Alla inlägg den 6 april 2011

Av schuhe lily - 6 april 2011 07:57

And now Mary had, as she thought, dismissed both her lovers. But they looked on their dismissals with very different eyes. He who loved her with all his heart and with all his soul, considered his rejection final. He did not comfort himself with the idea, which would have proved so well founded in his case, that women have second thoughts about casting off their lovers. He had too much respect for his own heartiness of love to believe himself unworthy of Mary; that mock humble conceit did not enter his head. He thought he did "not hit Mary's fancy"; and though that may sound a trivial every-day expression, yet the reality of it cut him to the heart. Wild visions of enlistment, of drinking himself into forget fulness, of becoming desperate in some way or another, entered his mind; but then the thought of his mother stood like an angel with a drawn sword in the way to sin. For, you know, "he was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow"; dependent on him for daily bread. So he could not squander away health and time, which were to him money wherewith to support her failing years. He went to his work, accordingly, to all outward semblance just as usual; but with a heavy, heavy heart within.Mr Carson, as we have seen, persevered in considering Mary's rejection of him as merely a "charming caprice." If she were at work, Sally Leadbitter was sure to slip a passionately loving note into her hand, and then so ski]fully move away from her side, that Mary could not all at once return it, without making some sensation among the workwomen. She was even forced to take several home with her. But after reading one, she determined on her plan. She made no great resistance to receiving them from Sally, but kept them unopened, and occasionally returned them in a blank half-sheet of paper. But far worse than this, was the being so constantly waylaid as she went home by her persevering lover; who had been so long acquainted with all her habits, that she found it difficult to evade him. Late or early, she was never certain of being free from him. Go this way or that, he might come up some cross street when she had just congratulated herself on evading him for that day. He could not have taken a surer mode of making himself odious to her.And all this time Jem Wilson never came I Not to see her-that she did not expect--but to see her father; to--she did not know what, but she had hoped he would have come on some excuse, just to see if she hadn't changed her mind. He never came. Then she grew weary and impatient, and her spirits sank. The persecution of the one lover, and the neglect of the other, oppressed her sorely. She could not now sit quietly through the evening at her work; or, if she kept, by a strong effort, from pacing up and down the room, she felt as if she must sing to keep off thought while she sewed. And her songs were the maddest, merriest, she could think of. "Barbara Allen," and such sorrowful ditties, did well enough for happy times; but now she required all the aid that could be derived from external excitement to keep down the impulse of grief.

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So when the funeral day came, Mrs Davenport was neatly arrayed in black, a satisfaction to her poor heart in the midst of her sorrow. Barton and Wilson both accompanied her, as she led her two elder boys, and followed the coffin. it was a simple walking funeral, with nothing to grate on the feelings of any; far more in accordance with its purpose, to my mind, than the gorgeous hearses, and nodding plumes, which form the grotesque funeral pomp of respectable people. There was no "rattling the bones over the stones," ofthe pauper's funeral. Decently and patiently was he followed to the grave by one determined to endure her woe meekly for his sake. The only mark of pauperism attendant on the burial concerned the living and joyous, far more than the dead, or the sorrowful. When they arrived in the churchyard, they halted before a raised and handsome tombstone; in reality a wooden mockery of stone respectabilities which adorned the burial-ground. it was easily raised in a very few minutes, and below was the grave in which pauper bodies were, piled until within a foot or two of the surface; when the soil was shovelled over, and stamped down, and the wooden cover went to do temporary duty over another hole. But little recked they of this who now gave up their dead."Where have I been? What have I been doing? Why do you torment me with questions like these? Can you not guess? But the story of my life is wanted to give force to my speech, afterwards I will tell it you. Nay! don't change your fickle mind now, and say you don't want to hear it. You must hear it, and I must tell it; and then see after Mary, and take care she does not become like me. As she is loving now, so did I love once, one above me far." She remarked not, in her own absorption, the change in Jem's breathing, the sudden clutch at the wall which told the fearfully vivid interest he took in what she said. "He was so handsome, so kind I Well, the regiment was ordered to Chester (did I tell you he was an officer?), and he could not bear to part from me, nor I from him, so he took me with him. I never thought poor Mary would have taken it so to heart! I always meant to send for her to pay me a visit when I was married; for, mark you! he promised me marriage. They all do. Then came three years of happiness. I suppose I ought not to have been happy, but I was. I had a little girl, too. Oh! the sweetest darling that ever was seen! But I must not think of her," putting her hand wildly up to her forehead, "or I shall go mad; I shall.""Don't tell me any more about yoursel," said Jem, soothingly."What! you're tired already, are you? but I will tell you; as you've asked for it, you shall hear it. I won't recall the agony of the past for nothing. I will have the relief of telling it. Oh, how happy I was!" sinking her voice into a plaintive, childlike manner. "It came like a shot on me when one day he came to me and told me he was ordered to Ireland, and must leave me behind; at Bristol we then were."Jem muttered some words; she caught their meaning, and in a pleading voice continued,"Oh, don't abuse him; don't speak a word against him! You don't know how I love him yet; yet, when I am sunk so low. You don't guess how kind he was. He gave me fifty pounds before we parted, and I knew he could ill spare it. Don't, Jem, please," as his muttered indignation rose again. For her sake he ceased. "I might have done better with the money; I see now. But I did not know the value of money. Formerly I had earned it easily enough at the factory, and as I had no more sensible wants, I spent it on dress and on eating. While I lived with him, I had it for asking; and fifty pounds would, I thought, go a long way. So I went back to Chester, where I'd been so happy, and set up a small-ware shop, and hired a room near. We should have done well, but alas! alas! my little girl fell ill, and I could not mind my shop and her too; and things grew worse and worse. I sold my goods any how to get money to buy her food and medicine; I wrote over and over again to her father for help, but he must have changed his quarters, for I never got an answer. The landlord seized the few bobbins and tapes I had left, for shop-rent; and the person to whom the mean little room, to which we had been forced to remove, belonged, threatened to turn us out unless his rent was paid; it had run on many weeks, and it was winter, cold bleak winter; and my child was so ill, so ill, and I was starving. And I could not bear to see her suffer, and forgot how much better it would be for us to die together;-oh, her moans, her moans, which money could give the means of relieving! So I went out into the street one January night--Do you think God will punish me for that?" she asked with wild vehemence, almost amounting to insanity, and shaking Jem's arm in order to force an answer from him.

