SENTENCED FOR LIFE. By FLORA HAINES APPONYI, In the Arganaut.

Waikato Times, Volume XXIV, Issue 2018, 13 June 1885, Page 5 (Supplement)

SENTENCED FOR LIFE. By FLORA HAINES APPONYI, In the Arganaut.

" It js thorforo tho judgment of tins «-<mit tli tt rinlji A\cry bo sentenced to confinement in the Mute J'eintentiary dining tho whole term of Ins natural life." Tha words rang like a knell throughout the courtroom. There was a stir among those assembled. Many eyes sought the place occupied by the prisoner's family. Helen Avery sat with atony face in the chair she had occupied for so many days. All through the trial they had bravely fought every inch of ground, but honestly. She would not have it otherwise. From the first she had resolved that she would sanction no equivocation, no evasion. She would plead in his behalf with all the eloquence of a loving woman's h^irt, would prge his irresponsible condition when the crime was committed, the maddening influence of liquor on hia brain, his remorse when he had learned what he had done. She would steadfastly uphold to judge and jury hia many redeeming traits, and endeavor to persuade them that, with this terrible lesson before him, his future would be blameless. All this, and more, she had done, for in their pity they had allowed her to transgreaa formal bounds, and callous hearers had been moved to tears by her fervent appeal. But judge and jury had a duty to perform to society none the less. Tho orirae had been clearly proved— even she must admit that— and, for tho sake of example, a heavy penalty should be imposed upon one who had lightly valued a human life and brought the desolation of bereavement upon a happy home. She dared not look toward the prisoner at the bar. She dared not think of the life that Btretchod out before him. Henceforth these two would be more widely separated than if merely a coffin lid and tho sod were placed between them. Would that for her the pain and agony were forever silenced in the eternal peace that only the dead know. Existence possessed no longer a single charm. Every personal hope and ambition— tmd she had teen an ambitious woman— w.is hopeIfflsly wrecked. There was nothing more to live for. '

