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HEY entered one of- the cabs that
stood against the sidewalk outside
the hotel, and were rapidly driven
to the tenement house in which
Anabel lived. The door was open
ed by the janitress, who, recogniz
ing Faith said:
“Pm thinkin’ Missus Chandler
won’t be seeing- vou, Mum. Not
OB
a bit would she open the door when I took her
the dinner as you bid me, and nayther would
she open it whilst ago to the messenger boy
from the thayater she’s employed.”
“She must open it to me,” Faith said, “I
have news for her she must receive tonight.”
“Might it be from her husbi’n, Mum? If so
be, she’s likely to see you.”
“Yes, it concerns her husband,” Thorne an
swered for Faith.
“Then, I’ll be tellin’ her through the key
hole. Come right along.”
“I think it would be better if I went alone.”
Faith said, turning to her companion. “Will
you wait here in the hall, and if anything is
wrong I will call you.”
“Yes, call me at once if there is any need,”
he returned, taking a seat in the narrow hall,
while Faith ascended the stairs in the wake
of the janitress.
The Irishwoman knocked sharply on the
door of Anabel’s room. There was no response.
A second knock brought no answer. The dead
silence within caused Faith to feel grave ap
prehension. After knocking a third time, the
janitress put her mouth to the keyhole apd
shouted.
“Sure, an’ it’s news from your husbin, Missus
Chandler.”
A step was heard inside; the bolt was shot
back with a sharp click and in the half-open
doorway appeared Anabel looking like a ghost.
Quickly Faith stepped inside the room and
closed the door behind her.
“What news do you bring about Claude? Is
he worse?” questioned Anabel, her voice trem
bling.
“No, he is better,” Faith answered. Her
quick glance had gone beyond Anabel to the
small table on which lay a large yellow envel
ope addressed, a vial stood beside it; Faith’s
eye caught the death-head label and, springing
to the table, she snatched up the vial, just as
Anabel’s fingers touched it. She struggled to
get it away, but Faith was the stronger. Free
ing her hand from Anabel’s grasp, she flung
the vial against the grate and shattered it to
pieces. A drop of the liquid it held splashed
on her hand and burned like a live coal. The
vial had contained carbolic acid.
The two women looked at each other in si
lence. Then Anabel cried passionately.
“Why did you do this, Faith Harland? Why
did you come tonight? I had nerved myself to
do what I must do. Now, it is all to be gone
over again.”
She sat down on the side of the bed. Her
hands dropped to her sides; she looked the
image of despair.
“It must not be gone over with; you must
not take your life, Anabel,” Faith said, coming
to her side.
What else is there to be done? Why should
I live to suffer and bring shame and suffering
to others I, an outcast, a confessed murderess?”
She pointed to the envelope on the table.
Faith caught it up and tore it in two.
“There is no need of this,” she said; “Sylvia
is not dead; she is alive! she is here!”
“Sylvia alive!” Anabel sprang to her feet
and stared at Faith with wild, joy-lighted eyes.
Quickly the flash died out. “You are cruel,”
she said coldly. “You mock me. It is not Syl
via you have seen. She is dead; she —” her
voice shuddering—“she is buried.”
“It was not her body that was buried in the
PRIAL and triunph
CHAPTER XXXVII.
A Story of the Conflict of Good and Ebil —By Mary E. Bryan,
The Golden Age for February 16, 1911.
woods. It was the body of Alice Vance. It
was put there by Nemo. He found Sylvia un
conscious; he restored her and she went away
with relatives to England. She came back yes
terday.”
Anabel listened; her strained gaze fixed upon
the speaker; suddenly she staggered and fell
across the bed. She lay there so ghastly that
Faith leaned over her anxiously until a con
vulsive sob shook the prostrate form, followed
by a burst of wild weeping, which Faith did
not try to check. She knew of the relief, which
long-restrained tears brings to an over-wrought
spirit.
At last, Anabel grew calm. She sat up and
put back the hair from her tear-washed face.
“I thank God that Sylvia is alive; that I did
not kill her,” she said slowly. “I thank you,
Faith, for coming tonight to let me know ; you
meant it kindly, but I am sorry you came be
fore —before I had done what I had prepared
myself to do. It ought not to have been pre
vented. If it had been done, it would have
been better for Charley, better for Claude, for
all whose lives my unhappy life has touched.
As for me it was the only thing to be done.
The one thing I can do with my ruined life is
to end it. You surely see that this is true.”
“No, it is not true,” Faith said earnestly.
“And you could not end your life. It would
go on. under different conditions, but the same
life. You would not want to carry a maimed,
broken life into the new state of being. You
want to repair it here; to retrieve the past by
living to good purpose, by fighting evil tenden
cies and passions and mastering them. You
can attain peace, happiness even, by living up
to the best that is in you, and giving loving
help to others.”
“Help to others?” she repeated drearily.
“How can such as I give help to another?”