ANNONS
Av schuhe lily - 6 april 2011 07:52

Sally Leadbitter was vulgar-minded to the last degree; never easy unless her talk was of love and lovers; in her eyes it was an honour to have had a long list of wooers. So constituted, it was a pity that Sally herself was but a plain, red-haired, freckled girl; never likely, one would have thought, to become a heroine on her own account. But what she lacked in beauty she tried to make up for by a kind of witty boldness, which gave her what her betters would have called piquancy. Considerations of modesty or propriety never checked her utterance of a good thing. She had just talent enough to corrupt others. Her very goodnature was an evil influence. They could not hate one who was so kind; they could not avoid one who was so willing to shield them from scrapes by any exertion of her own; whose ready fingers would at any time make up for their deficiencies, and whose still more convenient tongue would at any time invent for them. The Jews, or Mohammedans (I forget which), believe that there is one little bone of our body,--one of the vertebrae, if I remember rightly,--which will never decay and turn to dust, but will lie incorrupt and indestructible in the ground until the Last Day: this is the Seed of the Soul. The most depraved have also their Seed of the Holiness that shall one day overcome their evil. Their one good quality, lurking hidden, but safe, among all the corrupt and had.Sally's seed of the future soul was her love for her mother, an aged bedridden woman. For her she had self-denial; for her, her good-nature rose into tenderness; to cheer her lonely bed, her spirits, in the evenings, when her body was often wofully tired, never flagged, but were ready to recount the events of the day, to turn them into ridicule, and to mimic, with admirable fidelity, any person gifted with an absurdity who had fallen under her keen eye. But the mother was lightly principled like Sally herself; nor was there need to conceal from her the reason why Mr Carson gave her so much money. She chuckled with pleasure, and only hoped that the wooing would be long a-doing.Still neither she, nor her daughter, nor Harry Carson liked this resolution of Mary, not to see him during her father's absence.One evening (and the early summer evenings were long and bright now), Sally met Mr Carson by appointment, to be charged with a letter for Mary, imploring her to see him, which Sally was to back with all her powers of persuasion. After parting from him she determined, as it was not so very late, to go at once to Mary's, and deliver the message and letter.She found Mary in great sorrow. She had just heard of George Wilson's sudden death: her old friend, her father's friend, Jem's father--all his claims came rushing upon her. Though not guarded from unnecessary sight or sound of death, as the children of the rich are, yet it had so often been brought home to her this last three or four months. It was so terrible thus to see friend after friend depart. Her father, too, who had dreaded Jane Wilson's death the evening before he set off. And she, the weakly, was left behind, while the strong man was taken. At any rate the sorrow her father had so feared for him was spared. Such were the thoughts which came over her.She could not go to comfort the bereaved, even if comfort were in her power to give; for she had resolved to avoid Jem; and she felt that this of all others was not the occasion on which she could keep up a studiously cold manner.And in this shock of grief, Sally Leadbitter was the last person she wished to see. However, she rose to welcome her, betraying her tear-swollen face.