Their boy. Ilia father's qamebake I The thought came like a heart-slab, and she turned to find him regarding her with sad, questioning eyes. For his sake, 0 heart, be still ! Let all this inner strife, this bitter robellion be hushed, and help her to lend strength and courage to those little feet in the thorny path they were destined to trend. She stretched out her hand to him with a gesture- that was half-appealing, ''half-sus-taining, and together, with oyea averted from friendly and curious gaze alike, ,they left the court-room. Daring the days that followed, stunned and bnwildered, she was unable to meet and face the future. Meanwhile, her friends, with well-meant zeal, mapped out her course. When she rallied nhe found them unanimous on one point. By availing herself of the law of California she could become a free woman ; ard so, untrummeled even by the odium of his name, she could remove to a distant place, where no knowledge of her husband's sin would follow to oloud her own lifo or check her eon's cereer. They encountered unexpected oppositon. Helen Avery had resolved that in San Francisoo, where the crime had been committed and he had been tried and condemned, they would stay, bis wife and son, and live down ita memory, unshielded by any title save that whioh law and right made theirs. If a name had been disgraced, there was a name to be redeemed. Protests were of no avail. They expostulated with her, cried over her, met her resolution with stern disapproval. They accused her of indifference to her eon's welfare. Her reply was conclusive. " How can I hope to have my son become a brave, honorable man, if our first step is founded upon deceit and cowardice?" Then they dropped her. They did not take it kindly that she could reject their advice ; moreover, a society needs be very irreproachable in itself to defy the menace to its own reputation involved in association with the wife and son of a convict. There were few who remained loyal, but even these found it difficult to express the sympathy they felt. Helen Avery was a woman of resolves — a common enough feminine creation — but possessed of the nerve and ability to execute them, whic*h is rare. She had determined that none of her friends, in their first Hush of sympathetic ardor, should be compromised by an intimacy with her. Only those should be admitted to a close friendship who proved steadfast through the test of time. The years that followed were marked by many sore struggles for mother and son. Intrenching themselves behind an over-sensi-tive pride, the isolation in which they came to live amounted to self-proscription. To many who had known them well in happier days their proud humility seemed like abasement, and, by degrees, others grew accustomed to deny them the respect and consideration to which they seemed to have revoked all claim. When the taunts and jeers of his playmates stung the boy beyond endurance, the mother took him from school and entered with glad zeal upon the education and discipline of the bright young intellect ; and when he went beyond her depth she still accompanied him aa a fellow-student, so that her own mind, day by day, attained a riper culture. As the years advanced he learned to appreciate and honor his mother's course. Her unselfish devotion to him, her pure life, the deeds she quietly and unostentatiously performed, and her complete separation from all that was gross or frivolous, invested her with a peculiar sanctity in his mind. Her true nature appealed to what was finest and best in his own character, and when his soul arose in a noble indignation against the injustice whioh he felt was done her, it was the mother herself who stilled the tumult and taughc him a gallant fortitude which met the affronts of daily life with an armor of steel. Hence it came to pass that, although separated from the companionship of boys of his own age, and borne down with the sad incubus of another's crime, life still ( had its compensations. Was there some secret thought of reparation in the mother's mind which sought to make her son a preseiver of human life ? Not even the boy could tell ; but he entered with onthusiastio liking upon the study of bio profession, and shortly after receiving his degree was appointed physician and surgeon on the Pacific Mail steamship Gorea, regularly ply- , ing between Panama and San Francisco. The peculiar course pur?ued by Helen Avery had served to perpetuate rather than efface the memory of her huaband's crime. Upon the steamer the story was told and re-told as the vessel swept downward into the hot, vibrating air of the tropics, or glided northward mto the cool breezes and invigorating atmosphere off the California coast— told also with exaggerations and embellishments, so that one familiar with the simple facts of the case would scarcely I have recognised it beneath the veil of romance and mystery in which the tele was enshrouded. True or inaocurate, it served its purpose, and helped to while away the monotonous hours of travel. Margery Field, coming up from Panama one hot midsummer, was probably the only passenger on board who had not been entertained with an account of the young surgeon's history. Tossing about on the hard mattrass I in her narrow berth, consumed with a deadly, burning fever, contracted on the Isthmus, she became at length conscious of one face that bent over her more frequently than any other, of a voice which banished the wild delirium that led her reason captive, of a band holding to her lips cold draughts of water to allay the intolerable thirst. When convalescence came at last, strong arms carried her, like a child, to "the deok, where the cool sea-breezes refreshed and restored her. The day before they sailed into port she heard his story, told by a chance acquaintance, ts thejlong, languid pulsations of the sea. The narrator was one of the officious women of the woild, aad she had conceived it to be her duty to enlighten this young stranger. Her auditor listened in silence, but with a curious tightening of the lips. So far as she could, the la% placed the the young surgeon's character in the most unenviable light. She concluded with an insolent query : 11 What do you think of a man with such antecedents presuming to offor ua his services ? " Margery Field unmasked the batteries of a pair of large gray eyes full upon her questioner. " I think he is a hero," she said. It was this knowledge that moved her to step a little beyond the demands of ordinary courtesy and invite him to call upon her in San Francisco. The singular isolation of young Philip Avery's life had by no means made him a susceptible man. His exclusive knowledge of pure womanly nature had rather taught him to be exacting in hU ideal of womanhood. But these influences combined had been paving the way for a powerful absorbing affection for the woman who should some day touoh his heart. And now the time had come. He was honest with himsolf. This frafll girl, over whose sick bed he had watched for a fortnight, would henoeforth be all in all to him. Beyond this he would not go in thought. He had long ago resolved that no other life should ever share his burden and disgrace. Her unexpected cordiality took him unawares. Before he realised what had been aqkod of Mm the invitation had been seconded by her &n Francisco relatives, and an implied acceptance left his lips. A sharp struggle withhimself ensued. He knew these people by repute. They had m-

