Having despatched this she felt as though she would be glad to die.
Life seemed so flat, and her condition so humiliating. Her love for
Emil was dead; the union of their souls was broken; what was there to
look forward to? Yet she knew that she must not stop to repine or to
indulge in self-pity. The stern necessity of winning bread for her
children confronted her and must be faced at once and resolutely. In
this she must find happiness and fresh inspiration. It was her duty to
close the ears and eyes of her soul to the voices and visions of the
past. Hard work would save her brain from giving way, and hard work
only. What should that work be? What was she to do? In the first
glow of her pride, revolting at the slight which her husband had put
upon her, the way had seemed easy, but viewed in the sober light of
reality it bristled with difficulties. Yet now, as she pondered and
realized what failure would mean, her spirit rose to meet them, and
immediate needs forced sorrow to the background.
Where was she to find work? Since the receipt of her husband's letter
everything outside her own emotions had been a blank to her; her gaze
had been solely introspective. Conscious now of the need of action and
of renewing her contact with the world, she took up the newspaper,
yesterday's issue of which lay unopened on the table, and began to
examine the page of advertisements for employment. She must find at
once something which would provide her with ready money. Only through
friends and only after delay could she hope to obtain a kindergarten
position; it would take time and instruction to learn typewriting; she
was not sufficiently proficient in languages or music to offer herself
as a teacher. She could become a domestic servant or a shopgirl. In
the former case it would be necessary to board out her children, to
give them to some institution, perhaps, a prospect which wrung her
heart; in the latter she could be with them at night, but who would
look after and guard them during the day? What did other women do
whose husbands ran away and left them? The long list of people out of
work was appalling, and few of the opportunities offered seemed to fit
her circumstances. Someone was seeking employment as a seamstress.
She might take in sewing. This perhaps was the most feasible
suggestion. She was handy at plain sewing, and a little practice would
doubtless render her skilful. Yes, she would try this, and in order to
obtain a start would solicit work from some of the neighbors, if needs
be. The neighbors? They did not know as yet of her misfortune--her
disgrace, for it was a disgrace to be forsaken by her husband. It
would be necessary to tell them. What should she say? Entertaining
sadly this necessity of an avowal, she glanced over the rest of the
newspaper, and came suddenly upon a paragraph which informed her that
her misfortune was already public. Prefaced by offensive headlines,
"Emil Stuart disappears from Benham! What has become of Mrs. Morgan's
mortgage money?" the wretched story stood exploited to the world.
Constance read and the cup of her distress and humiliation overflowed.
It needed only this insinuation of dishonesty to complete her misery.
Her husband an embezzler? Where should she hide her head? Nor was
there comfort in the reporter's closing effort at euphemism: "One or
two acquaintances of the late candidate for aldermanic honors, when
apprised of his mysterious disappearance, expressed the belief that his
seeming irregularities would be explained to the satisfaction of all
concerned; but a gentleman, whose name we are not at liberty to
disclose, hazards an opinion, based on personal observation, that Mr.
Stuart has been premeditating this step for several weeks, and is a
fugitive from justice. The circumstance that his wife and two children
have been left behind in Benham invites the further inquiry whether he
has also abandoned his family. There are rumors that Mr. Stuart's
domestic relations were not altogether harmonious."
Constance let the newspaper slip from her hands. Her cheeks burned
with shame. This was the last straw. Her husband a defaulter, and her
relations with him the subject of common newspaper gossip. As she
stood spell-bound by this new phase of misfortune the door-bell rang.
A visitor. Who could it be? Some sympathetic or curious neighbor who
had read of her calamities. Or more probably the writer of the
newspaper article coming to probe into her misery in search of fresh
copy. For a moment she thought that she would not answer the call, and
she waited hoping that whoever it was would go away. Again the bell
rang, this time sharply. It might be something important, even a
telegram from Emil to clear himself. Picking up the newspaper she
concealed it hastily, then stepped into the passage and opened the door
slightly.
"May I come in?" asked a strong, friendly voice.
"Oh yes, Mr. Prentiss; excuse me," she faltered. She had recognized at
once who her visitor was, but so many bewildering things had happened
that she stood for a moment irresolute, refusing to credit her own
senses. As she opened wide the door, the clergyman strode in
fearlessly as though he realized that the situation must be carried by
storm. Entering the parlor, he put out his hand and said with manly
effusion:
"I have come to ask you to let me help you, Mrs. Stuart."
"Sit down, please. You are very kind. I----"
Her words choked her, and she stopped.
"I saw by the newspaper yesterday that you were in trouble. I do not
wish to pry into your affairs, but I thought that you might be glad of
the counsel of a friend."
His visit was precious balm to her spirit, but, despite her gratitude,
the knowledge that he was heaping the traditional coals of fire on her
head made her uncomfortable. She had choked from mingled relief and
mortification. But now her finer instinct responded to the kindness of
his words and she said with simple directness: "I should like to tell
you everything, Mr. Prentiss. My husband left a week ago. He does not
intend to return. I have a letter from him, and he--he does not wish
to live with me any longer. He was willing to support the children,
but I could not make up my mind to let them go. Our money is all gone
and this house is mortgaged. If you will help me to find work so that
I can support them and myself, I shall be very grateful. It was very
good of you to come to see me."