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An idea was now springing up among the operatives, that originated with the Chartists, but which came at last to be cherished as a darling child by many and many a one. They could not believe that government knew of their misery they rather chose to think it possible that men could voluntarily assume the office of legislators for a nation who were ignorant of its real state; as who should make domestic rules for the pretty behaviour of children without caring to know that those children had been kept for days without food. Besides, the starving multitudes had heard, that the very existence of their distress had been denied in Parliament; and though they felt this strange and inexplicable, yet the idea that their misery had still to be revealed in all its depths, and that then some remedy would be found, soothed their aching hearts, and kept down their rising fury.So a petition was framed, and signed by thousands in the bright spring days of 1839, imploring Parliament to hear witnesses who could testify to the unparalleled destitution of the manufacturing districts. Nottingham, Sheffield, Glasgow, Manchester, and many other towns, were busy appointing delegates to convey this petition, who might speak, not merely of what they had seen, and had heard, but from what they had borne and suffered. Life-worn, gaunt, anxious, hunger-stamped men, were those delegates.One of them was John Barton. He would have been ashamed to own the flutter of spirits his appointment gave him. There was the childish delight of seeing London--that went a little way, and but a little way. There was the vain idea of speaking out his notions before so many grand folk-that went a little further; and last, there was the really pure gladness of heart arising from the idea that he was one of those chosen to be instruments in making known the distresses of the people, and consequently in procuring them some grand relief, by means of which they should never suffer want or care any more. He hoped largely, hut vaguely, of the results of his expedition. An argosy of the precious hopes of many otherwise despairing creatures, was that petition to be heard concerning their sufferings.The night before the morning on which the Manchester delegates were to leave for London, Barton might be said to hold a levee, so many neighbours came dropping in. Job Legh had early established himself and his pipe by John Barton's fire, not saying much, but puffing away, and imagining himself of use in adjusting the smoothing-irons that hung before the fire, ready for Mary when she should want them. As for Mary, her employment was the same as that of Beau Tibbs' wife, "just washing her father's two shirts," in the pantry back-kitchen; for she was anxious about his appearance in London. (The coat had been redeemed, though the silk handkerchief was forfeited.) The door stood open, as usual, between the house-place and back-kitchen, so she gave her greeting to their friends as they entered."I'm sure, John Barton, if yo are taking messages to the Parliament folk, yo'll not object to telling 'em what a sore trial it is, this law o' theirs, keeping childer fra' factory work, whether they be weakly or strong. There's our Ben; why, porridge seems to go no way wi' him, he eats so much; and I han gotten no money to send him t' school, as I would like; and there he is, rampaging about the streets a' day, getting hungrier and hungrier, and picking up a' manner o' bad ways; and th' inspector won't let him in to work in th' factory, because he's not right age; though he's twice as strong as Sankey's little ritling of a lad, as works till he cries for his legs aching so, though he is right age, and better.""I've one plan I wish to tell John Barton," said a pompous, careful-speaking man, " and I should like him for to lay it afore the Honourable House. My mother comed out o' Oxfordshire, and were under-laundry-maid in Sir Francis Dashwood's family; and when we were little ones, she'd tell us stories of their grandeur: and one thing she named were, that Sir Francis wore two shirts a day. Now he were all as one as a Parliament man; and many on 'em, I han no doubt, are like extravagant. Just tell 'em, John,do, that they'd be doing the Lancashire weavers a great kindness, if they'd ha' their shirts a' made o' calico; 'twould make trade brisk, that would, wi' the power o' shirts they wear."Job Legh now put in his word. Taking the pipe out of his mouth, and addressing the last speaker, he said:"I'll tell ye what, Bill, and no offence, mind ye; there's but hundreds of them Parliament folk as wear so many shirts to their back; but there's thousands and thousands o' poor weavers as han only gotten one shirt i' the world; aye, and don't know where t' get another when that rag's done, though they're turning out miles o' calico every day; and many a mile o't is lying in warehouses, stopping up trade for want o' purchasers. Ye take my advice, John Barton, and ask Parliament to set trade free, so as workmen can earn a decent wage, and buy their two, aye and three, shirts a-year; that would make weaving brisk."He put his pipe in his mouth again, and redoubled his puffing, to make up for lost time."I'm afeard, neighbours," said John Barton, "I've not much chance o' telling 'em all yo say; what I think on, is just speaking out about the distress that they say is nought. When they hear o' children born on wet flags, without a rag t' cover 'em or a bit o' food for th' mother; when they bear of folk lying down to die i' th' streets, or hiding their want i' some hole o' a cellar till death come to set 'em free; and when they hear o' all this plague, pestilence, and famine, they'll surely do somewhat wiser for us than we can guess at now. Howe'er, I han no objection, if so be there's an opening, to speak up for what yo say; anyhow, I'll do my best, and yo see now, if better times don't come after Parliament knows all."

