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The Woman Thou Gavest Me S>
.Jt By Hall Came
The Story That the Whole Country Is Talking
About, and by Far the Greatest From the
Virile Pen of This Unrivaled Author, Strik
ingly Illustrated by Frank Craig.
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Now Running in Hearst’s Magazine-Read the
Synopsis and Installment and Continue It in
Hearst’s Magazine for September, Just Out
A* soon as Sister Mildred and Father Dan reached my room I locked the door and 6aid. “Now, out with it. T©ll me everything about Mary.
When, where, and by whom was she seen last?” I was too impatient to listen to Father Dan, so Sister Mildred answered, “She was last seen a
week ago. and again to-night on the streets—by a fallen woman. She does not know that you are alive: perhaps her child is dead, and she is
throwing herself away, thinking there is nothing else to live for.” “What?” I cried. “You believe that? Never! Not Mary O’Neill! She would
beg her bread, or die in the streets first!”
I began to paint my pale face red, tor I was qomq out into the streets
—for baby’s sakeJ
Copyright, 1913. by Hearat'a Magazine Copyright in Great Britain.
Driven From the Home of the
Holy.
T HE sun was shining in the
street. It was one of
those ulear. eleau frosty morn
ings when the very air of Lon
don. even in the worst places,
seems to be washed by the sun
light of the sin and drink of the
night before.
T was on my way to that
eliuroh among the back alleys of
Mayfair to which I had gone --o
frequently during the early days
of my marriage when I was
struggling against the mortal sin
fas 1 thought it was! of loving
Martin.
Just as I reuv'ieii tlie church mid
v. as ascending the steps, a gorgeous
landau with high-stepping horses and
powdered footman drew up at the
hpttom of them
The carriage, which bore a coronet
as coat-of-arms on the door, con
tained a lady In tong furs, u rosj
faced baby girl with it large doll In
tier arms, and a nurse
The Mother.
I could see that, like myself, the
lady (a young mother) had come to
confess, for as she rose from her seat
she tpld the child to sit quiet and be
good, as she would not keep her long.
•Turn out soon, mummy, and dolly
will lub you eber and eber,” said the
child.
The lady stopped and kissed the
little one. and then, with a proud
and happy look, stepped out of the
carriage and passed into the church,
while the doorkeeper opened the ves
tibule door for her and bowed deeply
I stood nt the top of the steps for
a moment looking back at the car
riage, the horses, tin* footman, the
nurse, and, above all, the baby girl
\n i111 her doll, and then followed the
lady into the church.
Apparently ma<* was just over. Lit
tle spirelets of smoke were rising
from the candles on the altar whfeh
the sacristan was putting out, a few
eommunicants were still on their
knees, and others with light yet echo
ing footsteps were making for the
door.
The lady in furs had already taken
her plate at one of the confessional
boxes, and as there seemed to be no
other that was occupied by a priest,
I knelt on a chair in the naive und
tried to fix my mind on the prayers
(once ao familiar) for the examina
tion of conscience before confession:
"Oh, Lord Je«us Christ, dispell the
darkness of my heart, that I m*y be
wail my sins and rightly confess
them."
Hut the laboring of my spirit was
like the flight of a bat in the day
light Though I tried hard to keep
my mind from wandering, I could not
do so. Aq^iin and again it went back
to the lady in furs with the eoroneted
carriage and the high-stepping horses.
She was about my own age, and
she began to rise before my tightly
closed eyes ms a vision of what 1
might have been myself if 1 had not
given up everything for love—wealth,
rank, title, luxury-.
God is my witness that down to
that moment 1 had never once thought
1 had made any sacrifice, but now, as
by a flash of cruel lightning. 1 saw
myself as 1 was—a peeress w ho had
NATIONAL
CONSERVATION
EXPOSITION
Sept. 1st to Nov. 1st
Knoxville, Tenn.
run away from her natural condition
and was living In the slums, working
like any workgirl.
Hurtful Thoughts.
Even this did not hurt me much,
but when I thought of the rosy-faced
child in the carriage, so thin and
pah*, and with hfer little bib stained
by her curdled milk, a feeling 1 had
never had before pierced to my very
soul.
I asked thyself if this was what God
looked down upon and permitted—
that because I had obeyed what I
still believed tq be the purest impulse
of my nature, love, my child must
be made to suffer.
Then something hard began to
form In my heart. I told myself that
what I had been taught to believe
about God was falsehood and decep
tion.
