Test Bank for Carpers Understanding the Law 7th Edition by McKinsey

Burke ISBN 1285428420 9781285428420

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CHAPTER ONE
True-False

Any element of falsity renders the statement false.

1. One definition of law is static, a “snapshot,” emphasizing law’s nature as a set of written rules.
A better definition of law is dynamic, emphasizing its changing and evolving nature in responding
to new issues and problems.

Answer: T

2. Case law is also often referred to as court law.

Answer: T

3. The new science of biotechnology promises to bring new cures of old diseases without
creating serious legal issues and problems.

Answer: F

4. It is generally understood that the phrase common law has one clear meaning.

Answer: F

5. The term judicial activist is used to describe legislators and executives who seek to
increase the workload of the courts.

Answer: F

6. For hundreds of years, the common law of England had evolved into a framework of principles
found in both customs and statutes that were brought to the New World by early colonial settlers.
Answer: T
 Chapter One 2
7. Stare decisis is a common-law principle that is fundamental to the U.S. modern system of

justice. Answer: Answer: T

8. The part of a court opinion that determines the resolution of the dispute is called the dicta
Answer: F

9. Apostasy, the renunciation of one’s religion, is illegal in some countries in which religious law
is the law of the country.

Answer: T

10. Federal common law is limited to disputes involving obligations of the United States,
interstate and international disputes, and admiralty cases.

Answer: T

11. Utilitarianism is a philosophical theory, first developed by Jeremy Bentham.

Answer: T

12. Syllogisms help to identify incorrect premises and flawed thinking.

Answer: T

13. It is often impossible to tell the plaintiff and the defendant by the title of a reported appellate
court decision. You must read the facts of each case carefully to identify each party.

Answer: T

14. A major strength of utilitarian ethics is its flexible application.

Answer: T

15. Under a duty model of ethics, an action is morally correct or right when, among people it
affects, it produces the greatest amount of good for the greatest number.

Answer: F

16. A code is a compilation of statutes grouped by topic.

Answer: T

18. The doctrine of supremacy is a court doctrine requiring that trial court decisions comply with
appellate court decisions.
Answer: F

19. A doctrine of American law holds that courts may only decide cases to which an actual conflict exists
3 Chapter One
rather than offer advisory opinions.
Answer: T

20. Common law and statutory law are both laws created by the executive branch of
government. Answer: Answer: F

21. Procedural law is that law that establishes rights and prohibits wrongs.

Answer: F

Fill-Ins

Complete each sentence or statement.

1. The Food and Drug Administration (FDA) has recently proposed new laws concerning
inspection of meat before its sale for human consumption. A new meat inspection requirement
would be an example of law.
Answer: administrative
2. Forcible rape is an example of both and law. Thus, the
victim can begin legal proceedings against the wrongdoer in two separate courts.
Answer: civil; criminal

3. Some fundamentals of our present constitutional law dates to the year 1215 when King John of
England accepted the , which established, among other important matters,
trial by jury in criminal cases.
Answer: Magna Carta
4. The concept that subsequent courts will adhere to the principles of law espoused in decisions of
prior courts is called .

Answer: stare decisis OR precedent

5. The body of legal rules of today that were derived from fundamental usages and customs of
antiquity, particularly as they appeared in medieval England, and from modern judgments of
appellate courts that recognize and apply those customs in specific cases, is called the
.
Answer: common law

6. The common law is sometimes referred to as the law.

Answer: unwritten OR case

7. That state laws must yield to conflicting federal laws is called the doctrine of
.

Answer: supremacy
 Chapter One 4
8. That lawyers may not question prospective jurors about their sexual preference is an example of the
application of law.
Answer: procedural

9. A city ordinance that requires all landlords to change locks each time an apartment is rented or face
a $1,000 fine is an example of the law.
Answer: substantive

10. Judges who purposefully expand on the law in their decisions are often referred to as
and judges who narrowly interpret the law by relying heavily on precedent
are often referred to as .
Answer: judicial activists; strict constructionists.

11. is a method of logical reasoning from two or more propositions to a

conclusion.
Answer: Deductive logic

12. Statements that reflect what should be or how one should act are called .
Answer: normative statements

13. A(n) is a party who appeals a case to another court. A(n)

is the party against whom an appeal is made.
Answer: appellant; appellee

14. is the study of the general nature of morals and of the specific moral choices
to be made by the individual in his relationship with others; the philosophy of morals.
Answer: Ethics

15. Law that concerns relations among sovereign nations is called .

Answer: international law

16. Statements of fact that are neutral as to any expression of values are called .
Answer: non normative statements

1 7 . T h e t e r m ________________ is a fanciful reference to a case that is identical or virtually

identical to a case previously decided by a high court in the same court system.

Answer: goose case or case on all fours

1 8 . There must be a .properly presented to a court before judicial action will be

taken.