ANNONS
Av schuhe lily - 6 april 2011 07:45

At the beginning of this speech Mary had feared the intended visitor was to be no other than Alice's nephew; but Alice was too delicate-minded to plan a meeting, even for her dear Jem, when one would have been an unwilling party; and Mary, relieved from her apprehension by the conclusion, gladly agreed to come. How busy Alice felt! it was not often she had any one to tea; and now her sense of the duties of a hostess were almost too much for her. She made haste home, and lighted the unwilling fire, borrowing a pair of bellows to make it burn the faster. For herself she was always patient; she let the coals take their time. Then she put on her pattens, and went to fill her kettle at the pump in the next court, and on the way she borrowed a cup; of odd saucers she had plenty, serving as plates when occasion required. Half an ounce of tea and a quarter of a pound of butter went far to absorb her morning's wages; but this was an unusual occasion. In general, she used herb-tea for herself, when at home, unless some thoughtful mistress made a present of tea-leaves from her more abundant household. The two chairs drawn out for visitors, and duly swept and dusted; an old board arranged with some skill upon two old candle-boxes set on end (rather rickety, to be sure, but she knew the seat of old, and when to sit lightly; indeed the whole affair was more for apparent dignity of position than for any real ease); a little, very little round table, put just before the fire, which by this time was blazing merrily; her unlacquered, ancient, third-hand teatray arranged with a black tea-pot, two cups with a red and white pattern, and one with the old friendly willow pattern, and saucers, not to match (on one of the extra supply the lump of butter flourished away); all these preparations complete, Alice began to look about her with satisfaction, and a sort of wonder what more could be done to add to the comfort of the evening. She took one of the chairs away from its appropriate place by the table, and putting it close to the broa d large hanging shelf I told you about when I first described her cellar-dwelling, and mounting on it, she pulled towards her an old deal box, and took thence a quantity of the oat bread of the north, the clap-bread of Cumberland and Westmoreland, and descending carefully with the thin cakes, threatening to break to pieces in her hand, she placed them on the bare table, with the belief that her visitors would have an unusual treat in eating the bread of her childhood. She brought out a good piece of a fourpound loaf of common household bread as well, and then sat down to rest, really to rest, and not to pretend, on one of the rush-bottomed chairs. The candle was ready to be lighted, the kettle boiled, the tea was awaiting its doom in its paper parcel; all was ready.A knock at the door! It was Margaret, the young workwoman who lived in the rooms above, who having heard the bustle, and the subsequent quiet, began to think it was time to pay her visit below. She was a sallow, unhealthy, sweet-looking young woman, with a careworn look; her dress was humble and very simple, consisting of some kind of dark stuff gown, her neck being covered by a drab shawl or large handkerchief, pinned down behind and at the sides in front. The old woman gave her a hearty greeting, and made her sit down on the chair she had just left, while she balanced herself on the board seat, in order that Margaret might think it was quite her free and independent choice to sit there."I cannot think what keeps Mary Barton. She's quite grand with her late hours," said Alice, as Mary still delayed.

