The Bridgeport times and evening farmer., 1922-02-11

| poignant and dear Smote her with | physical violence, and her face work | ed for few moments, and she fought
 with tears.
 | There were other times, when life
 seemed less said than dull Julia grew sick of loneliness. sick of silence; she stared at her face in the mirror;
 when she WIS slowly dress mg in the
 morning; stared at herself again at night-as if narvelling at this woman who was a wife. and a mother, and deserted in her young bloom. De- serted-her husband had gone away
 from her, and she knew no way to | bring him back. A weary fatness of
 spirit descended upon her: it seemed 1 a. part of the bowling winter storms,
 the dark and heavy weather. | For the servants other positions
 were quickly found. the furniture was | stored, the motor car sold. On the \ last day on which the last was at her
 disposal. Julia, with Ellie and the 1 baby, drove about downtown, and dis
 posed of several odds and ends Of | business. She left the keys of the Pacific Avenue house at the agents
 office, not without an agonized mem | ory of the day she had first called | for them. more than two years ago. | She went to the bank. and was in | flee and given a luxurious chair Well, Mrs. Studdiford." said MT. Perry pleasantly, what brings you
 out in this dreadful weather?" 'Ciood-byes.'' Julia said, finginK back her veil, and laying her muff
 aside. Miss Poland and I will prob ably leave for New York on the sev- enth, and sail as soon as we can after we get there. I want to take a letter of credit, and I want to know Just how I stand here."
 MT. Perry touched a button, the letter of credit was duly made out. a clerk came in with little slip, which he handed to MT. Perry.
 "Ah. yes, yes, indeedl And where is Doctor Studdiford now? In Der
 Iin? Lovely city. You'll like Ber- hn,' said MT. Perry. He glanced at the slip. '%Thirty-seven thousand. two
 hundred and twenty dollars, Mrs. Studdiford,'' said he. Transferred to your name a month ago."
 "I had no idea 1t was so muoht" Julia said. her heart turning to lead. Why had he given her so much? MT. Perry, lowing her out, laughed
 that that was fault on the right side, and Julia left the bank, with it's
 brightly lighted warm atmosphere
 tinged with the odour of ink and pol ished wood and rubber flooring. and its windows streaming with rain. She
 got into the motor car again, and took little Anna on her lap.
 Now I think we'll drop you at the hotel. Ellie," said she. 'tand I'll take the baby out to say goodbye to my mother
 "Oh. Mrs. Studdiford, it's raining something terrible!' protested the maid.
 "Yes, I know" Julia agreed look ing little vaguely out of the blurred window. But you see tomorrow may be just as bad, and we've got her all dressed and out now. So you go
 home and pack. and I'll just fly out there and fly back. Day after tomor- row I've promised to take her to Sausalito, and the day after that we start!''
 The sity streets looked dark and
 gloomy under the steady onslaught Of the rain, as the car rolled along.
 Julia stared sombrely through the drenched glass, now and then kissing
 the perfumed top of the little silk cap that covered the drowsy head on her breast. It was a long trip to Shot
 we'll street; for all her family's pecu-
 l1ar1t1es, 1t was rather a sad trip to- day. She let her thoughts drift on to the coming changes in her life. She thought of New York. of the great unknown ocean. of London-London to Julia mean fog, hanson cabs, and crossings that must be swept. It was
 not, she felt, with a certain baffled re- SC n 7fvVoa ay,f vTHo4 ~1, te5
 don was full of Miss Toland's friends, and Julia was too sick in spirit to
 wish to meet them now. To be alone ito be a1one-to be a1one-sone gasping inner spirit prayed continual ly. They would go to Oxfordshire, of
 course. But Miss Poland would be miserable in the country, she was al- ways miserable in the country. They were passing Eighteenth
 street, passing St. Charles shabby
 little church. Julia stopped the mo tor. She got out and carried the
 baby up the stairs. and went up the echoing aisle to a front pew, where Anna could sit and stare about her. Julia, panting, dropped on her knees. The big edifice was empty. and smell ed of damp plaster, rain ratt1ed the high windows. The afternoon was so dark that the sanctuary light sent a little pool of quivering red to the floor below.
 After a while a very plain young woman came out of the vestry, and walking up the steps to the main aI- tar carried away one of the great candlesticks. She was presently joined by a little nun; the two whis- pered unsmilingly together. came and went 50 times with flowers, with can- dies, with fresh altar linen.
 Julia could not pray Her thoughts would not settle themselves; they drifted back and forth like rippling breeZes over grass. She felt that If she might kneel here an hour she could begin to pray. Now a thousand little things distracted her: the odour
 of the church, the crisping feet of some one entering the church far be- hind her. the odour of the damp glove upon which she rested her cheek. Life troubled her; she was afraid.