Answer: case or controversy

1 9 . Any part of a court opinion that is unnecessary to the resolution of a dispute before the court is
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you to make the request. I feel that you did at one time love me. No, a
man of your force of character cannot love truly and allow that love to
die while the object of his devotion lives. If you ever loved, you still
love. The only question that remains unanswered is, ‘Am I the only one
to whom your whole heart has gone out?’ Be that as it may, I have
concluded that, wise or unwise, right or wrong, the same untiring love
which has inspired me to worship you, day by day and the long night
through, since first we met, must live on until the words, ‘Dust to dust’
have echoed through the tall pines and rolling mounds of our Southern
city of the dead, while the clods fall heavily on the rough box that
contains my casket. I feel I could court even death while reveling in the
sunshine of your beauteous love, and smilingly challenge the chords of
life to snap and precipitate me into that unknown beyond, with the
memory of your dear kisses on my cold, blue lips.
“I feel that way now, when so many leagues separate us, but I presume
that should I be blessed with one smile from you, I should want to live
always. I think one slight token of recognition, one little sign of memory
of the old days, spreading over your features would be food and drink to
me ever. But such joys do not spread themselves on my table of
anticipation. I know not love. I only know what it is to love. I have
hesitated about writing you as I shall before I close.
“I have wondered if by holding open the bleeding wounds of my
breast, the breast you have made love to, the breast that gave life and
strength to your child, while the thrills of motherhood overcame me even
to tears of joy, would pain you. I have summed it all up and have
concluded that nothing will pain you, so will not hesitate to show to you
the every heart-beat as it forces the blood through the veins which your
heartless acts have drained. Forgive me, darling, if I inflict any injury
upon your feelings by any reference to the past, but then you know your
short note said, ‘Do not conceal a single thought nor withhold one
particle of the emotion with which your voluptuous body abounds.’ I will
pour out the soul that you have penned up. I will account to you for the
acts which you refer to as unladylike. I will bring to your mind new
fancies, born of reflection. I will accuse you of no wrong, for you in your
exalted goodness and influential position must know right from wrong. If
I am wrong, God is just. If He allowed you to misjudge me, I beseech
Him to prevent you from branding another woman with the same iron.
While I have been writing one day has died and another been born. With
the passing of the hour I have passed another milepost. I am now one
year older. My birthday and my baby are the only things I can claim
without dispute as to title.
“I have been to his bed, the baby’s bed, and shall I tell you—his father
—how sweetly he sleeps, how my burning kisses did not startle him?
You will know whether or not these lips of mine will arouse a man to his
greatest efforts. You, and you alone, have tasted the sweets that I longed
to lavish upon you until satiety was a far away and unknown thing.
“You said: ‘Write. I am interested in your welfare.’
“I believe you, for you fear me as the bleating lamb fears the ravenous
wolf; but fear not, oh, god of mine; you are my child’s father, and for the
gracious act of begetting me an image of thine own self I shall always be
devoted to you.
“Oh, that I could live on and on into the ages that are only obscured by
oblivion. But no. Face to face with a world, I must accept death as a
charm to enduring existence. You must know, dearest, that I love you,
have always loved you and shall always love you. As I sit and look into
the fire which from great red flames has sunk to an ember glow, I liken it
to your love; for in the manliness of your youthfulness you loved me
with a passion that was all consuming. I bathed your soul in the divine
worship and devotion such as only a pure woman can pour out on a man
whom she extols above all others. In your letter there appears not one
allusion to love. Is it possible that you do not love me? You who have
held me so close while spasms of delight have shaken your stalwart
frame, and the flame of passion has reddened your otherwise placid
brow, while exclamations of joy poured forth from your lips between the
spasmodic kisses which held my lips as in a vice. You, a man of equal
parts, do not mention love; you may remain silent on that subject, but if
you tell yourself that you do not love you lie, and your heart bears
witness to it.
“You can love; I know you can, for I can love with a wild desire to die
in your arms, and I am a student of no school but your own.
“Do you imagine that the cold indifference which your letter displays
will have a tendency to lessen my love for you? Do not be misled, I beg
of you, for you once descended from your proud station to make love to
me, and I have treasured that love and it has grown into such a mountain
that no chasm of indifference can ever engulf it, and remember you are
his father—my child’s father. He would love you, too, for having loved
me, if for no other reason, for, God bless him, he is in love with your old
sweetheart. Where I go he will go. I do not love you still with the hope
that as in our case at first, love begets love.
“I have long since learned to live to love, and expect nothing but
dreams in return. You did love me. No, you did not, or else all the world
could not have torn you from me; but you cannot love another. I wish
you might, for the goodness which lies within you would shine out and
light a world of laggards.
“You ask me if I am comfortable. Yes. I have everything that my
physical needs require. I have a good home and plenty to eat and wear.
You say you often wonder how I manage to get along in such an
expensive city. Now, if you mean that, you love me and you feel that
every dollar I have comes without the soil of dishonor. I will tell you
how I—we—live. You have raved over my figure; you have worshipped
my body as though the presence of my heart were an unheard of thing.
Other men have evidently been schooled in the same house of learning as
you, for they, too, admire my flesh and bone. Not a day passes but that I
form some new acquaintance, and, as I take it, all on account of my
shapely limbs, my slender waist and swelling bosoms. Those very
possessions which were once yours, all yours for your own
aggrandizement and worshipful indulgence; those charms which held
you to me—the wealth of red-gold hair, the pink-tipped ears, the pearly
white teeth, the tapering hands, the high-arched foot, the delicately
moulded ankles, the laughing eyes and supple grace that you so admired,
even before I gave to you a son, are as much admired by other men as
they once were admired by you.
“It is different, though, with them and you. You held all of the then
priceless pearls with nothing but love; the same possessions which were
then yours because I loved you, are now dispensed at intervals to suit the
convenience of other men and for financial consideration.
“We—you and I—can remember the time when no man but you could
lay claim to any of my charms except my ready smile and kindly word.
“Now, and for two years past, my charms have been the property of a
public who, while not so demonstrative as you once were, seem wild to
have me disport myself for the edification of mankind.
“I often ask if I wrong a nature-loving public by allowing the use of
my body to fulfill their desires.
 “My natural answer is no. I feel, in fact, that I may be the means of
saving some timid girl the embarrassment of assuming my place in the
world. I am sure I can do more to satisfy the whims of humanity than can
a novice, for I am a student of your school and your ideas are instilled
within me until I feel that my efforts will avail more than the efforts of
an inexperienced girl. Again, I am feeding and clothing myself and our
baby, and I love you. The world will, in part, frown upon me for the part
I am playing; others silently applaud me, and I congratulate myself and
feel, in a certain degree, I am a guardian angel and the precepts
inculcated by my conduct will be fittingly heralded to ears which will
transmit them to the heart with a good effect. I am doing what you might
not object to your divorced wife doing, but that which no man of high
honor would consent to his daughter doing.
“I am a model at the Art Institute. I pose in the nude, and I thank God
I am an honorable woman, and, in spite of all the years of suffering, I am
still devoted to the man who taught me to love. With thanks for your
inquiry, I beg to sign for this once,
“Your wife,
“N .”
 TALE ELEVEN.
A STORY OF SUICIDE BRIDGE.

“Age cannot love destroy,

But perfidy can blast the flower,
Even when in most unwary hour,
It blooms in Fancy’s bower.
Age cannot love destroy,
But perfidy can rend the shrine
In which its vermeil splendors shine.”