All this time I was trying to hush
down my inlnd by saying my prayer,
which called oti the gracious Virgin
Mary to intercede for me with my
Redeemer, and the holy Saints of
Goil to assist me.
“Assist me by thy grace, that I may
be able to declare my sins to the
priest, thy vicar.”
It was no use Every moment my
heart was hardening, and what 1 had
Intended to confess about my wicked
thoughts of the night before was
vanishing away. At last 1 rose to
my feet, and, lifting my head, looked
boldly up at the altar
The Voice Supernatural.
J UST at that moment the young
peeress, having finished her con
fession. went off with a light step
and cheerful face Her kneeling
place at the confessional box was
now vacant, yet I did not attempt to
take it, and some minutes passed in
which 1 stood biting my lips to pre
vent a cry. Then the priest parted
his curtains and beckoned to me, and
I moved stubbornly by the perforated
brass grating.
"Father,” 1 t-aid, as firmly as 1
could, for my throat was fluttering.
“I came here to make my confession,
but something has come over me
since I entered this church, and now-
I can not make it.”
“What has come over you, my
child?” asked the priest
”1 feel that what is said about God
in a place like this, that He is a
kind and beneficent Father, who la
Just and merciful and pities the suf
ferings of His children, is untrue. It
is all wrong and false. God does not
care."
The priest did not answer me im
mediately, but after a moment of si
lence he said, in a quivering voice:
FULL SYNOPSIS.
Daniel O’Neil, a powerful, self-
made man, forces his only daughter,
Mary, into a loveless marriage with
the impecunious and profligate Lord
Haa, so that his ambition to have
his descendants the rightful heirs
of the one earldom In Elian may be
realized Mary, a convent-raised
young woman, shocked to find h*»r
husband a man of sordid, sensual
passions, refuses utterly to have
anything to do with him until such
time as he can prove himself worthy
of her love. During the honeymoon
abroad Alma Lier, a divorcee who
had been expelled from the convent
Mary attended in Rome, attaches her
self to the party, and makes the
“honeymoon trip" a long series of
1 slights and insults for Lady Raa.
At last Lady Kua becomes certain
of the infidelity of her husband and
of his misconduct with Alma Lier.
On her return to London Mary en
counters her old playfellow, Martin
Conrad, who has returned from his
triumphant expedition to the Ant
arctic Drawn into ever closer re
lations with the only man for whose
friendship she had ever cared, Mary
finally awakes to the fact that she
is hopelessly in love with Martin.
Terrified by this knowledge, and
finding herself more and more i in
love with Martin, she determines to
run away from the cause of her dis
tress, and go home.
Mary’s "Rome-coming to Castle Raa
is a sad aJfciir. Her husband fills
the tumble-down old mansion with
his fast friends from London, in
cluding Alma Lier. who assumes
control of the household. Ulti
mately the illness of her father of
fers Mary excuse for escape from
the intolerable environment. But
before visiting her old home. Mary
appeals to her Bishop and to her
fatlier's lawyer, only to be told that
neither church nro state can offer
any relief from her false position.
Hhe returns next day to Castle Raa
to find that Martin is arriving for a
farewell visit, and that by Alma,
Ller’s deceitful scheming the whole
•My child, I feel just like that my
self sometimes. It Is the devil tempt
ing you. Ere Is standing by your side
and whispering in your ear at this
moment.”
The Priest ’s Words.
I shuddered, and the priest added.
“I see how it is, my daughter. You
are suffering, and those you love are
suffering, too. But must you surren
der your faith on that account? Look
round at the pictures on these walls”
(the Stations of the Cross). “Think
of the Great Sufferer, the Great Mar
tyr. who in the hour of His death, at
the malicious power of the world,
cried, ‘Eli, Eli, lama sabachthanl;
house party has gone off for a few
days’ cruise.
During the three days alone with
her lover Mary fights a grim
battle with temptation, only to find
on the last night that her faith in
renunciation and the laws of the
church is a fragile thing compared
with her overwhelming love for this
pure-hearted man. With Martin's
passionate w-ords, “You are my real
wife: 1 am your real husband.” ring
ing in her brain, she forgets every
thing else, and with strong steps
walks across the corridor to Mar
tin's bedroom. This is the action
which Martin has advised as being
the only course open to them which
is sure to bring the erne result they
have decided to attain—Mary’s di
vorce from Lord Raa.