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Mary Turner was just ready for bed after her evening at thetheater, when she was rudely startled out of this belief. A notecame by a messenger who waited for no answer, as he told theyawning maid. As Mary read the roughly scrawled message, she wascaught in the grip of terror. Some instinct warned her that thisdanger was even worse than it seemed. The man who had saved herfrom death had yielded to temptation. Even now, he was engaged incommitting that crime which she had forbidden him. As he hadsaved her, so she must save him. She hurried into the gown shehad just put off. Then she went to the telephone-book andsearched for the number of Gilder's house.  * * * * *It was just a few moments before Mary Turner received the notefrom the hands of the sleepy maid that one of the leaves of theoctagonal window in the library of Richard Gilder's town houseswung open, under the persuasive influence of a thin rod ofsteel, cunningly used, and Joe Garson stepped confidently intothe dark room.  A faint radiance of moonlight from without showed him for asecond as he passed between the heavy draperies. Then these fellinto place, and he was invisible, and soundless as well. For aspace, he rested motionless, listening intently. Reassured, hedrew out an electric torch and set it glowing. A little disc oflight touched here and there about the room, traveling veryswiftly, and in methodical circles. Satisfied by the survey,Garson crossed to the hall door. He moved with alert assurance,lithely balanced on the balls of his feet, noiselessly. At thehall door he listened for any sound of life without, and foundnone. The door into the passage that led to the store-room wherethe detectives waited next engaged his business-like attention.  And here, again, there was naught to provoke his suspicion.  These preliminaries taken as measures of precaution, Garson wentboldly to the small table that stood behind the couch, turned thebutton, and the soft glow of an electric lamp illumined theapartment. The extinguished torch was thrust back into hispocket. Afterward he carried one of the heavy chairs to the doorof the passage and propped it against the panel in such wise thatits fall must give warning as to the opening of the door. Hisevery action was performed with the maximum of speed, with noleast trace of flurry or of nervous haste. It was evident thathe followed a definite program, the fruit of precise thoughtguided by experience.Another year passed on. The waves of time seemed long since to have swept away all trace of poor Mary Barton. But her husband still thought of her, although with a calm and quiet grief, in the silent watches of the night: and Mary would start from her hard-earned sleep, and think, in her half-dreamy, half-awakened state, she saw her mother stand by her bedside, as she used to do "in the days of long ago"; with a shaded candle and an expression of ineffable tenderness, while she looked on her sleeping child. But Mary rubbed her eyes and sank back on her pillow, awake, and knowing it was a dream; and still, in all her troubles and perplexities, her heart called on her mother for aid, and she thought, "If mother had but lived, she would have helped me." Forgetting that the woman's sorrows are far more difficult to mitigate than a child's, even by the mighty power of a mother's love; and unconscious of the fact, that she was far superior in sense and spirit to the mother she mourned. Aunt Esther was still mysteriously absent, and people had grown weary of wondering, and began to forget. Barton still attended his club, and was an active member of a trades' union; indeed, more frequently than ever, since the time of Mary's return in the evening was so uncertain; and, as she occasionally, in very busy times, remained all night. His chiefest friend was still George Wilson, although he had no great sympathy on the questions that agitated Barton's mind. But their hearts were bound by old ties to one another, and the remembrance of former things gave an unspoken charm to their meetings. Our old friend, the cub-like lad, Jem Wilson, had shot up into the powerful, well-made young man, with a sensible face enough; nay, a face that might have been handsome, had it not been here and there marked by the smallpox. He worked with one of the great firms of engineers, who send from out their towns of workshops engines and machinery to the dominions of the Czar and the Sultan. His father and mother were never weary of praising Jem, a t all which commendation pretty Mary Barton would toss her head, seeing clearly enough that they wished her to understand 'what a good husband he would make, and to favour his love, about which he never dared to speak, whatever eyes and looks revealed.One day, in the early winter time, when people were provided with warm substantial gowns, not likely soon to wear out, and when, accordingly, business was rather slack at Miss Simmonds', Mary met Alice Wilson, coming home from her half-day's work at some tradesman's house. Mary and Alice had always liked each other; indeed, Alice looked with particular interest on the motherless girl, the daughter of her whose forgiving kiss had comforted her in many sleepless hours. So there was a warm greeting between the tidy old woman and the blooming young work-girl; and then Alice ventured to ask if she would come in and take her tea with her that very evening."You'll think it dull enough to come just to sit with an old woman like me, but there's a tidy young lass as lives in the floor above, who does plain work, and now and then a bit in your own line, Mary; she's grand-daughter to old Job Legh, a spinner, and a good girl she is. Do come, Mary; I've a terrible wish to make you known to each other. She's a genteel-looking ass, too."