It was a blustering winter day and a heavy snow was falling, making
the streets exceedingly disagreeable to traverse. State street was crowded
with shoppers evidently bent on taking advantage of the annual clearing
sale which always takes place at the beginning of the new year.
I was elbowing my way through the crowd on the east side of the
street, about as uncomfortable as a man could be, when I passed
Kehoe’s. I had not gone a dozen steps when it occurred to me that a cup
of hot chocolate would taste good. I turned abruptly and encountered an
umbrella, which flashed dangerously close to my eyes. Somewhat
confused, I entered the door behind a woman. She had pushed the door
open and dropped her skirts directly in front of me. It was too late for me
to catch myself and in less time than it takes to tell it, I had stepped on
them. The suddenness with which she let that door swing back was
appalling. It took me squarely on the nose, a fact which I do not now
regret, inasmuch as it led to a very pleasant acquaintance. She glanced
around to learn the cause of all the trouble and accepted my humble
apologies with good grace, and seemed to feel sorry when she saw her
carelessness was the cause of a great deal of suffering, for I could not
well disguise the fact as the tears ran down my cheeks.
All the tables but one were taken and that was a small one in the
corner, at which there were two chairs. She made her way to it quickly
and when she saw me waiting she sent the waitress to me to tell me to
come to her table. I bowed in response and crossed the room.
“I feel that I owe you some consideration for the unfortunate
occurrence of a few moments ago,” she said, “and I hope you’ll accept
my apologies in turn.”
I replied that it was my own stupidity and assured her that I already
began to feel it was rather a fortunate than unfortunate occurrence.
She smiled, yet at the same time drew herself up with a quiet dignity
that was unmistakable, and I knew I had taken the wrong tack when I
made my gallant speech.
By this time my eyes were somewhat cleaned of tears and I was able
to get a distant view of my vis-a-vis. I had already discovered that she
was of medium height and quite slender. Her face was oval, her eyes
large and brown, and looked liquid in the half light of our corner; her
chin was round, her mouth was rather large and when she smiled her full,
red lips disclosed a set of well kept teeth; her nose was neither long nor
short, but quite in keeping with the contour of her face. Her eyebrows
were dark and beautifully arched. Her forehead was high and full and an
abundance of real golden hair was drawn back and concealed under the
large, black beaver hat she wore so becomingly.
The real beauty of her face, however, was in its expression. Every
emotion was clearly defined in the wonderful eyes and, though when
smiling they would light up with a merry laughter, their general
expression was one of sweet sadness.
When I assisted her to remove her coat, can I be blamed for feasting
my eyes on the beautiful bust and shoulders with which nature had
endowed her?
We chatted idly on the topics of the day as we sipped our chocolate,
and when we had finished I handed her my card, saying, “If you ever
need services in my line, I shall be pleased to render them.”
She thanked me and said as she read “Attorney at Law,” “I might have
been grateful for your proffered aid a few years ago, but now, thank God,
I do not need such aid, and I hope I shall never need it.”
Then she handed me her card. “Mrs. Geoffrey Nye Melville.” As I
read I could not restrain the exclamation that arose to my lips.
“Why, I once had a friend by that name who was an official on the St.
Paul road. He and I were the best of friends in St. Paul five years ago. I
was at that time their attorney.”
“It is certainly my husband whom you know,” she said, “and you must
come and call on us at your earliest convenience.”
 I thanked her and on the strength of my friendship for her husband
asked to escort her to the train.
I was not long in taking advantage of her invitation, and felt doubly
free to do so, inasmuch as her husband had hunted me up the very next
day after our meeting, and had insisted on my coming as soon as
possible.
It happened that the night I called her husband was away, having been
unexpectedly summoned to St. Paul on business.
I found her alone and looking almost beautiful in the bright red crepe
gown she wore. Her skin was fair but pale and her cheeks reflected just
enough of the color to enhance the effect. We had a long talk on
generalities and gradually drifted to personalities.
“I am quite surprised at Geoffrey’s marrying again,” said I. “I had
begun to think him proof against the fair sex five years ago, and it seems
to me he added four more to that, with all due respect for you, my
charming hostess.”
“Well,” she sighed, “he might still have remained single had not he
met me in my forlorn condition, and I often think pity was the deepest
sentiment he felt until we had been married several months. Well, you
see, like most Chicago women, I have a story, and mine is a long one,
but probably not an unusual one.”
“Dare I presume to ask you for it, on the strength of my long
friendship for your husband?”
She was gazing dreamily into the grate and did not reply for a
moment, then she turned her glorious eyes toward me and said slowly,
“Yes, I will tell you if you think it will interest you.”
I assured her it would and asked her to proceed.
“I was married once before, too,” she said, “but was so unhappy that I
left my husband and secured a divorce on the grounds of cruelty. I was
granted a small alimony, enough to supply my modest wants.
“As time went on, I became rather dissatisfied with my quiet life and
was filled with a desire to enter the business world. It was just about this
time that a friend of mine, being too ill to go down town, asked me to do
an errand for her. It took me into an office building, and when I entered
the reception room I was told that the party for whom I inquired was not
in, but was expected soon, so I sat down and waited.
 “While I was waiting a man came out of one of the private offices, and
as he saw me waiting he stopped and asked me whom I wished to see.
When I told him he asked me into his office to wait, saying I would find
it more pleasant there than in the reception room.
“As I think of it now, I wonder why I did not always adhere to my first
impression of him, which presented itself so forcibly. It must have been
fate, I guess. He was not at all handsome; he, in fact, was homely,
especially his mouth, which was too coarse, yet when he spoke his
countenance lighted up and there was an earnestness about him that
partially restored my confidence. He had a fine physique, a large, brainy
head, and carried himself with dignity. Well, we drifted into the
discussion of literature, and I found this was a well chosen subject, for
we were both deeply interested in it.
“After visiting an hour or more with him, I decided to wait no longer
for the man I had called to see, and I left. Not long after this my friend
called at the same suite of offices and she met Mr. Ferris. She seemed
very favorably impressed with him, so much so that she asked him to
call, and I must say that in spite of my prejudice I enjoyed the evening.
He called often after that and my friend said that he was in love with me.
I did not believe it at the time, probably because I was so utterly
indifferent to him at that time. He interested me greatly, however, for
many reasons, not least among which was the fact that he was in touch
with the business world and I thought I saw possibilities through him.
“It was not a month after this that he proposed to me. We were sitting
on the couch together, and I had been telling him of the unexpected visit
of a little friend of mine from Buffalo. He suddenly took my hand in his
and said, ‘Claire, I want you, and before anyone comes into this home to
rob me of you, I want your promise to be mine, all mine.’
“I felt within myself that he had endeared himself to me considerably,
but did not feel at all sure that I wanted to marry him, and told him so, so
we left the matter in that way, although I accepted his ring, but it was
with the understanding that if in the course of a few months I wished to
retract, I was at liberty to do so.
“On the following Wednesday Gretta came. Dear little Gretta. Pretty,
petite and winsome, so sweet yet so frivolous.
“I introduced Mr. Ferris to her and they soon became good friends; no
one could help being nice to her. I was slightly indisposed at this time
and was very glad that Ned could take her out, for it relieved me of the
burden of entertaining her, for a burden it was, in my present condition.
“One night, while I was confined to my room, she came to me and told
me that she loved Ned, and that she believed he loved her, for he had
kissed her and called her his dear little girl.
“As if by magic, the demon of jealousy reared his head and began to
sting me. I loved him now, I knew it, for I was unmistakably jealous. I
was jealous of a pretty, voluptuous, little doll, with no thought beyond
her present gratification, be it a new gown or a dinner, both of which she
enjoyed with all the fervor of her nature. They had not one thing in
common, unless it was their passionate natures. I tried to reason with
myself, to assure myself of the fact that a man of his calibre could not
really love so frivolous a creature as she; that it was merely a passing
fancy. But having been married, I knew a man’s nature so well, knew
how often a magnetic personality lured them on to mistakes fatal to the
happiness of both, that my theory of incompatibility was not altogether a
consolation.
“During this period of uneasiness, I did not mention the matter to him.
I was too proud to mention it to him, and felt it would be beneath my
dignity to admit that I had a possible rival in one so shallow. Perhaps that
is where I made my mistake; I don’t know.
“I tried to lull my suspicions to rest, but they would none of it, and one
night after they had gone to the theater I dragged myself wearily down
stairs to the library, which was off the parlor and separated from it by
heavy portieres. I became tired of reading at last and turned out the gas
and laid down determined to await their return and be convinced that my
suspicions were groundless, if possible; at least I wanted to hear how he
made love to her and decide for myself whether he meant it or not.
“I must have fallen asleep, for the first thing I remember was his
saying in most pleading tones, ‘Come in here a moment, dear, and let me
love you, as only I can love you.’
“She danced into the darkened room beside him and he led her across
it to the large leather couch. He picked her up bodily and laid her on the
couch, and before she could demur, had she been so inclined, he was
bending over her and raining fervent kisses upon her and she nestled up
to him and sighed in an abandonment of ecstacy, fearing nothing, hoping
nothing, only living in the delight of the moment.
 “I don’t know how I expected her to resist him; in fact, I’m sure I
didn’t. I would have saved her, but for the fact that I seemed as if in a
nightmare, unable to move or utter a sound. I lived hours in those
moments.
“After awhile I heard a sobbing. Then his voice, all tenderness and
commiseration, ‘There, there, dear, don’t cry. You are all right. Don’t feel
so badly; we are just human, and are no worse than hundreds of others.’
“‘Humph!’ thought I, suffering though I was, ‘there is a great deal of
consolation in that!’
“Gradually the sobs ceased, and then he bade her good-night. I knew
she would not go into my room this night, so had no need to fear my
absence from my room would be discovered.
“What I suffered that night, only God knows. I laid there all night in
my misery, freezing and burning by turns. It seemed to me my hair must
be gray. My idol was shattered, it lay in fragments at my feet, but alas! as
with the shattered vase, round which the scent of the roses still clung, so
did the virtues with which I had endowed this being continue to obtrude
themselves to the complete obliteration of the crime he had committed
before my very eyes.
“At daybreak I went to my room and bathed my haggard face and tried
to make myself presentable, at least, to Gretta when she should come in
to see me. I had not decided what to do for the immediate present, only
that I would say nothing.
“Much to my surprise, Gretta came in beaming as usual, her volatile
spirits were incapable of more than momentary depression, and I
wondered vaguely if it could all be a horrible dream.
“Out of the chaos of my brain one idea resolved itself, and that was to
tell him all after she left, unless he, in his desire to right the wrong, asked
for his release.
“She went. A week passed and nothing was said, and I knew then
nothing would be said. He was going out of the city and I determined to
tell him about it on his return Sunday night.
“He came and after he had chatted awhile he got up and said he would
go out and order an ice sent up from the drug store around the corner. As
he bent to pick up his hat, a letter fell unnoticed from his pocket. Perhaps
I should not have done so, but I concealed it with my skirt until he left
the room. It was from Gretta, I found, and I have it yet,” she said, as she
crossed the room to the little inlaid writing desk, and took from it a plain
white envelope bordered in black.
“I am going to let you read it,” she said, handing it to me.