Mary determines after the depar
ture of Martin Conrad, to hide her
self in London. She is driven by
fear of Lord Raa’s discovery of her
unfaithfulness to him; she is equally
afraid of the venomous tongue of
Alma Lier. She is no sooner settled
in a cheap little boarding house in
London than a great hue and cry
is raised by her father. Of all per
sons, it is Mildred, that one truest
friend of her convent days, w r ho fer
rets her out: but for Mary's sake she
breaks a vow and refuses to give her
up. Then comes the report of the
loss of Martin’s ship in the Antarc
tic. The report is false, but Mary,
who flees from Mi'dred to a still more
obscure part of London, is plunged
into the depth of black despair from
which she is saved only by the birth
of her child. Motherhood is poignant
with joy and sorrow’. but poverty
compels Mary to deny herself of even
its privileges: she leaves her child with
a Mrs. Oliver and her brute of a hus
band, while she herself works for a
sweatshop. The Olivers impose upon
her: she is even compelled to pawn
her last treasure, a precious relic of
her mother, to keep the roof over her
sickly chiut Then she comes upon
Sister Angela, who has become a
painted woman of the streets for the
sake of her dying husband. She spends
the night with the fallen woman and
escapes in the morning.
My God, My God, why hast Thou for
saken Me?’"
I had dropped to my knees by now,
my head was down, and my hands
were clasped together.
“You are wrong, my child, if yo t
think God does not care for you be
cause He allows you to suffer. Are
you rich? Are you prosperous? Have
you every earthly blessing? Then
beware, for Satan is watching for
your soul. But are you poor? Are
you going through unmerited trou
ble? Have you lost someone who
was dearer to you than your heart of
hearts? Then take courage, for our
holy and blessed Saviour has marked
you for His own.”
I knew nothing of that priest ex
cept his whispering voice, which,
coming through the grating of the
confessional, produced the effect of
the supernatural, but I thought then,
and I think now, that he must have
been a great as w ell as a good man.
I perfectly recollect that when I
left the church and passed into the
streets it seemed as if his spirit went
with me and built up in my soul a
resolution that was bright with
heavenly tears and sunshine.
The Solution.
Work! Work! Work! I should
work still harder than before. No
matter how mean, ill-paid and un
congenial my work might be, I should
work all day and all night if neces
sary.* And since I had failed to gel
my child into an orphanage, it was
clearly intended that I should keep
her with me, for my own charge and
care and joy.
This was the mood in which I re
turned to the house of the Jew.
It was Saturday morning, and
(hough the broader thoroughfares of
the East End were crowded and the
narrower streets were full of life,
the Jew's house was silent, for it was
the Jewish Sabbath.
As I went hurriedly upstairs, I
heard the Jew himself, who was
dressing for the synagogue, singing
his Sabbath hymn: Lecko daudl Ifk-
ras kalle—“Come, O friend, let us go
forth to meet the Bride, let us re
ceive the Sabbath with joy!”
Then came a shock.
When 1 reached my room. 1
found, to my dismay, that the pile
of vests which I had left on my
bed on going out the day before
had been removed, and just as J
was telling myself that no one else
except Mrs. Abramovitch had a key
to my door, I heard shuffling foot
steps on the stair, and knew'
that her husband was coming up to
me.
Questions Unanswerable.
A MOMENT afterward the Jew
stood in my doorway. He
was dressed in his Sabbath
suit, and free from the incongruous
Indications of his homely calling, th?
patriarchal appearance which had
first struck me was even more
marked than before. His face was
pale, his expression was severe, anJ
if Ills tongue betrayed the broken Eng
lish of the Polish Jew, I, in my
confusion and fear, did not hear it
then.
My first thought was that he ha.1
come to reprove me for neglecting
my work, and T was prepared to
promise to make u for my absence.
Read What Dr. Parkhurst Says About This Great Story!
Only 5y*2. Hours’ Ride
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NO CHANGE OF CARS
Oity Ticket Office, 4 Peachtree Street
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By DR. C. H. PARKHURST.
H ALL CAINE'S new story, "The
Woman Thou Gavest Me.” is
running ns a serial in Hearst’s
Magazine. A novfel by Hall Caine is
always an event, and is certain to
create a large readership, whatever
its aim, and along whatever line it
is co net nutted. He writes* easily and
Is. therefore, easily read. He knows
how to translate into common English
the inner experiences of women, and,
therefore, enchains the attention of
the reader and evokes a quick re
sponse. So far as can be Judged, his
▼ork in the present instance will not
suffer in that respect in comparison
HID
Eliminates the Em
barrassing Odor of
Perspiration.
Cream or Liquid.
