Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

14 THE GEORGIAN’S NEWS GRIEFS A Desperate Woman Thanks to the information I had re ceived from Mrs. Rolfe’s little chamber maid, I knew that Roife kept the family Jewels in the safe of the library and also knew which were the windows of this room. The girl had told how cruel the old miser was to his young wife, and how he had kept her a virtual prisoner for four years in the house where I was about to crack a crib. I wanted to get hold of the family Jew els, which were worth at least a half million. To break open the shutters and open the windows was an easy matter, but Just as I had closed the shutters again I heard a shot from the next room. This upset me so that for nearly a min ute I stood motionless, and Ju3t as I was about to leave by the way I came I heard light steps and a woman’s voice whispered: “Is it you, Charles? Why didn’t you knock at the shutter?” “No, it is not Charles.” I answered, my courage returning as I reasoned that the woman, whoever she was, had good reasons not to alarm the rest of the house. "But he sent me to tell—” I got no further, for the electric light was turned on and I found my self looking into the barrel of a most businesslike revolver. The most beau tiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon was at the other end of the revolver. “Who are you, and what do you want?” she asked. “Hands up!” she added, as I was too confused to answer a single word. “Now, you may take them down again,” she said, when she had re lieved me of the gun I carried. “And, now, sit down!” “What do you intend to do with me?” I asked, after obeying her order. “I have not quite made up my mind yet,” she said. “I suppose you were after these old family jewels, which I am wearing now.” And she pointed to some costly dia monds and pearls she was wearing. “You are quite right,” I said, under standing no more why she was wear ing this small fortune on her now than why she had not rung the bell for the servants and told them Jp send for the police. One thing was clear. She could be nobody but Rolfe’s beautiful young wife. The shot I had heard was also a mys tery to me. She must be the one who fired, since she was still holding the re volver in her hand. But at whom had she fired, and why was everything still quiet in the house? “Did you ever kill & human being?” she suddenly asked. “No. but I tried once,” I answered. "I suppose you were sorry you did not succeed?” “No; I was glad he escaped, though I hated him as much as one person may hate another.” “But if you had been a woman, and your father had sold you to a human beast—sold you to a husband who tor tured you in the w'orst manner for four long years, and who discovered your plan when you had just got enough courage to run away with the man you loved and who then gave you the choice of killing him or retraining * n hell all the rest of your life? What would you have thought then? Woud you have chosen to let him live?” Before I could think of an answer, there was a sharp knock at the shut ters. Charles, w’hoever he was, had come. ‘’Come in, Charles,” she said, almost triumphantly. “I thought you were never going to come,” she added, as a tall young man entered exactly as 1 had done. “Who is that man, Muriel?” he asked. She did not answer his question, but said: “I have killed my husband.” “Good God! It can’t be true.” he burst out, throwing himself heavily into the chair from which I had got up as he entered “Go in and look for yourself,” she re plied, and walking to the other end of the room she drew a heavy velvet por tier* aside. And now I saw a dead man with the most cruel-looking face I have ever seen lying on the floor. "You need not look so worried, Charles, dear.” she said, drawing the portiere again. And, pointing to me, she went on: “That fellow will have to take the punishment. He bro\e in here to steal my jewels just as I fired. I kept him here, waiting for you to come. Nobody will ever suspect us.” “Oh, why did you do this, Muriel?’’ he cried, in despair. “And how can you think of adding a new murder to the first?” “We must act quickly,” she said, and rang a bell. “You must hurry out the way you came. I have rung for the butler, and when he comes I will de nounce the burglar as the murderer. Nobody will take his word against mine. Then we will wait some time and get married.” He jumped up and looked at her with disgust and indignation. “Never! Never!” he cried. “It is all over now. I could never marry a mur deress.” Never have I seen an expression of de spair like the one which came into her face at these words. I almost felt sorry for her. but I used the chance to escape through the win dow. When outside I stood awaiting what would happen next. I saw an el derly man enter and heard him say: “You rang for me, madam?’ “Yes, I did,” she said, calmly. “Your master has been shot, and there”— pointing to Charles—“stands his mur derer. ” The Judge K HIRODA. at the fag end of har youth, woke up one morning to find that her lover had depart ed in the night, leaving her destitute. She found that, in all the 38 years of her life, she had not even made one person her own, nor earned the right even to the corner of a home in whicn to live and die. She realized that life had no pity upon her and would relax none of its claims which must be at tended to down to the smallest detail, and she rolled on the floor, beating Its hardness with her forehead in an agony of despair. Evening came and it grew dark. Klilroda had not the heart to tidy the room, nor to light the lamp. Her hungry child cried till it could cry no longer, and fell asleep. A knock came to the door and a man’s voice called out, “Khiro, Khiro.” Khiroda flung open the door and rushed out at him who stood there with her broom put ting the