Av schuhe lily - 6 april 2011 07:45

At the beginning of this speech Mary had feared the intended visitor was to be no other than Alice's nephew; but Alice was too delicate-minded to plan a meeting, even for her dear Jem, when one would have been an unwilling party; and Mary, relieved from her apprehension by the conclusion, gladly agreed to come. How busy Alice felt! it was not often she had any one to tea; and now her sense of the duties of a hostess were almost too much for her. She made haste home, and lighted the unwilling fire, borrowing a pair of bellows to make it burn the faster. For herself she was always patient; she let the coals take their time. Then she put on her pattens, and went to fill her kettle at the pump in the next court, and on the way she borrowed a cup; of odd saucers she had plenty, serving as plates when occasion required. Half an ounce of tea and a quarter of a pound of butter went far to absorb her morning's wages; but this was an unusual occasion. In general, she used herb-tea for herself, when at home, unless some thoughtful mistress made a present of tea-leaves from her more abundant household. The two chairs drawn out for visitors, and duly swept and dusted; an old board arranged with some skill upon two old candle-boxes set on end (rather rickety, to be sure, but she knew the seat of old, and when to sit lightly; indeed the whole affair was more for apparent dignity of position than for any real ease); a little, very little round table, put just before the fire, which by this time was blazing merrily; her unlacquered, ancient, third-hand teatray arranged with a black tea-pot, two cups with a red and white pattern, and one with the old friendly willow pattern, and saucers, not to match (on one of the extra supply the lump of butter flourished away); all these preparations complete, Alice began to look about her with satisfaction, and a sort of wonder what more could be done to add to the comfort of the evening. She took one of the chairs away from its appropriate place by the table, and putting it close to the broa d large hanging shelf I told you about when I first described her cellar-dwelling, and mounting on it, she pulled towards her an old deal box, and took thence a quantity of the oat bread of the north, the clap-bread of Cumberland and Westmoreland, and descending carefully with the thin cakes, threatening to break to pieces in her hand, she placed them on the bare table, with the belief that her visitors would have an unusual treat in eating the bread of her childhood. She brought out a good piece of a fourpound loaf of common household bread as well, and then sat down to rest, really to rest, and not to pretend, on one of the rush-bottomed chairs. The candle was ready to be lighted, the kettle boiled, the tea was awaiting its doom in its paper parcel; all was ready.A knock at the door! It was Margaret, the young workwoman who lived in the rooms above, who having heard the bustle, and the subsequent quiet, began to think it was time to pay her visit below. She was a sallow, unhealthy, sweet-looking young woman, with a careworn look; her dress was humble and very simple, consisting of some kind of dark stuff gown, her neck being covered by a drab shawl or large handkerchief, pinned down behind and at the sides in front. The old woman gave her a hearty greeting, and made her sit down on the chair she had just left, while she balanced herself on the board seat, in order that Margaret might think it was quite her free and independent choice to sit there."I cannot think what keeps Mary Barton. She's quite grand with her late hours," said Alice, as Mary still delayed.

