Atlanta Georgian. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1912-1939, September 11, 1913, Image 4
im
The Woman Thou Gavest Mz S By Halt Caine
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.
As soon as Sitter M'ldred and Father Dan reached my room I locked the door and said, “Now, out with it. Tell me everything about Mary.
When, where, and by whom was the seen last?” I was too impatient to listen to Father Dan, to Sitter 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 it 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!”
Now Running in Hearst’s Magazine-Read the
Synopsis and Installment and Continue It in
Hearst’s Magazine for September, Just Out
I began to paint my pale face red, tor I was going out into the streets
—for baby’s sake!
Copyright, 1013, by Hearst’s Magazine—Copyright In Great Britain.
Driven From the Home of the
Holy.
T he sun was shining in the
street. It was oue of
those dear, clean frosty morn
ings when the very air of Lou
don, even in the worst places,
seems to be washed by the sun
light of the sin and drink of the
night before.
I was on my way to that
ehureh among the back alleys of
Mayfair to which I had gone so
frequently during the early days
of ray marriage when T was
struggling against the mortal sin
(as I thought it was) of loving
Martin.
Just as 1 reached the church and
was ascending the steps, a gorgeous
landau with high-stepping horses and
powdered footman drew up at the
bottom of .them.
The carriage, which bore a coronet
as coat-of-arms on the door, con
tained a lady in long furs, a roay-
faced baby girl with a large doll in
her 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
•he told 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 at the top of the steps for
a moment looking back at the car
riage, the horses, the footman, the
nurse, and, above all, the baby girl
with her doll, and then followed the
lady Into the church.
Apparently mass was just over. Lit
tle spirelets of smoke were rising
from the candles on the altar which
the sacristan was putting out, a few
communicants 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 place at one of the confessional
boxes, Hnd as there seemed to be no
other that was occupied by a priest.
I knelt on a chair in the naive and
tried to fix my mind on the prayers
(once so familiar) for the examina
tion of conscience before confession;.
“Oh, Lord Jesus Christ, dispell the
darkness of my Heart, that I may be
wail my sins and rightly confe»s
them.” •
But 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. Again and again it went hack
to the lady in furs with the coronated
carriage and the high-stepping horses
She was about my own age, and
she began to rise before my tightly
closed eyes as a vision of what 1
might have been myself if I had not
given up everything for love—wealth,
rank, title, luxury'.
(U»d is my witness that down to
that moment I had never once thought
I had made any sacrifice, but now, os
by a flash of cruel lightning. 1 saw-
elf as I was -a peeress who had
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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
pale, and with her little bib stained
by her curdled milk, a feeling I had
never had before pierced to my very
soul.
I asked myself if this was w hat God
looked down upon and permitted—
that because I had obeyed what I
still believed to 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 w r as falsehood and decep
tion.
All this time I was try ing to ihush
down my mind by r saying my prayer,
which called on the gracious Virgin
Mary to intercede for me with my
Redeemer, and the holy Saints of
God to assist me.
“Assist me by thy grace, that I may
be able to declare my tins to the
priest, thy vicar.”
It was no use. Every moment my
heart was hardening, and what I had
intended to confess about my wicked
thoughts of the night before was
vanishing away. At last I rose to
my feet, and, lifting my head, looked
boldly up at the altar.
The Voice Supernatural.
J IT3T 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 I stood biting my Up* 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,” I said, as firmly as I
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, ray
child?” asked the priest.
“I feel that what Is said about God
In a place like this, that He Is a
kind and beneficent Father, who Is
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
Raa, 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 her
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 Liter, a divorcee w’ho
had been expelled from the convent
Mary attended in Home, attaches her
self to the party, and makes the
“honeymoon trip" a long series of
slights and insults for Lady Raa.
At last Lady Raa 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 in
love with Martin, she determines to
run away from the cause of her dis
tress. and go home.
Mary’s Home-coming to Castle Raa
is a sad affair. Her husband fills
the tumble-down old mansion wifh
his fast friends from London, in
cluding Alma Lier, who assumes
cqntrol 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
father's lawyer, only to be told that
neither- church nro state can offer
any relief from her false position
She 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. He 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 bow 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, Ell, lama sabachthani;
house party has gone off for a few’
days’ cruise.
During the three days alone with
her lover Mary fights a griin
battle with temptatTbn. 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 words, "You are my real
wife; I am your real husband.” ring
ing in her brain, she forgets every
thing else, and wdth strong steps
walks across the corridor to Mar
tin's bedroom. This is the action
w’hich Martin has advised as being
the only course open to them whicn
is sure to bring the one 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, who 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,
W’ho flees from Mildred 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
lier mother, to keep tne roof over her
sickly child 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 w’ith 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 w’rong, my child. If you
think God does not care for you be
cause He allow* 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? Th^n 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, w’hich,
coming through the grating of the
confessional, produced the effect of
the supernatural, but I thought then,
and I think now r , that he must have
been a great as well 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 get
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 w’as the mood In which I re
turned to the house of the Jew.
It was Saturday morning, and
though the broader thoroughfares of
the East End were crowded and the
narrower streets were full of life,
the Jew’’s house w’as 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: Leoko daudl lik-
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 I reached my room, I
found, to my dismay, that the pile
of vests w’hich I had left on my
bed on going out the day before
had been removed, and just as I
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 hie 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, and
if his 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 had
come to reprove me for neglecting
my work, and I was prepared to
promise to make u- for my absence.
Read What Dr. Parkhurst Says About This Great Story!
By DR. C. H. PARKHURST.
H ALL CAINE’S new story, “The
Woman Thou Gavest Me,” is
running as a serial in Hearst’s
Magazine. A novel by Hall Caine is
always an event, and Is certain to
create a large readership, whatever
its aim, and along whatever line It
is constructed. 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
work in the present Instance will not
euffer In that respect In comparison
HID
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25c
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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 and corrui* 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
whiah is bad can be so presented
as to issue In good effects.
The influence of s >ch scenes and
events as are narrated in a work
like this of Hall Caine will depend
also on the tone of thought brought
to it by the reader. We find what we
look for. The same narrative that
will inflame the passions of one read
er will create in another disgust for
tihe very evil over which a mind of
coarsest fiber will exult. As In a
glass, we find ourselves in the volume
into which we gaze.
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-statisfaction 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 very much whether
Caine’s story 1b 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 while the
narrative ia a product of llterarj
imagination it is nevertheless prac
tically true to life, and answer,* 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 sides. 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 which 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.
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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 wa3
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 u« a name
—can you say it Is your true and
rigni one?”
Again I made no answer, and after
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 etlll I did
not speak.
(Continued in Hearst’s Magazine
for September.)
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