silled in the cii,y bui a short period. r ,The time was now loag pabi. wheti the deed was committed which bud flung its blight over his youth. Eighteen years had heaped above it the dust and ashes of oblivion. Was he not justified in ignoring it for a while, and reaping what happiness ho could from the opportunities Fate had tlufeg before him ? ' Yielding to this sophistry of the heart, he met her again and again during his periodical vacations, and by degrees became one of the gay circle in whioh she moved. He surprised himself by a newly-revealed gregarious instinct, and assumed his place in society as easily and nonchallantly as if he had held it all his days. He knew that he was playing a falae part, but ha told himself, bitterly, that he alone would be the sufferer. Conscience was stilled, but it only bided its time. Its day of reckoning was drawing near. Upon the list of guest3 invited to a fashionable dinner party the following December, Philip Avery'a name was placed. The occasion was a tribute to a literary man of high repute, sojourning temporarily in the aityThe invited guests included some of the moat aristocratic people in tho community. The young surgeon, whose ship had only come into poit the preceding day, realised the exoeptional honor which had been shown him, and felt as lightly exuberant over it a3 any other young fellow could have keen. He had ceased to question whether t>ocioty received him on false grounds, or would cuange its gracious looks to frowns if his whole history were divulged. It was cnou^a that it had taken him to its bosom, and he basked in the sunshine of its sraile3. The quiet mother watched his preparations to go oat that afternoon with a wistful look. She rejoiced to sec him assuming his rightful place, for to her fond mind no favor which tke social world could confer upon him was beyoad her boy's deserts. But her thoughtful mind forecast the future with a foreboding of pain. Ho stooped and kissett her as ha left the house. " Don't sit up for ins, little mother. It may be very late when I come home." The hostess of the evening, with rare good taßte, had refrained from introducing her distinguished guest to a company too strongly tinctured with congenial spirits, who would have en-gaged him in dry philosophical discussions, or devoted their energies to ascertaining his opinions on various popular questions. Indeed, she had drawn together aoirdle of people, who, combined, presented a typioal pioture of San Francisco life among the better classes. There was an agreeable sprinkling of wit and learning, and a slight flavour of genius, but a large proportion of the company was composed of men and wame« of no great inteleotual pretensions, with a considerable number of young and charming girls. Margery Field, with fair, pure face, dhone like a star among the rest. Conversation progressed p^a^antTy and harmoniously. The young physician found himself seated beside Margery Field, while the lion of the day, separated from them by nearly the length of the table, was surrounded by a bevy of merry girls wh« engaged him in animated conversation. With a morbid tendency to dwell on sober topics at the most unseasonable moments, one of them at length precipitated a discussion of a pet theme With the man of letters. The debate grew warm 6nd excited. At last, topaled upon the horns of a dilemma, the young lady turned to find an ally. " I will appeal to " — her eye roved round the table, and rested on Philip's intelligent face — " Dr. Avary." " Ani not appffaj in vain ! What is the question ? " he gayly responded. " My friend, Miss Van Husen, and I have n little difference of opinion, and she oalls upoa Db. Avery to act as umpire," lightly >eturned the learned guest. " The question is whether the punishmeut of a fel«n should be directed with reference to tho protfcion of society, or to the reformation of the glilty." All <$res turned to PMlip Ayery. There were many present who waited in dread and suspense, praying that ho would dismiss lha matter with a light and inrdfffetent response. In the instant that elap3ed beEore he spoke, ha grasped the whole situation and weighed tha alternatives open ta him. Only one course lay before him as an honorable man. If he wished to preserve a vestige of aelf-respeot it was his duty, at no matter what oost, to thei. and there confess his misfortune. He pushed his chair back and roae to his feet, a pallor on his face like that of a man in mortal agony. Gazing at his questioner with the absent eyes of a man absorbed in bitter inner strife, he quietly replied : " I fear you do not know that I am a oonvict's son." A servant who had entereo" a few moments before and stood by the hostess' side, biding his time to speak, staring in open-mouthed astonishment the while, now made himself heard. 11 A message for Dr. Avery," he announced. Bowing to his hostC33 wtth a grave decision whioh seemed to anticipate and repel any commiseration, Philip Avery retired, apparently more composed than the company he left. Tne call came horn a poor woman whose child he had once treated when he was acting as physician for a charitable sooiety. Hearing that he was in town, she had sent for him in her need. It was a strange proceeding, but she did not send in vain. The place was a miserable hovel on Telegraph Hill. The case was one of those wretched instances frequently brought to the noMce of philanthropic societies. The drumen father had been arrested while beating nis wife and dispatched to jail. The scene in the room when the doctor arrived beggared description. What little furniture there wa3 had been flung about in the man's insane rage until not a whole chair remained upoa whicli the wretched wife, carrying a aiekly infant in her arms, could rest. In its hopeless accumulation of filth the apartment rivalled the Augean stable!. On a heap of offensive rags in the corner a sick child lay, moaning at every breath. The physician bent gravely over the child, examining her as tenderly as if she had been the daughter of wealthy patrons. The closest observer would have declared that his whole soul was absorbed in the case. His diagnosis complete, he gave her appropriate remedies and quited the half-dcmenfcd mother. With the assistance of respectable neighbors who had appeared on the scene, the room vu partially oleaned, a fire kindled in the stove, and fresh bedding procured. With his own hands the doctor bathed the little sufferer and put clean garments en her. Whep he left it was long past midnight, and the child had fallen into a quite sleep. On reaching home he opened the front door with his latch-key and stepped into the cosy parlor. Drawing a match from his pocket, he lighted a single burner of the chandelier. Secure from any human gaze, at last the mask dropped from his face. Rising from a low chair besido the fire-plaoe, his mother stood and confronted him. " Philip ! " Her voice was sharp •with »gony. •• Yes, mother," he replied. Her fears ware realized. At last tho iron had entered hit soul. (To be cc'Mnued.)

"You may speak," said * fond mother, "about people having strength of mind, but when it comes to strea^th of doa't mind my spn William surpasses evajrbod'y I *toe taewr— Bfoomngton Eye.