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Mary Turner was just ready for bed after her evening at thetheater, when she was rudely startled out of this belief. A notecame by a messenger who waited for no answer, as he told theyawning maid. As Mary read the roughly scrawled message, she wascaught in the grip of terror. Some instinct warned her that thisdanger was even worse than it seemed. The man who had saved herfrom death had yielded to temptation. Even now, he was engaged incommitting that crime which she had forbidden him. As he hadsaved her, so she must save him. She hurried into the gown shehad just put off. Then she went to the telephone-book andsearched for the number of Gilder's house.  * * * * *It was just a few moments before Mary Turner received the notefrom the hands of the sleepy maid that one of the leaves of theoctagonal window in the library of Richard Gilder's town houseswung open, under the persuasive influence of a thin rod ofsteel, cunningly used, and Joe Garson stepped confidently intothe dark room.  A faint radiance of moonlight from without showed him for asecond as he passed between the heavy draperies. Then these fellinto place, and he was invisible, and soundless as well. For aspace, he rested motionless, listening intently. Reassured, hedrew out an electric torch and set it glowing. A little disc oflight touched here and there about the room, traveling veryswiftly, and in methodical circles. Satisfied by the survey,Garson crossed to the hall door. He moved with alert assurance,lithely balanced on the balls of his feet, noiselessly. At thehall door he listened for any sound of life without, and foundnone. The door into the passage that led to the store-room wherethe detectives waited next engaged his business-like attention.  And here, again, there was naught to provoke his suspicion.  These preliminaries taken as measures of precaution, Garson wentboldly to the small table that stood behind the couch, turned thebutton, and the soft glow of an electric lamp illumined theapartment. The extinguished torch was thrust back into hispocket. Afterward he carried one of the heavy chairs to the doorof the passage and propped it against the panel in such wise thatits fall must give warning as to the opening of the door. Hisevery action was performed with the maximum of speed, with noleast trace of flurry or of nervous haste. It was evident thathe followed a definite program, the fruit of precise thoughtguided by experience.Another year passed on. The waves of time seemed long since to have swept away all trace of poor Mary Barton. But her husband still thought of her, although with a calm and quiet grief, in the silent watches of the night: and Mary would start from her hard-earned sleep, and think, in her half-dreamy, half-awakened state, she saw her mother stand by her bedside, as she used to do "in the days of long ago"; with a shaded candle and an expression of ineffable tenderness, while she looked on her sleeping child. But Mary rubbed her eyes and sank back on her pillow, awake, and knowing it was a dream; and still, in all her troubles and perplexities, her heart called on her mother for aid, and she thought, "If mother had but lived, she would have helped me." Forgetting that the woman's sorrows are far more difficult to mitigate than a child's, even by the mighty power of a mother's love; and unconscious of the fact, that she was far superior in sense and spirit to the mother she mourned. Aunt Esther was still mysteriously absent, and people had grown weary of wondering, and began to forget. Barton still attended his club, and was an active member of a trades' union; indeed, more frequently than ever, since the time of Mary's return in the evening was so uncertain; and, as she occasionally, in very busy times, remained all night. His chiefest friend was still George Wilson, although he had no great sympathy on the questions that agitated Barton's mind. But their hearts were bound by old ties to one another, and the remembrance of former things gave an unspoken charm to their meetings. Our old friend, the cub-like lad, Jem Wilson, had shot up into the powerful, well-made young man, with a sensible face enough; nay, a face that might have been handsome, had it not been here and there marked by the smallpox. He worked with one of the great firms of engineers, who send from out their towns of workshops engines and machinery to the dominions of the Czar and the Sultan. His father and mother were never weary of praising Jem, a t all which commendation pretty Mary Barton would toss her head, seeing clearly enough that they wished her to understand 'what a good husband he would make, and to favour his love, about which he never dared to speak, whatever eyes and looks revealed.One day, in the early winter time, when people were provided with warm substantial gowns, not likely soon to wear out, and when, accordingly, business was rather slack at Miss Simmonds', Mary met Alice Wilson, coming home from her half-day's work at some tradesman's house. Mary and Alice had always liked each other; indeed, Alice looked with particular interest on the motherless girl, the daughter of her whose forgiving kiss had comforted her in many sleepless hours. So there was a warm greeting between the tidy old woman and the blooming young work-girl; and then Alice ventured to ask if she would come in and take her tea with her that very evening."You'll think it dull enough to come just to sit with an old woman like me, but there's a tidy young lass as lives in the floor above, who does plain work, and now and then a bit in your own line, Mary; she's grand-daughter to old Job Legh, a spinner, and a good girl she is. Do come, Mary; I've a terrible wish to make you known to each other. She's a genteel-looking ass, too."

Av schuhe lily - 6 april 2011 07:37

Nevertheless, it is not quite accurate to say that Mary Turnerhad had no intimacy in which her heart might have been seriouslyengaged. In one instance, of recent happening, she had been muchin association with a young man who was of excellent standing inthe world, who was of good birth, good education, of delightfulmanners, and, too, wholesome and agreeable beyond the most of hisclass. This was Dick Gilder, and, since her companionship withhim, Mary had undergone a revulsion greater than ever beforeagainst the fate thrust on her, which now at last she had chosento welcome and nourish by acquiescence as best she might.  Of course, she could not waste tenderness on this man, for shehad deliberately set out to make him the instrument of hervengeance against his father. For that very reason, she sufferedmuch from a conscience newly clamorous. Never for an instant didshe hesitate in her long-cherished plan of revenge against theone who had brought ruin on her life, yet, through all hersatisfaction before the prospect of final victory after continueddelay, there ran the secret, inescapable sorrow over the factthat she must employ this means to attain her end. She had nothought of weakening, but the better spirit within her warredagainst the lust to repay an eye for an eye. It was the newGospel against the old Law, and the fierceness of the strugglerent her. Just now, the doing of the kindly act seemed somehow togratify not only her maternal instinct toward service of love,but, too, to muffle for a little the rebuking voice of her inmostsoul.  So she went her way more at ease, more nearly content again withherself and with her system of living. Indeed, as she was showninto the private office of the ingenious interpreter of the law,there was not a hint of any trouble beneath the bright mask ofher beauty, radiantly smiling.Harris regarded his client with an appreciative eye, as he bowedin greeting, and invited her to a seat. The lawyer was a man offine physique, with a splendid face of the best Semitic type, inwhich were large, dark, sparkling eyes--eyes a Lombroso perhapsmight have judged rather too closely set. As a matter of fact,Harris had suffered a flagrant injustice in his own life from asuspicion of wrong-doing which he had not merited by any act.  This had caused him a loss of prestige in his profession. Hepresently adopted the wily suggestion of the adage, that it iswell to have the game if you have the name, and he resolutely sethimself to the task of making as much money as possible by anymeans convenient. Mary Turner as a client delighted his heart,both because of the novelty of her ideas and for the munificenceof the fees which she ungrudgingly paid with never a protest.