“Dearest Ned:—
“I am going to die, I am sure. I am grieving myself to death
over you. The sun never shines brightly any more and my heart
aches all the time now. I am disgraced, or soon will be. Oh, Ned,
come and take your poor, little Gretta away. Tell Claire what you
did and she is so good and sweet she will send you to me, I know.
Please take me away and marry me and I will tell them all that we
went to St. Joe and were married when I was there visiting in
Chicago. Come, dear, or I shall surely die. I ordered this black
bordered paper because I am sure mamma will have use for it
soon; anyway I am in mourning for the loss of what even you,
with all your tenderness, cannot give back to me.
“Come, Ned, for baby’s sake.
“Your heart broken
G .”

“When I had finished my head swam, and I felt but one mad desire,
and that was to fly. I acted on the impulse and after pinning a note to the
letter saying, ‘Ned, I knew some of this before, now I know all. I am
going away where you will never see me or hear from me again. You
must do your duty no matter what the sacrifice. A lifetime of devotion
cannot repay her for her loss.
C .’
“I put on my hat and left by the side entrance. I had not the remotest
idea of where I was going or what I was going to do. I was numb with
agony and wandered aimlessly on until I came to a car line, then the
thought flashed across my mind to go to ‘Suicide Bridge,’ and thither I
went.
“It was yet early in the evening and many people were lingering in the
park. I walked onto the bridge with perfect calmness, the calmness of
despair (for what was there now to live for), and on to my fate. I walked
to the center of the bridge, as nearly as I can remember, and looking
carefully around and seeing no one, I climbed upon the railing and
jumped.
“God must have raised up that man at that particular moment from
mere nothingness, for I was so sure I was the only one on the structure at
the time. He caught my skirt and by an almost superhuman effort drew
me back onto the bridge. He did not ask a question, but took me in his
arms and carried me until he met a policeman, to whom he said, ‘My
wife became dizzy and fainted. Please call a carriage.’
“He took me to the Virginia hotel, and when I had sufficiently
recovered to talk he said with decision, ‘I feel you were sent to me this
night, raised up from the ashes of my buried hopes, and if you are free to
marry I want you for my wife. I care not what your past has been or what
caused you to try such a rash act. Your sweet, refined face tells me you
are good and for the rest I care naught. I do not profess to love you,
neither do I expect you to love me, but we will try to make life endurable
together. You saved my life as much as I saved yours, for by saving you I
saved my own, for I went there tonight for the very purpose of doing
what you tried to do. Come now, what do you say?’ he said earnestly.”
“And what did you say?”
“I said I was willing to try, and thank God that I did, for I have never
regretted it. We were married that night between eleven and twelve.”
“And what about Gretta?”
“Ned made what reparation he could; that is, he married her, and they
have a dear little Ned eight months old.”
 TALE TWELVE.
TWO BABES AND TWO MOTHERS.

“They say best men are moulded out of faults;

And for the most, become much more the better
For being a little bad.”

“Yes, we are very happy here.”