The children, attracted by the voice of a stranger, had run in and
stood one on either side of their mother staring at him shyly with
cherubic eyes. The clergyman said to himself that here was a veritable
Madonna of distress--this lithe, nervous-looking woman with her slim
figure and soulful face. How pretty and neat she looked in spite of
her misery! How engaging were the tones in which she had set forth her
calamity! He had always admired her, and it had been a disappointment
to him that she had strayed. There was almost jubilation in his heart
as he heard that she was free from the wretch who had pulled her down;
and though he intended to temper the ardor of the priest by the tact of
a man of the world, he could not entirely restrain his impulse to
stigmatize her husband. "I see," he said. "You are much to be pitied.
It is a cruel wrong; the act of a coward. But you must not take your
trouble too much to heart, Mrs. Stuart, for the man who will leave a
sweet wife and tender children from mere caprice is no real husband and
father."
"Mr. Stuart has had much to worry him of late. He has lost money, and
been unfortunate in politics." Her impulse was to apologize for her
husband even then. "I cannot understand though how he could leave us,"
she added. After all why should she a second time on Emil's account
set her face against the truth in the presence of this true friend?
Emil was a coward, and his act was a cruel wrong.
But Mr. Prentiss had recovered his aplomb. "I will not distress you by
talking about him; he has gone. The matter with which I am concerned
is how to help you. We must find you employment at once."
Constance regarded him gratefully. "That is my great requirement just
now, Mr. Prentiss. I need work to keep my children from starving and
to help me to forget. I am not afraid of work. I shall be glad to do
anything for which I am fit."
"I understand, I understand. It is the pride of my church to help just
such women as you to help themselves. You need give yourself no
concern as to your immediate pecuniary needs. They will be provided
for. I will send the Deaconess to you at once."
The directness of his bounty, the plain intimation that she was a
subject for charity brought a flush to her cheeks. But she knew in an
instant that it would be false pride to protest. There was no food or
money in the house.
"Thank you," she said simply.
Mr. Prentiss divined her reluctance and appreciated the delicacy of her
submission. He recognized that this woman with wistful brown eyes and
nervous, intelligent face was no ordinary person--was even more
deserving than he had supposed, and his thoughts were already busy with
the problem of her future. He must find just the right thing for her.
"I know, of course, that you wish to become self-supporting as soon as
possible," he said. "Will you tell me a little more about yourself and
your capabilities? You came to Benham a few months before your
marriage to fit yourself to be a kindergarten teacher, if I remember
aright?"
During the momentary pause which preceded this inquiry her conscience
had been reasserting itself. She had longed for counsel and here it
was. If she had erred, there was yet time to repair her fault.
"Before we talk of that, may I ask you one question, Mr. Prentiss? I
wish to know if you think it was selfish of me to keep both the
children. I desire to do what is right this time, whatever it cost
me." She clasped her hands resolutely in her lap as though she were
nerving herself for a sacrifice. "I hope you will tell me exactly what
you think."
The clergyman's heart warmed at this revelation of spiritual vigor.
"Here is a soul worth helping," he reflected. Then, in answer to her
appeal, he exclaimed with righteous emphasis: "Ask your own heart, my
dear woman. Would you dare trust these babies to your husband's
keeping? This is a problem of right and wrong, and demands a severing
of the sheep from the goats. You may banish that doubt forever."
Constance dropped her eyes to hide the tears of satisfaction which had
sprung into them at his words. Her children were safe. The counsel
given was the very echo of the test by which she had justified herself
toward Emil. "Excuse me," she said in apology for her emotion. Then
looking up she added with tremulous brightness, "I felt that I must be
sure before anything else was decided. And now to answer your question
as to my own capabilities: I have none. I am eager to learn, and I
have had some education--my father was fond of books and had a
library--but I tell you frankly that there is nothing but the simplest
manual work for which I am fitted at the present time. I have thought
that all over."
"So far so good. Much of the trouble of this world proceeds from the
inability of people to discern for what they are not fitted. Can you
sew?"
"I can do plain sewing satisfactorily."
"We will begin with that then. It will keep you busy for the time
being. Meanwhile I shall have an opportunity to consider what you had
best undertake." He rose and put out his hand with spontaneous
friendliness. "Good-by. God bless you. You are a brave soul, and He
will not desert you or leave you comfortless."
Constance quickened at the firm pressure, and her own fingers
acknowledged the interest which it expressed. She looked into his eyes
with frank confidence. "You have come to me at a time when I needed
someone more than ever before in my life. I shall never forget it."
Mr. Prentiss nodded and turned to go as though he would disclaim this
expression of everlasting obligation. He felt that he was about his
Master's business, and was seeking neither thanks nor praise. Yet,
while he deprecated her gratitude, her entire mental attitude caused
him ethical and æsthetic satisfaction. The conviction that this ward
of the church was worth saving and helping gave elasticity to his step
and erectness to his large figure as he strode up the street, knocking
now and again some bit of orange peel or other refuse from the sidewalk
with a sweep of his cane, which suggested a spirit eager to do battle
in behalf of righteousness.