youth to precipitate flight. Then, convulsively clutching the child to her bosom, she went out of the house and jumped into the well. The splash brought the neighbors hurrying to the spot and the bodies were Ashed out. The mother was un- oonscious, but the child was dead. Khiroda was brought round in the hospital and was committed to the sessions by the magistrates. II. Mohtt Datta was the Sessions Judge. He sentenced, Khiroda to death. Her advocates tried their utmost to get some mitigation of the sentence, but without success. There was some reason for this se verity of his attitude toward feminine frailty, as a glimpse into his earlier history will disclose. His Youth. Mohit in his undergraduate days lived near the house of an elderly couple with a young widowed daugh ter, Sasi. What little of the world Sasi used to see from behind the bar rier of her lonely widowhood seemed to her like some golden land of mys tery, where happiness stalked abroad. Unsatisfied longing cramped the beat ings of her heart. In the intervals of her domestic du ties Sasi sat at the window’ watching the crowd on the public road. She thought to herself how' happy were the passersby, how free the tramps, what gay characters were the hawk ers in the comedy of life, and morn ing and evening she saw the w'eli- groomed Mohit strutting past in the fullness of his self-conceit. To her he was a demi-god, far above ths mortals she saw around her. Perhaps Sasi could have cheerfully spent all her life playing with her demi-god in the heaven of her fancy had not her evil star made the demi god smile upon her and materialize the heaven within her reach. It is needless to relate at length when Mohit’s covetous glance first fell upon 6ausl, how he began to write to her under the false name of Binode, when the first trembling, ill-spelt reply reached him; how, at last, the whole of the poor little widow’s world was turned topsy-turvy in the whirlwind of ecstatic surrender. Late one night Sasi left her father and mother and got into a carriage brought by Mohit, alias Binode. When her demi-god, with all his tinsel showing, got inside and sat close be side her, a sudden inrush of remorse bowed her to the dust. And when the carriage actually began to move she fell at his feet, crying. “For pity’s sake, let me go back home.” But the carriage rapidly drove away. To narrate all the episodes of Mohit’s early career would grow monotonous. This will serve as a sample. To-day there wsls no one to remem ber the escapades of young “Binode.” Mohit Datta was quite a reformed character. His reading of the sacred books was incessant; he even prac tised austerities. A few days after passing sentence on Khiroda, Mohit happened to be in the prison garden, with a view to se curing some nice, fresh vegetables for his own table. He heard from in side the jail the sound of high words, and entering, found Khiroda in the midst of a vigorous bickering with the warder. Mohit smiled a superior smile. This is what woman is! Death at her door, and yet she must quar rel. She would dispute, thought he. amused at his conceit; even with the doorkeepers of Hades! As he drew nearer, Khiroda with clasped hands, addressed him, saying. “Mr. Judge, for mercy’s sake, tell him to give me back my ring!” On inquiry, he found that a ring had been hidden in the loops of Khi- roda’s hair, wiiich the warder dis covering, had appropriated. Mohit was again amused. This desire for a bauble on the steps of the gallow’s! Oh, woman, woman! , “Let me see the ring,” said he to the warder, who handed it over to him. Mohit started as if it had been a piece of live coal. In the ring was set a miniature portrait on ivory of gold rim was engraved the name a young beardless youth. In its gold rim was engraved the name "Binoae.” He raised his eyes from the ring, and for the first time looked Khiroda keenly in the face. He seemed to see there the fresh, fond, tear-bedewed countenance of twenty-four vears ago. But, ah! and what a difference. Items of Interest The largest proportion of suicides in European countries Is to be found in Germany. There are over 850 licensed employ ment agencies In London. There are nine thousand cells in a square foot of honeycomb. O H, I tasted of pleasure—and liked It, For the flavor was sweet to my lip. “life Is joy,” then I cried, “and my sea’s at full tide; Life’s a garden—each flower I’ll sip.” But a sting lurked In every bright flower, And the waves of Joy’s sea broke in foam, While the lure of gay Pleasure’s fleet hour Bore me wandering—far from my home. Then I tasted of sorrow—’twa’s bitter, And the talons of pain tore my heart. “Life is torture,” I cried. “Must I linger and bide All my losses in Cruelty’s mart?” But a message was hid in the tangle Of these noisome and bitter dark weeds; From the sound of harsh bells all a-jangle Pealed a chime for the doer of deeds. “There’s pleasure to taste, and there’s sorrow— Take from one, from the other you borrow; Sun to-day may mean storm-clouds to-morrow; All jour life you must mark the measure Of sorrow attuned unto pleasure— The heart that is wise still will treasure Its joys the more dear, for Its sorrow. Its pain as a wonderful measure When joy brighter radiance shall borrow.” Their Strength Paul Meran said to Annette: “To-morrow I will speak to my lather, I will tell him that I love you. and that you are willing to share my life. I will speak to him. I will con vince him and about 6 o’clock to morrow night I will come and tell you what he says. I love you Annette and you may trust me.” Standing at the window Annette saw him crossing the street with the firm step of an energetic and deter mined man. He was tall and broad shouldered while she was little and frail and as she sat down near the fireplace she felt that she loved him even more because