“That fact is very evident and, as I am out for a story today, I am going
to be so rude as to ask you if there is not some pain back of all this
peacefulness?”
The woman addressed drew herself up to her full height, which was
little more than five feet, while her gray eyes gleamed with the assurance
of complete possession of some article of value.
This woman was not handsome, in fact had she been placed in less
effective surroundings she would have been homely.
But she was good, although the fact that she had borne cares could not
well be concealed. It was her nature and intention to see the brightest
side of any object, and that trait in her character was so dominant that it
outshone her physical imperfections. The writer had known her a very
long time, and she had often promised him a story, so that it took but
little urging on his part to get her to talk of her past life.
“I was never a famous beauty, an actress, a singer of note, nor a rich
man’s daughter,” she said, by way of beginning. “I was a simple country
girl whose chief duties consisted in helping my mother wash, iron, churn
and pull weeds in the garden in the summer months, while the winter
days were whiled away by washing dishes, going to school, and if
nothing of greater importance came up for the evening, sewing carpet
rags until bed time.
“Such was the monotony of the life of Virginia Dawson. My father
thought little of the future, not that he failed to care, but that he failed to
see that the future held anything in store for him or his children. He had
been taught the lesson of frugality, the same being demonstrated by
poverty. It seems strange that a discovery of nature’s deposits would be
the turning point in my humdrum existence, but such was the case. My
parental home was but a few miles from the now busy city of Anderson,
Ind., and it was the finding of natural gas near our house that threw me
into the company of Arthur Blake. He was the son of wealthy parents
and, though all my sufferings are directly traceable to my early
association with him, I must say that he is one of the most noble of men.
He came to the community in which we dwelt as a civil engineer, having
fancied that profession more than any other. A firm of Boston capitalists
had employed him to investigate the extent and certainty of the gas belt.
He was instructed to keep his business quiet and to conceal his real
identity. To do this, he assumed the role of a laborer, going about and
actually toiling with the derricks, ropes and pipes just as though he was
not an heir to a large fortune.
“While thus engaged he came to our humble home to board. I was just
such a strip of awkward girlhood as any man might expect to find in a
child of the rural district.
“I know I was the most unsophisticated creature that ever lived. I
knew nothing of life outside the five-room house in which my parents
had lived for twenty years and in which I had been born nearly seventeen
years before I met Arthur Blake.
“He remained at our house for three months, and so refined and
dignified was he that he won a place in our hearts that was hard to fill by
any others. He was rather reticent and made few friends. My father was
dumfounded when one day Arthur proposed that he, my father, go and
buy a new buggy.
“‘What would I buy a buggy with and what for?’” asked my father.
“‘With this,’ said Arthur, as he handed father a roll of bills, ‘and for
my use. I shall have to do a great deal of driving. I will hire a horse from
you, but I want everyone to understand that the whole outfit is yours.’
“So it was arranged, and it was generally said by less fortunate
neighbors that ‘Dawson must be makin’ money keepin’ boarders.’
“Then came a long series of drives over the broad expanse of the gas
fields. My parents did not object to my going with him, for he was very
considerate of my welfare. It was during these trips that I learned of the
beauties of nature. I soon became thrilled with the songs of birds, the
chirping of crickets and the humming of bees, none of which had held
any charms for me before. Plants that to me had always been known as
weeds now bore bright blossoms; the green leaves meant more to me. I
saw beauty in the undulating fields which I had always known as plain
hills. The whole world seemed to put on a new garment. You see that I
was not experienced enough to know that I saw everything with different
eyes than before. I did not know that a little word of four letters told all
that affected me, in fact I did not know what love meant until he told me,
and then I did not fully understand it until he was away from me for
three weeks.
“He went home, back to Pittsburg on a visit, and while he was gone
the brightness of the flowers faded. The frosts of October withered the
foliage, and the brown of the leaves seemed to resemble the solemnity of
my heart when I would walk along the well known paths with pleasant
memories in my mind. Every bush and tree seemed to add to the
sentiment with which my heart was filled and sobs choked me. The notes
of the few birds that had remained tempting fate by braving the elements
were even sobbing.
“Then he came back, and the glinting of the sunshine on the early
morning frost was not brighter than my life. After that he made real love
to me, and I have always thought he meant it. Our love was like that of
many others and led to grave indiscretions, and in due time I realized that
I was in serious trouble. I told Arthur and he said he would go back to
his father and get some money and come and marry me. Instead, he went
away and during those months of waiting my suffering was beyond
description.
“I was finally forced to tell my parents. My mother wept herself sick;
father became morose and said little; my trouble became neighborhood
gossip; one old lady going so far as to say it was good enough and she
guessed most anybody could have a new buggy for that price.
“One day after my baby was born, a well dressed stranger called at our
house and asked for my father. He was a lawyer that Arthur had sent. He
had a great lot of papers he wanted us to sign, and after a long talk with
father, we signed them as directed. After that father seemed to get along
better; he was kinder to me and seemed to like the baby better. He
seemed to have more money and the first day of each month, rain or
shine, he went to town and nearly always brought mother and me a new
dress or some article of apparel that was most needed. He gave me
money to buy the baby’s clothes without a murmur, and took a more
cheerful view of everything.
 “At last the land in our section became so valuable for the gas that was
under it that the little forty-acre tract on which my father had been a
tenant so long, was sold to a party of capitalists, and our occupation as
farmers was gone.
“We moved to town, I mean Anderson, Indiana. There my father
obtained work in a factory. All this time my baby was growing from the
sphere of long clothes, into prattling, toddling childhood. Father toiled
long and faithfully day by day; mother and I managed the housework,
nor was our strength taxed, for we had but a five-room cottage, and it
seemed a shame that poor father should work so hard, so many long
hours of the day and we have so much time to spend in idleness. It was
decided that I should seek employment and I obtained a situation as maid
in the home of one of the large factory owners. I had a very pleasant
place, and when at the end of two years, the family decided to remove to
Chicago, it was arranged that I go with them. My mother could easily get
along without me, and she had grown so fond of the baby that she would
not hear of my taking her with me.
“I was soon located in my new home on one of the principal North
Side thoroughfares of the city. All went well until one day the lady of the
house announced that she expected some company from California, and
wished me to be in attendance to them during their stay.
“When the visitors arrived I was at my station in the hall on the second
floor; the hostess greeted them, and in her demonstration of hospitality
