The Trials of the Soldier's Wife

  CHAPTER NINETEENTH.

  AN ACT OF DESPAIR.

  Mrs. Wentworth reached the store of Mr. Swartz and entered. The clerklooked at her in astonishment. She was unrecognizable. Her dress wasragged and dirty; the hands and face that once rivalled the Parianmarble in whiteness, were tanned by toil, and lay shrivelled anddried. Her hair was dishevelled and gathered up in an uncomely heap onthe back of her head. She looked like the beggar, she had become.

  "Some beggar," the clerk said, in a contemptuous tone, as he advancedtowards her.

  "Is Mr. Swartz in?" enquired Mrs. Wentworth in a husky tone.

  "What do you want with him?" he demanded in a gruff voice.

  "I desire to see him privately, for a few moments," she answered.

  "If it is charity you have come to beg, you may as well save yourselfthe trouble," observed the clerk. "This house don't undertake tosupport all the beggars in Jackson."

  As his brutal words fell on her ear, a spark of womanly dignity filledher breast, and her eyes kindled with indignation. She looked at himfor a moment sternly and silently, until her gaze caused him to turnhis countenance from her, abashed at the mute rebuke she hadadministered. The pride of by-gone days had returned, with theunfeeling remarks of the clerk, and Mrs. Wentworth again felt all thebitterness of her position.

  "I did not say I was an applicant for charity," she said at last "AllI desire to know is, if Mr. Swartz is in."

  "I believe he is," replied the clerk. "Do you wish to see him, ma'am."

  His tone was more respectful. Even poverty can command respect attimes, and the threadbare garment be looked upon with as muchdifference as the gorgeous silken dress. It was so at this moment.

  "Yes, I desire to see him," answered Mrs. Wentworth. "Be kind enoughto inform Mr. Swartz that a lady has called upon him."

  As she used the word "lady," the clerk elevated his eyebrows, and asmile of pity stole over his features. Lady! Could the miserablelooking object, who stood before him have any claim to the title. Poorwoman! She knew not that the outward form of woman is the onlyrecognized title to the term. What though the mind be filled with theloftiest sentiment, and stored with the richest lore of learning. Whatthough the heart be purer than the snow which covers the mountaintops, can they ever claim a position among the favorites of fortune,when accompanied by beggary? Philanthropists, and philosophers tell usthey can, but the demon, Prejudice, has erected a banner, which cannever be pulled down, until man resumes the patriarchal life ofcenturies ago, and society, the mockery by which we claim civilizationwas built up, is removed from the earth, and mankind can mingle witheach other in free and unrestricted intercourse.

  That day will never come.

  But to return to our story. The clerk looked pityingly at Mrs.Wentworth for a moment, then walked to the door of Mr. Swartz'soffice, and knocked.

  The door was opened.

  "There is a _lady_ here who wants to see you on private business," hesaid with emphasis.

  "Shust tell de lady I will see her in a few minutes," replied thevoice of Mr. Swartz, from the interior of the room.

  The clerk withdrew, after closing the door, and advanced to where Mrs.Wentworth was standing.

  "Mr. Swartz will see you in a few moments, he said."

  "Go back for me, and tell him my business is urgent, and will admit ofno delay," she answered.

  Her thoughts were of the little girl, who lay ill on the bed in thenegro's cabin, and to whom she had promised to return quickly.

  The clerk withdrew, and announced her wishes, to his employer.

  "Vell," said Mr. Swartz. "Tell her to come in."

  She walked up to the door, and as she reached the threshold it openedand Mr. Elder, stood before her. She spoke not a word as he startedfrom surprise at her unexpected appearance. She only gazed upon himfor awhile with a calm and steady gaze. Hastily dropping his eyes tothe ground, Mr. Elder recovered his usual composure, and brushing pastthe soldier's wife left the store, while she entered the office whereMr. Swartz was.

  "Oot tam," he muttered as she entered. "I shall give dat clerk tetevil for sending dis voman to me. Sum peggar I vill pet."

  "I have called on you again, Mr. Swartz," Mrs. Wentworth began.

  Mr. Swartz looked at her as if trying to remember where they had metbefore, but he failed to recognize her features.

  "I don't know dat you vash here to see me pefore," he replied.

  "You do not recognize me," she remarked, and then added: "I am thelady who sold her last piece of furniture to you some time ago."

  He frowned as she reminded him who she was, for he then surmised whatthe object of her visit was.

  "Oh!" he answered, "I recollect you now, and vat do you vant?"

  "I have come upon the same errand," she replied. "I have come oncemore to ask you to aid me, but this time come barren of anything toinduce you to comply with my request. Nothing but the generouspromptings of your heart can I hold up before you to extend thecharity I now solicit."

  "You have come here to peg again," he observed, "but I cannot give youanything. Gootness! ven vill te place pe rid of all te peggers?"

  "I cannot help my position," she said. "A cruel fortune has deprivedmy of him who used to support me, and I am now left alone with mychildren to eke out the wretched existence of a pauper. Last night Iwas turned out of my room by the man who left here a few seconds ago,because I could not pay for my rent. One of my children was sick, buthe cared not for that. I told him of my poverty, and he turned a deafear towards me. I was forced to leave, and my child has become worsefrom exposure in the night air."

  "And vot have I cot to do mit all dis," he enquired.

  "You can give me the means of purchasing medicine for my sick child,"she replied. "The amount thus bestowed cannot cause you anyinconvenience, while it may be the means of saving life."

  "Dis never vill do," Mr. Swartz said, interrupting her. "My gootwoman, you must go to somepody else, I can't give away my monish."