“Dear Anabel, you have so many excellent
gifts—gifts of mind and of person. You have
never used these for good; use them now; in -
fluence others to withstand the temptations
that have beset you. Lift up those who have
fallen. Away will be opened for you to use
your good gifts if you earnestly desire it. Put
the past behind you; live every day for that
day’s duties. Have courage! have faith in
Christ and in yourself.” “Oh!” she cried, “1
have lost all my courage; all faith in myself,
or in God’s mercy. How can I struggle up
alone, with no one to believe in me; no friend
to hold my hand and keep me from sinking.”
“You have the great Friend above and you
have me for your earthly friend; I will stay by
you—”
“Will you do that? Will you give me of your
strength, Faith Harland? Will you promise not
to leave me alone in this strange city?”
“I will not leave you while you need me. I
will stay near you and help you all I can.”
It was a pledge that meant sacrifice, renun
ciation, but Faith did not shrink from it. It
affected Anabel deeply.
“How can I thank you? You are my good
angel,” she sobbed. “No, I am only your sis
ter,” Faith said, softly stroking the bowed
head. She caught Faith’s hands in hers and
pressed them to her bosom. “For your sake,
I promise that I will live, live to try to better
my life and to serve others, if you will show
me how.”
Faith smiled and said gently:
“First, I want vou to do something for your
self ;. undress and go to bed; put all cares out
of your mind and sleep; sleep peacefully. To
morrow, do not go to work; go to the park;
drink in the sunshine and think of good and
pleasant things. Do not worry about Claude
or the hospital expenses. Everything will be
looked after. Tomorrow. Claude will hear that
Sylvia is living; he shall hear it in a wav that
will be least exciting. 1 believe he will get
well quick when the weight is lifted from his
mind. He will be able to finish his book and
look after its publication. Now, I will tell you
good night. May this be indeed a good night,
the beginning for you of a new, beautiful life.”
Anabel looked wistfully into the pure, kind
eyes. “Will you kiss me?” she asked hesitat
ing.
Faith reached up and put her arm about the
statelier woman’s neck and kissed her.
She found Thorne comforting himself with a
cigar. He flung it aside when he heard her
light step upon the stairs, and looking at her
said: “Your face tells me that nothing tragic
has occurred. Your eyes are absolutely beam
ing; you might have been listening to a comic
opera.”
“I have been listening to something better,”
she said.
When they had re-entered the waiting cab,
and were being driven away, Thorne said: “So
I was wrong as to my conjecture of suicide?”
“No, you were right. A few minutes’ delay
would have made it too late to save her. As
I entered the room I saw an envelope address
ed to me on the table and beside it a vial with
a death-head label. 1 caught it up and shattered
it against the grate before she could prevent.
A splash of its contents made this blister on
my hand.”
“Carbolic acid! It was what I thought she
would take. I am glad for your sake that you
were not too late, but I am of the same opin
ion as regards her. The best thing for herself
and for other lives that are in her shadow would
have been —to put the little death-vial to the
use she bought it for.”
“You would not say that if you knew her as
I have come to know her. There are strong
elements of good in her nature. Think of the
work, the hardships and self-denial she under
went that Claude might have comfort and best
attention in his illness. A woman of her beau
ty and charm is sure to be assailed by many
temptations. She has succumbed to these in
the past, but 1 believe she will be able to resist
them in the future. I believe she will redeem
herself and become a useful, noble woman.”
He smiled at her earnestness. The smile
was admiring, but touched with cynicism.
“Oh, Faith,” he said, “rightly art thou nam
ed? I have not found such faith in human na
ture, no not in Zion City. Did you promise
to help her on the upward path ?”
“Yes,” she answered, “I told her I would stay
near her and give her what help I could until
she was strong enough not to need it.”
“I am afraid you will end by becoming a
Sister of Mercy and some man will miss getting
a perfect wife,” he said, half suppressing a
sigh. “But,” he went on, “such women as you
are not made for one home and one man’s love
—they are meant to work for and be loved by
the wide world.”
She answered: “The woman who makes a
happy home for one man and rears her chil
dren rightly has done good work —the best of
work for the wide world.”
They had arrived at the hotel. When they
entered the hall, Thorne spoke to the boy in
waiting, and turning to Faith said: “They have
returned. Sylvia is here. She is prepared to
see you. I left a message for her, and now
we shall find her eagerly waiting to see you.”
Sure enough when the elevator touched the
landing of the second floor Sylvia, radiant and
joyous, seized the faithful friend of her child
hood and half crushed the little figure in a fer
vent embrace.
The trio sat talking in the cosy little sitting
room until the small hours of the night. There
were so many questions to ask and to be answer
ed. Sylvia, alternately tearful and smiling, lis
tened to Faith’s account of King’s anxious and
persistent search for her, and his despair when
he believed her to be no longer living. Charley
Glenn's arrest and imprisonment were quickly
passed over in Faith’s story, and the pic
(Continued on Page 14.)
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