termined to put the Atlantic between him and herself, and how
he hopelessly collapsed when the news reached him that death had
been speedier than he and that she, who had left him in anger,
had found rest for herself and child upon the sands of the sea.
His head sank deeply upon his breast. The fire was dying, the
coals had burned to a heap of ashes. He shivered. He stroked
the hair away from his damp forehead and glanced fearfully about
the cold and cheerless chamber. 'Twas cold, dark and desolate,
and just such had his life been for years. Ah, what knew he of
love ?
He rallied himself and arose. The room was unendurable, so,
taking his hat and cane, he stepped outside. While he was turn
ing the key in the lock something arrested him. What was that ?
It sounded like a shrill cry of anguish. He held his breath. All
was silent. Was it a dream ? But, no ! The door upstairs was
violently thrown open, he heard loud wailing, and then someone
came wildly leaping down the stairs. He felt himself violently
pushed aside and heard opening and closing of doors below; heard
loud but fruitless calls for help, and then the rapid return. He
stepped forward. It was Rosa, her hair flung wildly back and
her face full of terror. She saw StOger and then rushed towards
" She is dying, she is dying !" she gasped. "0, help ! The
landlady 1 I can't find her. I must run for the doctor I Go up I"
She seized the motionless Stoger and shook him. "Go help her,
help her 1 I'm going for the doctor I" And without another
word she ran out into the cold and darkness.
Stiiger stood for a moment as though dumb, and then rushed
up the stairs. The little corridor was dark but the loud cries of
the children directed his steps. Opening the door he looked with
confusion upon the scene before him. In the middle of the room,
upon the floor, lay a young woman. The dark tresses of her head
were loose and hung about the deathly pale countenance; the
lips were compressed as with pain and the closed eyes were sur
rounded by dark circles. Upon . the table stood some porcelain
vases and bowls, colors and brushes; she had apparently fallen
over while at work. Close beside the inanimate figure of the
woman were the three children, who were stroking and caressing
with their warm little hands the cold cheeks of their mother,
vainly trying to raise her, and crying as though their little hearts
The Free Lance
[JANUARY,