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Mary Turner spent less than an hour in that mysteriouslyimportant engagement with Dick Gilder, of which she had spoken toAggie. After separating from the young man, she went alone downBroadway, walking the few blocks of distance to SigismundHarris's office. On a corner, her attention was caught by theforlorn face of a girl crossing into the side street. A closerglance showed that the privation of the gaunt features wasemphasized by the scant garments, almost in tatters. Instantly,Mary's quick sympathies were aroused, the more particularly sincethe wretched child seemed of about the age she herself had beenwhen her great suffering had befallen. So, turning aside, shesoon caught up with the girl and spoke an inquiry.  It was the familiar story, a father out of work, a sick mother, abrood of hungry children. Some confused words of distressrevealed the fact that the wobegone girl was even then fightingthe final battle of purity against starvation. That she stillfought on in such case proved enough as to her decency of nature,wholesome despite squalid surroundings. Mary's heart was deeplymoved, and her words of comfort came with a simple sincerity thatwas like new life to the sorely beset waif. She promised tointerest herself in securing employment for the father, such careas the mother and children might need, along with a propersituation for the girl herself. In evidence of her purpose, shetook her engagement-book from her bag, and set down the streetand number of the East Side tenement where the family possessedthe one room that mocked the word home, and she gave a banknoteto the girl to serve the immediate needs.  When she went back to resume her progress down Broadway, Maryfelt herself vastly cheered by the warm glow within, which is thereward of a kindly act, gratefully received. And, on thisparticular morning, she craved such assuagement of her spirit,for the conscience that, in spite of all her misdeeds, stilllived was struggling within her. In her revolt against a worldthat had wantonly inflicted on her the worst torments, MaryTurner had thought that she might safely disregard thoseprinciples in which she had been so carefully reared. She hadbelieved that by the deliberate adoption of a life of guilewithin limits allowed by the law, she would find solace for herwants, while feeling that thus she avenged herself in some slightmeasure for the indignities she had undergone unjustly. Yet, asthe days passed, days of success as far as her scheming wasconcerned, this brilliant woman, who had tried to deem herselfunscrupulous, found that lawlessness within the law failed tosatisfy something deep within her soul. The righteousness thatwas her instinct was offended by the triumphs achieved through sodevious devices, though she resolutely set her will to suppressany spiritual rebellion.  There was, as well, another grievance of her nature, yet moresubtle, infinitely more painful. This lay in her craving fortenderness. She was wholly woman, notwithstanding the virilityof her intelligence, its audacity, its aggressiveness. She had aheart yearning for the multitudinous affections that are theprerogative of the feminine; she had a heart longing for love, toreceive and to give in full measure.... And her life was barren.  Since the death of her father, there had been none on whom shecould lavish the great gifts of her tenderness. Through the daysof her working in the store, circumstances had shut her out fromall association with others congenial. No need to rehearse theimpossibilities of companionship in the prison life. Since then,the situation had not vitally improved, in spite of her betterworldly condition. For Garson, who had saved her from death, shefelt a strong and lasting gratitude--nothing that relieved thelonging for nobler affections. There was none other with whomshe had any intimacy except that, of a sort, with Aggie Lynch,and by no possibility could the adventuress serve as an object ofdeep regard. The girl was amusing enough, and, indeed, a mostlikable person at her best. But she was, after all, ashallow-pated individual, without a shred of principle of anysort whatsoever, save the single merit of unswerving loyalty toher "pals." Mary cherished a certain warm kindliness for thefirst woman who had befriended her in any way, but beyond thisthere was no finer feeling.

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