it's you
that has him, for you're kind and a lovely
lady, and know you'll be good to the child"
81 WILL" cried Dorothy earnestly. Tndeed,
indeed, you can trust me-"
ri do" said Mrs. Moran. II trust you. Show
me the window now and let me CO."
Dorothy pointed it out to her and they
parted. Then she resumed her restless pacing
and her miserable thinking. Pat, her Pat: a
widower with child. He who had seemed
the very personihcation of frankness had
kept this secret all the time. Suddenly new
thought struck her. Michael, not Pity Pat.
was the heir, the Viscount. And quick upon
this came another-the memory Of the after
noon when Pity Pat was five hours old, and
Pat had been allowed to cit beside her. "What
shall we call him~ she had asked. "What
name would you choose?"
eve have no choice" Pat had answered:
mo choice at all, beloved. The eldest son of
the Earl Of 0lamoran brings his name with
him-that young person in the next room is
Patrick Gresham, Viscount Glendaire." She
could remember the pride and love with which
ne spoke and the pride and love with which