  "You have got a plenty," she persisted, "you are rich. Oh, aid me! Ifyou believe there is a God above, who rewards the charitable, aid me,and receive the heartfelt blessings of a mother. Twenty dollars willbe enough to satisfy my present wants, and that sum will make butlittle difference to a man of your wealth."

  "Mine Cot!" he exclaimed, "If I make monish I work for it, and don'tgo about begging."

  "I know that," she answered, "and it is to the rich that the poor mustappeal for assistance. This has made me come to you this day. Let mydesire be realized. Aid me in saving the life of my child who is nowlying ill, and destitute of medical attendance."

  He could not appreciate her appeal, and he again refused.

  "I can't give you any ding," he answered.

  "There is a virtue which shines far more than all the gold youpossess," replied Mrs. Wentworth. "It is in man what chastity is in awoman. An act of charity ennobles man more than all the fame bestowedupon him for any other merit, and his reward is always commensuratewith his works. Let this virtue move you. The ear of God cannot alwaysbe turned against my prayers to Him, and the hour must surely come,when my husband will be released from prison, and be enabled to repayany kindness you may show his wife and children. Let me have the moneyI have asked you for." "Oh, sir!" she continued, falling on her kneesbefore him, "believe the words I speak to you, and save my child fromthe hands of death. But a short time ago I left her gasping forbreath, with cold drops of perspiration resting on her brow, perhapsthe marks of approaching dissolution. She is very ill, and can onlyrecover through proper treatment. Place it in my power to call aphysician and to procure medicines, and I shall never cease to blessyou."

  He moved uneasily in his chair, and averted his head from where shewas kneeling, not because he felt touched at her appeal, but becausehe felt annoyed at her importuning him for money.

  "Here my voman," he said at last. "Here is von tollar pill, dat is allI can give you."

  She looked at the note in his extended hand, and fe
lt the mockery.

  "It will not do," she answered. "Let me have the amount I have askedyou for. You can spare it. Do not be hardened. Recollect it is toprovide medicine for the sick."

  "I can't do it," he replied. "You should be shankful for what youget."

  His motive in offering her the dollar, was not from a charitablefeeling, it was only to get rid of a beggar.

  "Oh God!" she groaned, rising from her knees, and resting her elbow onan iron safe near by. "Have you a heart?" she exclaimed wildly, "Itell you my child is ill, perhaps at this moment dying, aid me! aidme! Do not turn away a miserable mother from your door to witness herchild die through destitution, when it is in your power to relieve itssufferings, and save it, so that it may live to be a blessing andsolace to me. If not for my sake, if not for the sake of the child,let me appeal to you for charity, for the sake of him, who is nowimprisoned in a foreign dungeon. He left me to defend you from theenemy--left his wife and children to starve and suffer, for thepurpose of aiding in that holy cause we are now engaged in conflictfor. For his sake, if for no other, give me the means of saving mychild."

  He did not reply to her passionate words, but simply rang a bell thatstood on the table before which he was seated. His clerk answered thesummons.

  "If you vont quit mithout my making you," he observed to Mrs.Wentworth in a brutal tone, "I must send for a police officer to takeaway. Gootness," he continued, speaking to himself, "I pelieve tevoman is mat."

  "Save yourself the trouble," she replied, "I will leave. I am not yetmad," she added. "But, oh, God! the hour is fast approaching whenmadness must hold possession of my mind. I go to my child--my poordying child. Oh, Heaven, help me!"

  As she moved her hand from the safe, she perceived a small package ofmoney lying on it. She paused and looked around. The clerk hadwithdrawn at a sign from Mr. Swartz, while that gentleman was gazingintently at the open pages of a ledger, that lay before him. For amoment she hesitated and trembled from head to foot, while the warmblood rushed to her cheeks, until they were a deep crimson hue.Swiftly she extended her hand towards the package, and grasped it; inanother instant it was concealed in her dress, and the act of despairwas accomplished.

  "God pity me!" she exclaimed, as she left the room and departed fromthe scene of her involuntary crime.

  Despair had induced her to commit a theft, but no angel of God ispurer in mind than was the Soldier's Wife, when she did so. It was theresult of madness, and if the Recording Angel witnessed the act, herecorded not the transgression against her, for it was a sin only inthe eyes of man; above it was the child of despair, born of a pure andinnocent mind, and there is no punishment for such.

  "Thank God, I have the means of saving my darling child," exclaimedMrs. Wentworth, as she bent her steps towards a druggist's store.Entering it, she purchased a few articles of medicine, and started forthe old negro's cabin, intending to send the old woman for aphysician, as soon as she could reach there.

  Swiftly she sped along the streets. Many passers by stopped and lookedwith surprise at her rapid walking. They knew not the sorrows of theSoldier's Wife. Many there were who gazed upon her threadbarehabiliments and haggard features, who could never surmise that thelight of joy had ceased to burn in her heart. Their life had been onelong dream of happiness, unmarred, save by those light clouds ofsorrow, which at times flit across the horrizon of man's career, butwhich are swiftly driven away by the sunshine of happiness, ordissipated by the gentle winds of life's joyous summer.

  And the crowds passed her in silence and surprise, but she heeded themnot. Her thoughts were of the angel daughter in the negro's lonelycabin. To her she carried life; at least she thought so, but theinevitable will of Death had been declared. Ella was dying.

  The eye of God was still turned from the widow and her children. Hesaw them not, but his Angels, whose duty it is to chronicle all thatoccurs on earth, looked down on that bright autumn day, and a tearfell from the etherial realms in which they dwelt, and rested upon theSoldier's Wife.

  It was the tear of pity, not of relief.