of his strength. Annette had no dowry and she knew that M. Meran expected his son to marry a girl with money. The son of a peasant he had kept some of the mighty. When, therefore, he had oppressed, who have too long bent their shoulders under the blows of the mighty. When therefore he had reached a position where he had oth ers under him he used his authority • like a vengeance and the power of money had become his religion. He was feared for his violent temper and as Annette knew’ that he was deter mined to get a rich daughter-in-law she was awaiting the coming of the morrow' with anxiety. The bell rang. She ran out her self to open the door and turned a little pale w'hen she found herself face to face with Mme. Meran. When they were alone in the room Mme. Meran was the first to speak: “I know my son’s feelings for you my child. I also know that you are more than worthy of his love and 1 should have liked nothing better than to have seen you as his wife. But what can we do when my husband is against it. Paul is quite crushed.’ Annette buried her face in her hands and the tears ran out between her slender fingers. “Then my heart, my love, my cour age counts for nothing. I have no money. Because I am a poor girl M. Meran parts Paul and me. It is unjust, terribly unjust!” \ . And Mme. Meran repeated: “Yes it is unjust,” and because she found nothing else to say. she caress ed Annette’s hair with her hand ai*d was silent. “I know that it is hard to make a living.” Annette went on, “and I know that Paul is not earning much money now% but I did not mind that, he would have got on better later, 1 would have shared his days, and bad ones with the good, and later on we should feel we were so much closer, because w*e had gone through the struggle together. I would have been a good helpmate to him. I am not selfish, Mme. Meran.” “I know that, my child and I wrnuld have learned to love you like a moth er. Don’t cry dear, you will be hap py. You deserve it. You can get a better husband than my Paul would have been to you. Perhaps if you had married him the day would have come when you would have regrett ed it.” “Never, for I love him, and no matter what sorrows and trials might have come to us, they would only have tied me closer to him. when we thought of the confidence wfith w’hich we began our life. Oh Madame Meran, it is cruel to part us.” “I feel so sorry for you my dear child. You speak ju$t as I thought thirty years ago.” “And when he thinks of that don’t you think M. Meran wifi give in?” “Give in!” Mmo. Meran spoke these words as if she did not believe her own ears. She looked at Annette and her eyes filled with tears. “Do you think, dear,” she said sad ly, “that my husband ever remembers those days? Do you think he even thinks of them for a single moment? Of course, I married him because I loved him and I loved him because being timid and frail myself, I need ed him to protect me. But I also wanted lo share his life' and his bur dens. Did I ever share them? I wa» little, I told you, and I loved him. Very soon he got into the habit of saying: ‘I want this,' and ‘I want that,’ and after a while I was only a shadow of myself w'hile he seemed to grow bigger and I trembled at him. My husband! He very quickly for got that I had a heart, that I loved him. He took my feelings for grant ed, as something that was his by right. Yesterday he said. ‘No’ and Paul meekly gave in, as everybody else does to him.” ‘'Paul! Paul, who is so firm and so stern, and of whom I have alw'ays been just a little bit afraid though I loved him.” “Paul, firm? Why he is meek, timid. He has always been weak, and without any will of his own. 1 have known that ever since he lay in his cradle. “He was firm and sometimes even a little domineering towards me, and I feared he would make a dreadful scene and part from you in anger. “He did nothing of the kind. And, besides, what could he have done? He is absolutely dependent on his father.” Annette wrung her hands. “And I who thought him so brave and strong. Didn’t he say anything didn’t he put up a fight for me.” “He could not, dear.” They were both silent for a while Then Mme. Meran said as if to her self: “Once, thirty years ago, my hus band had made a scene and treated me very unjustly. He had left me sitting at home quite crushed and scared at his temper. In the even ing he came back from the office, all upset, with a face which I hardly recognized. He had been unjustly called down by one of his superiors. I thought he had made a scene and had lost his position so I asked: ‘And what did you say?’ ‘Nothing he is stronger than I. isn’t he?’ he Spiled. Oh Annette that day I knew w’hat kind of courage he possessed, and I also knew what a poor com panion I had been to him. I had al ways submitted and because I was weaker he had taken his revenge on me, w'hen he had been abused by one stronger than himself When he tyr annized us it was because he knew he had nothing to fear from us. And Paul who loves you Annette would have tyrannized you. though he has no courage himself.” Annette listens no longer, a terri ble feeling fills her heart, the feeling that she had come near giving all that w’as best in her to a man, who would not have understood to appre ciate it and who would have loved her so little as to make her either a slave or a rebel. Old Mme. Meran continued talking of her youth: “He did not even pro tect me, n?e who did not even dar© open my heart to him in my dark est hours.” Annette is listening no more. She is crying softly and murmurs: “I had courage. I was not afraid of life, I had courage!” Mme. Meran finishes her thought, saying: They think they are brave, because we, who love them, obey them. They imagine they are strong, though in reality they are the weak and we who submit, are the strong ones.”