25c
All Jacobs’Stores
with what he has previously given to
the public.
It is on one account regrettable
that so much of what is recognized
as reputable fiction pivots on what
is evil anti corrupt in human life.
By familiarizing the mind with what
is off color it tends to reproduce
after its kind and to sow the seeds
of evil thought, and. ^ therefore, of
evil life, in the heart of the reader.
Whether such is the result will de
pend upon the complexion thrown
over the story by its author. That
which is good can be so presented
as to issue in bad effects; and that
whiuh is t»ad can be so presented
as to issue in good effects.
The influence of such scenes and
events as are narrated in u work
like this of Hall Caine will depend
also on the ton * of thought brought
to it by the reader. We And what we
look for. The same narrative that
will inflame the passions of one read
er will create in another disgust for
the very evil over which a mind of
coarsest fiber will exult. As in a
glass, we find ourselves in the volume
into which wo gaze.
Funeral Designs and Flowers
FOR ALL OCCASIONS.
Atlanta Floral Company
455 EAST FAIR STREET.
It will be well if all who read “The
Woman Thou Gavest Me” will ob
serve in the experience of the un
married mother the undertone of re
morse which sounds* beneath her af
fectation of self-Mutisfactlon and in
nocence. The danger in all such
cases is that the reader, if possessed
of impulses not altogether unsullied,
will seize upon the girl’s expressions
of self-approval, to the neglect of
her stealthy confessions of self-con
tempt. While Mary is allowed to re
joice in a sense of God’s blessing upon
her irregular life, the author is suf
ficiently true to the requirements of
moral nature to darken her rejoicing
with an indelible shadow of remorse.
This is as it should be. No novel is
safe that gets away from what, is
fundamental in the soul.
While doubting \ * ry much whether
Caine’s story is literally true to fact
we may well believe that it is true
to reality, and therein lies* the prin
cipal part of its actual value, espe
cially to such readers as are so cir
cumstanced and so charactered as
never to come into close range with
the underworld of degradation and
suffering poverty. So that white the
narrative ia a product of literary
imagination it is nevertheless prac
tically true to life, and answers the
purpose of a revelation to those whose
entire knowledge of the world is lim
ited to Its sunnier and sweeter por
tions.
We ought all of us know life on
all its tides. We are incapable of
rendering to the world the service it
Is obligatory upon us to render, If
our familiarity with it is confined
within the narrow area within which
a happy destiny or a kindly provi
dence may chance to have placed us.
We can read such a storv as this and
Win from it only a passing emotional
entertainment, or we can use it as
means by w hich our eyes are opened
to the sorrows, temptations and sins
of the world, and so find in it an im
pulse to extend our interests, and
stretch our existence into regions of
life and experience less lovely and
congenial than our own.
ELLA WHEELER WILCOX
Read What She Says About “The Woman
Thou Gavest Me” in the Last Two
Columns ot To-day's Editorial Page.
“You have been out all night,” he said. "Can you tell me where you
have been?”
But at a second glance I saw that
something had happened, something
had become known, and that he was
there to condemn and to denounce
me.
“You have been out all night,” he
said. “Can you tell me where you
have been to?"
I knew I could not, and though it
flashed upon me to say that I had
slept at the house of a friend, I saw
that, if he asked who my friend was,
and what, I should be speechless.
The Jew waited for my reply, and
then said, “You have given us a nam«
—can you say it Is your true and
rigni one?”
Again I made no answer, and aftei
another moment the Jew said, “Can
you deny that you have a child whom
you have hidden from our knowl
edge?"
1 felt myself gasping, but still T did
not speaK.
(Continued in Hearst’s Magazin*
for September.)
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tations taken from the letters we have received from grateful women
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Why has Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound accomplished
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Simply and surely because of its sterling worth. The reason no
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ply because there is no other medicine so good for women’s ills.
Here are two letters that just came to the writer’s desk—only two
of thousands, but both tell a comforting story to every suffering wo
man who will read them—and be guided by them.
FROM MRS. D. H. BROWN.
Iola, Kansas.—“During the Change
of Life I was sick for two years. Be
fore I took your medicine I could
not bear the weight of my clothes
and was bloated very badly. I doc
tored with three doctors but they
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vised me to take Lydia E. Pinkham’s
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Mrs. D. H. Brown, 809 North Walnut
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•Write to LYDIA E. PINKH AM MEDICINE CO.
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MRS. WILLIAMS SAYS :
Elkhart, Ind. —“I suffered for 3-4
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my feet and I had such awful bearing
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