The Liberal democrat. [volume] (Liberal, Kan.) 1911-1924, 1913-12-12
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END OF THE SOuLOQUY
BY IDA N. MuNsoN.

The hours of the short winters day
we're drawing to close. The tall, old
fashioned clock in the dark front hall
Of the Crawford mansion had already
struck five, and out of doors the early
twilight was ushering in cold, dreary
night The wind blew the snow in all
directions and whistled down chin
neys with a mournful cadence.
By the open fireplace in her sitting
room sat Mary Crawford. No matter
| how imposing the exterior of the Craw-
ford mansion, so called because its ap-
pearance was superior to that of the
surrounding houses in the town, no
matter how large and grand all the
other rooms in the house might be,
there was one cozy apartment on the
second floor, just over the conserva-
tory, where the sunlight seemed to lin
ger longest and where, even though
the rest Of the house might be cold
and cheerless, there was always the
temperature Of soft Indian summer.
Even now. when the darkness was fast
approaching, one could almost see to
read by the faint light that came in
through the western window and the
cheerful fire threw such a radiance
over everything in the room that the
thought of cold and hunger seemed
very remote from this woman reclin-
ing In soft, easy chair by the glowing
hearth. Yet there was hardly poor
family In Crawford who could not tell
Of her gentle ministrations of love in
times of sickness or misfortune.
The little woman by the fire stirred
uneasily and opened her eyes. She
could hardly have been asleep, for
there was tear on her cheek and she
raised one hand to press her forehead
as though it ached.
On the small stand near by lay vel
vet case and, drawing the table toward
her, she opened the article, disclosing
a neat pair of kid gloves and several
handkerchiefs.
"Barbara's gift" she said softly.
she remembered that this is my
birthday. She always remembers ev-
erything that she thinks will please
me, dear girl"
For while the woman moved her
hand back and forth over the top of
the velvet cover with caressing
touch.
81 am old, Barbara" she said to her.
self, as if talking to the girl, 81 am
thirty-nine years old today. You are
young, and above all things, l want
you to be happy. 1t does not matter
about me, dear, and although you have
been the same as my own little daugh-
ter for ten happy years, happy just be-
cause had you, will let you go and
leave me now. Yes, Barbara, l will be
brave and not make you unhappy. You
shall never know how my heart aches
when you go. l will bear 1t all In sill
ence because of my promise"
Suddenly she arose and, stepping to
the door softly locked it, then knelt
before a cabinet in the room contain
ing several drawers. From a chain
around her neck she drew a key and
inserted 1t in the lock of one of the
drawers. Her face was very pale and
her hand trembled so that she clutched
the side of the cabinet as If for sup
port. After opening it she took out
the only thing it contained; a sheet of
yellow letter paper The writing was
almost obscured in some places where
tears had fallen on it. Clasping it
tightly with both hands she reseated
herself in the armchair and read:
London, England, Nov. %, 1898.
my dear friend:
Being falsely accused of a crime
for which have received a sentence
of life Imprisonment, | write to ask of
you great favor l know not why
my thoughts turn to you in my trouble
maybe because you once cared for
me-nevertheless, for the sake of the
only on left me in this worfl to love.
and for the sake of her mother, who is
now ID heaven, ask you to keep my
little daughter, Barbara, and try to
make her happy. She and our faith
full servant, Judy, will come to you
with this letter, and If you cannot keep
my daughter send a message directed
to Castle Court, London, at once, 9TH
erwise l shall trust that she is safe
with you.
Money will be sent you regularly
from my banker, and it Is my desire
that Barbara know nothing of my i'm
prisonment and that her life be all
sunshine If possible.
Now may God reward you and bless
you both until that great day when all
wrongs shall be forever righted.
GILBERT ARNOLD"
Here were written the following
words in feminine hand:
Il, Mary Crawford, promise to do all
in my power to make Barbara Arnold
happy, and do this for your own dear
sake, Gilbert"
Gently the woman pressed her lips
to the paper where Gilbert Arnold had
signed his name and then leaned back
in her chair with tired sigh.
She remembered the day he went
away never to return, because of a