showed the lady the suite they were to occupy during their stay. She rang
and I went in to assist in putting away the wraps. The lady was a sweet
young matron, and when she said, ‘Now I must have my baby with me a
little while,’ I could have hugged her.
“‘Yes,’ said the hostess; ‘Virginia, run down and bring the baby up; he
is with his papa in the reception room.’
“Then, with a motherly feeling growing in my breast, I descended the
heavily carpeted stairs, three steps at a time, but even in my flight I had
taken time to fall in love with that baby before I ever set eyes on it.
“I told the gentleman that I would take the baby up to its mother. I saw
the pallor on his face as I spoke, but when I took my baby’s half-brother
into my arms none of the spectators suspected the truth.”
“Then the man was⸺⸺?”
 “Yes, it was my Arthur who had brought his wife and child to visit in
the home where I was a servant, quite accidental, of course, and thanks
to my rugged nature, I did not faint nor in any way betray my feelings.
“For two weeks I held my post of duty. Once he tried to speak to me in
the hall, but I ran away from him. I felt that my claim had been settled.
The day they left he pushed an envelope into my hand as I was packing
his wife’s trunks. It contained a fifty-dollar bill and a letter. The money
was an insult; the letter told me of his sympathy for me, and how he had
been engaged to his wife long before he met me, but had loved me and
still did. It all aroused my anger. I brooded over the matter for three
weeks, then concluded to go to his home and expose the whole affair to
his wife. I went to Anderson, got my little girl and departed for the west.
I had no difficulty in finding his home. I was admitted and ushered into
the parlor. His wife soon came to me; the moment she saw my little girl
she began to weep and took her in her arms. My first impression was that
he had told her everything. But no, she explained to me that her baby boy
had contracted a cold in Chicago, from which he had never recovered,
and they had buried him but two days before. She insisted on knowing
whose child I had with me. Her suffering had the effect of changing my
plans. Poor soul, I did not wish to add to her misery. After wringing a
promise from her never to tell anyone, not even her husband, I told my
story. I told her all except who the man was, and I concealed that fact
from her. She insisted on my staying at their home for a few days until I
found work. I was eager to do so, for she said baby and I would be such
a comfort to her.
“I left with a promise to return. I found Arthur’s office and told him
why I had come west, also how my plans were altered. He listened in
silence until I had finished, then tenderly he took the baby into his arms
and kissed her—just think, the first father’s kiss she had ever known.
“In spite of all my desire to expose him I was now fully convinced that
it would be a great wrong to wreck his life and that of the woman who
was his wife, and whom he had loved before he met me. He joined his
wife in her entreaties for me to make my home with them, at least, he
said, until I could do better.
“All went well for two months. Suffer? Yes, I suffered more than I
dared then admit, but I was doing good, I was making his wife happy
instead of dealing out pain, as I first intended. I am sure he suffered also,
but I think he, too, found a great deal of happiness in the fact that he was
doing all in his power for me and my child, without doing any harm to
anyone. But an end must come, even to good intentions. One evening we
were all sitting in the library of his home; my little girl was playing with
a doll house he had given her. She had been quietly engaged in this
pursuit for some moments, and so still was she we almost forgot that she
was in the room. All at once she left her play and ran to Arthur and
proceeded to climb up in his lap. Then putting her chubby arms around
his neck and kissing his cheek, she said, ‘I wish you was my papa.’ And
before anyone could answer her she turned to me and said, ‘Mamma,
ain’t I dot no papa? Why tant you det me a nice papa like—like—Unca
Arter?’
“It was too much for him. Tears sprang into his eyes and, putting her
gently from him, he left the room. His wife thought his grief was caused
by the sad recollection of their baby, but I knew. Such scenes were
exceedingly straining, so I avowed my intention to return to Chicago,
whereupon they begged me to leave my little Harriet with them. We
talked it over while Arthur held her on his knee. I finally consented, for I
knew she would be better cared for there with them than she would with
me. I felt the greatest pain, though, when, after it was settled, Arthur
lovingly folded her in his arms and said, ‘Now, darling, I am going to be
your papa.’ Freeing herself from him, and not quite understanding it all,
she ran to me and said, ‘Who’s doin’ to be my mamma now, you,
mamma, or Auntie Arter?’ I could only take her in my arms and weep.
“Good-byes were said and I came here and found work in a restaurant.
Letters came and went with the regularity of the rising sun. Always a
little sheet of scribbles from my baby. They never allowed her to forget
me. To my surprise one day I received a telegram from Arthur saying
that his wife, the baby and himself would arrive in Chicago in three days.
I did not understand at the time, but learned upon their arrival that
Arthur’s wife had become afflicted with some malady which required a
difficult surgical operation, and she was coming here for that purpose.
“The operation was performed and everything done to save her
precious life, but it became the painful duty of the nurse to tell Arthur
that all efforts had resulted in failure. The slender thread of life seemed
about to be severed. They sent for me to come to the hospital and bring
my baby. I went and was shown to the room where white sheets seemed
to predominate, the monotony of which was only broken by the vases of
beautiful flowers which filled the room with sweet perfume.
 “Arthur and the nurse were with her. She feebly requested the nurse to
leave us alone, then she kissed me and the baby, and reached out her
feverish hands to Arthur.
“‘Arthur,’ she said, in trembling tones, ‘Arthur, say once more that
you love me and for the sake of that love will do something for me.’
“The scene was pitiful. Arthur knelt beside the bed and took the death
marked face between his strong hands and said, ‘Nannie, dear, I do love
you, and will do anything you ask.’
“Poor soul, how she struggled for breath while Arthur with his face
buried in the white linen sobbed his heart out.
“Then she said, ‘Now the baby.’
“He took the baby and placed her on the bed as she requested, where
she could pat and caress her.
“‘And now you come, too, Virginia.’
“And there, with death stealing in on the bright rays of sunlight, we
knelt one on either side of the baby.
“With a look of love which I shall always cherish, she began by
addressing me:
“‘Virginia, I know all; he, Arthur, my Arthur and your Arthur, dear,
has been good and truthful, and baby, God bless you, you have a real
papa now and one of your choice. Listen—Arthur—Virginia⸺⸺,’ her
breath now came in gasps,—‘I’m—going to our little Arthur—see—see
—he is watching us—and he’s waiting—for—me. Promise—Arthur—
promise—Vir-gin—ia, that when I am gone—you will marry—for the
baby’s—sake—and—my—sake—promise.’
“The sun crept through the blinds and lighted the smile that flitted
over her face as I closed the bloodless eyelids.
“As soon as Arthur could arrange his business affairs in California, he
went to New York, where baby and I were to join him.
“We were married quietly there a month after Nannie died. Quietly,
because the world would have censured us for lack of respect had it
known just that much of the affair.
“We sailed for Liverpool, and traveled abroad a year, and on our return
we married again, and this time publicly. We are very happy, although
there was much pain behind it all. We both know now what true
happiness is.”
 TALE THIRTEEN.
NOT GUILTY.

“I have so loved thee, but cannot, cannot hold thee,

Fading like a dream, the shadows fold thee;
Slowly thy perfect beauty fades away,
Good-bye, sweet day; good-bye, sweet day.”

I stood outside and listened. The silvery, sweet tones of the singer rose
clear above the soft guitar accompaniment. As the last words died away
on the stillness of the evening air, I rang the bell. It seemed almost
sacrilege to break in on her quiet enjoyment, although I knew she must
soon be expecting me. She responded to the summons at the door herself.
Of medium height, with beautiful, sloping shoulders, a tiny waist and
perfectly moulded hips, she would have inspired an artist. Her hair was
prematurely gray, and dressed low on her neck. Her face was almost
perfect in feature and the only traces of sorrow time had left visible were
the gray hairs and lines about the slightly drooping mouth. It was the
heart which bore the scars of agony, invisible to all but her and her God.
She had passed through the fire and had come forth purer, fairer, sweeter,
more charitable, more forgiving, better fitted to cope with the world.
This was the woman as I knew her now, and had known her for the
past year. She was to be married on the morrow (lucky man), and had
promised to tell me her life’s story before she married.
“For I shall want to forget all that sad past after the last day of this life,
for tomorrow, I trust, a new era shall have dawned for me,” she said,
when she gave me her promise.
When I heard her singing I wondered if she longed, yet feared, the
new life, and if she wished to hold the day yet a little longer, which she
had evidently given over to reminiscences, for I knew the past held some
sweet memories, for every past has them, no matter how bitter it has
been. And those sweet memories seem the brighter for their setting of
darkness.
“I have been thinking of my past life all day,” she said, after we were
seated, “and you know when one indulges in such a review a thousand
things recur to one’s mind which are really irrelevant to the real story, yet
they all combine to make up one’s life, and may have some bearing on
the case after all.”
She was silent a long time, looking out into the twilight with unseeing
eyes.
“You know I was accused of murder,” she said, abruptly. “I was tried
and acquitted owing to insufficient evidence.”
“Yes, I remember something about it.”
“Five years ago, when I was nineteen, I married a man who was
twenty years my senior. I met him out west while I was visiting there. He
was a miner then, not actively engaged in digging the gold out of mother
earth, nor panning it, but he was on the ground and superintended the
work. He was a handsome man, although bronzed by exposure to the sun
and wind; a Yale graduate, and every inch a gentleman, although
thoroughly a man of the world. To sentimental nineteen, he had all the
qualifications of a god, and although he was not the only one in Colorado
Springs who was attentive to me, he was the one altogether lovely in my
eyes. To be Mrs. Chauncey M. Dare was the height of my girlish
ambition, and I used to write my name ‘Lucile Dare’ just to see how it
would look on paper, and all this was before he had asked me to take his
name.
“My auntie, who was a wealthy widow, thoroughly approved of him
and thought him a most eligible parti. He was reputed wealthy and, as
Auntie said, he was old enough to be staid in his ways. I am sure she had
my best interests at heart, but it seems strange to me now that she did not
realize that he was too many years my senior and also that she did not
deem it necessary to look into his antecedents. But if she had, she might
not have found out, and I suppose I should not have this story to tell, and
perhaps, too, I should have always been a careless child, with no thought
for the comfort and welfare of others.
“Well, we were married on the fifteenth of October and took
apartments at The Arlington, instead of going to housekeeping, because
he said he did not expect to remain there long, and it was an easy matter
to pack and leave the hotel.
“It was his desire to go back to New York City and show his ‘girl
bride,’ as he called me, to all his friends and have a taste of real life.
 “He met the highest ideal of all my girlish fancies, and was as tender a
husband as he was a lover.
“After we had been married six months he came home one night and
said, ‘Hurrah, babe, we are going east in a fortnight, thank God, so get
your duds packed and be ready.’
“I was glad to make the change, too, for youth loves a change, and I
was delighted at the prospect of going to New York, for I had never been
further east than Chicago.
“We went at the end of the two weeks. I was received with open arms
by all his friends in the east and I thought myself the happiest girl in the
world, for he seemed so proud of me. I know now it was not the right
kind of pride. He was not proud of me for my goodness and purity, it was
rather the pride in the possession of some coveted article, for I was
conceded to be beautiful then, and I suppose my figure was good. His
was not a nature capable of appreciating nobility of character.
“He took a house there, and we entertained a great deal and on a large
scale. I think I might say I was a favorite in his set, but what does all that
amount to? His was a fickle nature and when he thought he had
fathomed mine, when he thought he knew me in the perfection of every
art I possessed, he began to weary. I did not know it at the time, I knew
something had caused a change, but always attributed it to business
cares. He began by neglecting me occasionally; from that it grew to
continuous neglect, even to the point of ignoring my existence altogether.
“Endowed by nature with a cheerful disposition, my volatile spirits
were continually on the rebound and even his gross neglect I did not feel
deeply until it was brought home to me very forcibly after a year’s time.
“It was by one of his best friends, although many years his junior. He
had long treated me with a great deal of consideration, but I never felt it
was more than the ordinary courtesy that one friend would show to the
wife of another until that night.
“We had been dancing together and he took me to the conservatory to
rest and sat down beside me to talk. Perhaps I was unusually tired that
night, or perhaps, owing to the round of gayety, I looked worn. At any
rate Mr. Mansfield leaned over me with an air of anxiety and said,
‘Lucile, are you sure you are quite well tonight?’
“‘Why, yes, of course I am,’ I responded, laughingly. ‘Why?’
 “‘You look thoroughly disconsolate tonight. Are you worrying about
something? About—about Chauncey and his doings?’
“‘About Chauncey and his doings? Why, what do you mean? Why
should I? He is perfectly well, isn’t he?’
“‘Yes, his physical health is good, but you surely know that he is
drinking hard, and his neglect of you is occasioning a great deal of
comment. It isn’t right, and we all feel it.’
“‘Why, I hadn’t thought about it,’ I said, ‘only that he was very busy.’
“‘Do you mean to say you don’t know the way he has been doing.
Why, I could take you to him this very minute.’
“My face burned, my heart began to throb violently. Tears of anger
slowly welled up and overflowed my eyes. And yet I really could not
comprehend it all.
“‘You must be mistaken, Horace. Surely Chauncey loves me still. We
have never had any cross words or misunderstandings.’
“It may have been pique at my incredulity that made him say
suddenly, ‘Lucile, come with me. Get your wraps and come, and put on a
heavy veil. I will show you.’
“Mechanically I obeyed him. We entered his carriage together and
drove, miles and miles, it seemed to me. I was very nervous and
trembled violently. Horace tried to reassure me and stroked my hand
tenderly.
“‘Brace up, little girl,’ he said; ‘you need all your strength for the
ordeal before you. Perhaps I have done wrong to tell you this or to take
you where you can see it, but you are too young, too good to be treated
in this manner and you ought to see for yourself the depth of his
depravity.’
“‘Do you think I will be any happier for being disillusioned?’ I asked.
‘Would it not have been better for me to have gone on blindly trusting?
Oh, why did you tell me, why did I come, anyway?’
“‘If you wish to, we will return at once.’
“‘No, I must see it through to the bitter end. I could never be happy
again now, knowing even as much as I do.’
 “We drew up in front of a large house ablaze with light. We alighted,
rang the bell, and were ushered into a sumptuously furnished parlor.
Everything that was picturesque met the eye. Beautiful pictures and
statues, elegant furniture and beautiful women, elaborately attired, and
behind the palms in the corner was an orchestra. Everything combined to
make the scene enchanting. I clung bewildered to Horace’s arm.
“He led me to a small room off a large salon, where there were many
tables. It was a scene of wild revelry, wine flowed freely and the air was
heavy with the odor of many flowers. Horace pointed out a table near the
center of the room. Seated at this table were two women and a man. The
women were horribly made up and gowned in extreme decollete gowns,
only fit for the most formal affair, and were laughing boisterously at
something.
“When the man turned his head I recognized my husband, and as I
gazed he placed his hand on the exposed chest of one of his blasé
companions, and patted it just as he had mine a thousand times when we
first married. The spectacle was too revolting for words. I gave a slight
scream. But Horace had anticipated some such occurrence and pressed
my face against his broad shoulder. When I had partially recovered my
normal condition we left. Back home—yes, now a home no longer! Back
to the place where I had known so many happy days. Horace bade me
good-night in the reception hall.
“‘Lucile,’ said he, ‘you don’t know how sorry I am to have been the
one to change the whole tenor of your life, but it was more honorable in
me, was it not, than to maintain silence?’
“‘Yes,’ I said, calmly.
“I went into the library and took a new magazine from the table, sat
down and waited. Two o’clock, three o’clock, four o’clock and still no
Chauncey. My eyes were glued to the clock; 4:15 and I heard a step. I
half rose in my nervous expectancy and was appalled to see an arm
uplifted over me as to strike. I threw up my right hand, which held the
paper knife, to ward off the blow which seemed imminent.

“When I returned to consciousness I was lying on a couch by the

window, my head was dizzy and the room was filled with imaginary
voices. I wondered where I could be; then the occurrences of the
previous night passed before me in rapid succession. I jumped up and the
sight which met my eyes froze the blood in my veins.
“There weltering in his own life blood, with the steel paper knife
buried in his throat, lay Horace.
“Words cannot express the agony of the hours that followed. I
managed to arouse the servants and they called the police. They asked
me to explain, but they could not get a satisfactory explanation from me.
I did not know how it all happened and I was mentally incapable of
doing myself justice in telling what I knew. My account was so confused
that I was remanded to jail without bail, pending my trial. Oh, those
awful days! Not a friend came to see me. While I was living in affluence
I had scores of friends, but now that I was in trouble and disgrace there
was not one of all the number that would take me by the hand.”
“But where was your husband all this time?”
“Yes, you may well ask.
“When they questioned him as to his whereabouts on that night, he
proved an alibi. He gave a detailed account of his doings every hour of
that night and, while it did not redound to his credit, it saved him from
the penitentiary, and nearly sent me there.
“There were three reasons why I was cleared. Firstly, they could prove
no motive for the act; secondly, it seemed impossible for a woman to
strike such a powerful blow; and last, but not least, the efficiency of my
counsel.
“He was an entire stranger to me. He had read the newspaper accounts
of the affair, which stated, among other things, that I had no counsel, and
his sympathies were aroused. He took up my case with no prospect of
compensation.”
“But, tell me, what became of your husband and who killed Horace?”
“That mystery was not solved until six months ago. I had come to
Chicago after the trial was over to get away from all the old
environments and the old scenes, in the most miserable health. I found
employment here and as soon as my mind became occupied with other
things I began to recover. One day I received a telegram which had been
forwarded from place to place in search of me. It came from my
husband’s physician, and told me to come at once, as Chauncey was
dying, and it was his last request that they find me and bring me there at
any cost. I went and he confessed before witnesses that he was guilty of
the crime for which I had been arrested.
“It seems that Horace never left the house that night, fearing, I
suppose, that I might do myself some injury. He saw Chauncey come in
intoxicated, and fearing he might do me bodily harm he ran in to warn
me. It must have been his raised arm, silently motioning me to fly, which
I, in my dazed condition, mistook for Chauncey, and in fear threw up my
arm for protection, then fainted. Chauncey staggered in and the sight of
Horace there with me so angered him that he picked up the first thing he
could lay his hands on, which chanced to be the paper knife, and in his
drunken rage he killed him.
“The sight of his crime sobered him and self-protection was his first
thought. He placed me on the couch, never stopping to revive me, and
fled, leaving me to my fate.
“Ah, well,” she shuddered, “it is all over now. He died repentant in my
arms, begging me to forgive him with his last breath.
“Tomorrow I marry Mr. Graves, the attorney who defended me, and
God grant that I may be happy. I shall try to deserve it.”
“Amen,” said I.
 TALE FOURTEEN.
MY LOVER’S DAUGHTER.

“He
That kills himself to avoid misery, fears it;
And at the best shows but a bastard valor.”

Dear Stella:—How strange that you should write me; do you know,
girlie, that it has been almost five years since we have had any
correspondence?
It was only yesterday that I got out all of your old letters and re-read
them, then put them away with the forlorn hope that I might sometime
hear from you again. The last letter that I had from you told me of your
engagement to Alfred, and cruel, heartless creature that I was, I did not
even answer. I wrote you once since then, that was after my trouble. I did
not tell you what it was, but told you that I would if you felt interested.
You did not answer my letter and I, of course, took it for granted that you
did not wish to be burdened with the knowledge of my misfortune, so
never wrote you again. And now, bless your dear heart, you have written
after so long, and in just the same sweet way as of old, even though you
have so recently undergone such a great bereavement. You are a widow.
How strange! And I am still unmarried, and have taken a vow to remain
so always.
Oh, how I long to visit you and go over all the old, happy days which
we lived together. You ask me to tell you all that has happened to me.
Well, nothing has occurred to change the humdrum existence of my life
since I came here to live. I have worked every working day but five
during my residence here. You well remember when I went to California
to spend the winter. It was the winter I was twenty, and I think you know
that when we parted, with the vow that we would write each other all our
joys and sorrows, that I left heart whole. I have not kept my word in full,
but will now endeavor to cover all important points. I arrived in San
Francisco on schedule time, and was so delighted with the climate, the
fragrant flowers and singing birds that I do not wonder that I was ready
to admire the first man whose conduct and appearance was on par with
the beauties of nature that abounded everywhere.
 Still I knew better than to fall in love, for I was given to understand by
mamma that I was to marry Harry Caruthers. I fairly hated him, and
besides he was papa’s nephew, and I always had a horror of blood
relations intermarrying. Mamma said that did not matter, and Harry
would be a very wealthy man some day. And you remember mamma,
too. She was one of those sweet, dignified, haughty women who needed
nothing but her own opinion to conclude an argument, and this with all
due respect.
Well, I fully understood that to apprise them of the fact that I had
become greatly interested in any one man, save that red faced Caruthers,
meant that my visit would suddenly terminate and that I would return to
cold, cold Wisconsin, to face the storms for the rest of the winter.
It was only the girlish ingenuity then which prompted me to omit the
name of Capt. Elerding from all my letters for more than three months
after I had met him. Oh, he was so good and kind, so considerate of my
welfare, and I think the most refined gentleman I ever met. I would not
blame any woman for falling in love with him. I fell desperately in love
with him and, strange to say, without any solicitation on his part. He
never once told me that he loved me, but I knew it by his every glance
and his every act. The feeling became so strong within me that I decided
that sooner or later he would propose to me, and as I did not care to run
any chance of losing him by asking him to wait, I thought I should at
least get some expression from my parents in regard to the attachment
which had sprung up.
I wrote to mamma. My letter brought a hasty reply refusing to tolerate
the attentions of any one, and a request for a full and complete
description of the handsome captain. I took the command as a matter of
course, for mamma wanted to have Harry Caruthers for a son-in-law.
Out of courtesy to my parents, I drew a pen picture of Captain
Elerding. I told how gallant, how handsome, how brave, how popular,
how genteel, and even how old he was. I elaborated upon his good
qualities with the zeal of a loving girl. I left the age till the last, for I
knew that when my parents learned that he was forty-five and quite gray
that it would have the effect of a bomb bursting in camp; but of course
the gray hair was caused by the many years of service for his country.
Think of it! He was so devoted to his country that he had never been
married, so there was no danger of my having to assume the
responsibility of mother to a lot of grown up sons and daughters.
 This description of the charming captain brought a telegram to me
saying: “Inez Manford, come home on first train.”
It was signed by both my mother and father. I did not quite understand
it, but wired back: “Delayed, see letter.”
Then I wrote my parents a letter, explaining that Captain Elerding was
expecting a party of friends soon and very much wished me to extend my
visit another month, and with their consent I should be delighted to do
so. The reply to that letter was mamma herself. She came post haste and
superintended the packing of my trunks with such dispatch that we were
east bound seven hours after her arrival in ’Frisco. I asked to be allowed
to introduce the captain, believing his winning ways would capture
mamma’s heart. She was obdurate and refused to see him or allow me to
see him.
It was two days after we arrived home before I could steal away alone
long enough to write him. I think the letter only increased the desire to
talk with him, and I resolved to run away and return to him. I felt sure he
would lose no time in making me his wife if he had but a chance, and I
would be the gainer, for he was very wealthy, in fact, more so by far than
Harry Caruthers ever would be, and, more than all, I knew we would be
happy.
I stole out into the darkness of the night after everybody had retired. I
knew that the Limited stopped to take water just at the edge of town,
about a mile from our house.
Through the biting cold I forged my way, dodging from one alley to
another, until the railroad tracks were reached, then a long line of green
and red lights guided me to where I caught the train as it was pulling out,
and I was soon speeding to my dear captain.
The time seemed to drag so slowly, each day seeming longer than the
one before, until I reached my destination. I took a carriage and went
directly to the captain’s hotel. I asked for him, but no one seemed to be
able to talk to me; everyone was excited beyond reason. I finally got the
attention of the clerk long enough to learn that the chambermaid had just
discovered Captain Elerding in his room, dead.
In his strong, right hand was still clenched the deadly pistol. The ugly
hole in his temple and the powder burns around it told the story. In front
of him were two papers, one a letter from my mother in which she
upbraided him unmercifully for having cultivated my acquaintance. The