By the Light of the Soul

elf-satisfaction, who is yet aware of its own limits. She was so unemotional as to be almost abnormal, but she had head enough to realize the fact that absolute unemotionlessness in a woman de

ith a semblance of delight which was quite perfect. She was, in reality, less deceptive in that respect than in others. She had a degree of the joy of possession, or she would not have been a woman at all, and, in fact, would not have married. She had wanted a home and a husband; not as some women want them, for the legitimate desire for love and protection, but because she felt a degree of mortification on account of her single estate. She had had many admirers, but, although

e she outlived him. He owned his house, and she had herself her little savings, well invested. She then considered that they could live up to Harry's income without much risk, and she proceeded to do so. It was not long before the saturnine Hungarian, who could have provided a regiment of her own countrymen with the co

as really happening. She began to take a certain pleasure in the excitement. She heard one woman say to another how pretty she was, "poor little thing," and her heart throbbed with satisfaction. She felt at once beautiful and appealing to other people, because of her misfortunes. She turned the chocolate carefully, and put some whipped-cream on top of each dainty cup; and, for the first time since her father's marriage, she was not consciously unhappy. She glanced across the table at the other little girl, Amy Long, who was dark, and wore a pink bow on her hair, and she was sure that she herself was much prettier. Then, too, Amy had not the sad distinction of having lost her mother, and having a step-mother thrust upon her in a year's time. It is true that

the mortification of realizing that her simulation of emotion failed her. Harry did not like his wife's singing. He felt like a traitor, but he could not help realizing that he did not like it. But the moment Ida stopped singing, he looked at her, and fairly wondered that he had married such a beautiful creature. He felt humble before her. Humility was not a salutary condition of mind for him, but this woman inspired it now, and would still more in the f

t out together he felt like a lackey in attendance on an empress. In his own home, it came to pass that he seldom made a remark when guests were present without a covert glance at his wife to see what she thought o

ood deal of her mother in her. Finally, she never looked at Ida when she said anything. She was ful

perfluous, although Ida never made any especial effort to entertain her father that Maria could see. She was fond of fancy-work, and was embroidering a silk gown for herself. She embroidered while Harry read the paper. She did not talk much. Maria used to wonder that her father did not find it dull when he and She were alone together of an evening. She looked at him reading his paper, with frequent glances of admiration over it at his beautiful wife, and thought that in his place, she should much prefer a woman like her mother, who had kept things lively, even without company, and even in a somewhat questionable fashion. However, Har

is getting t

hin when they are growing tall. I did myself. I was much thinner than Mar

hin to me," Harry

h also. Ida was not at all anxious. She was perfectly placid. It did not seem to her that an overruling Providence could possibly treat her unkindly. She was rat

seemed to her more charming than ever, although so thin, in the glass, and reflect, with a pleasant acquiescence, on an early death.

he expressed it as his opinion that she ought to have a change of air the moment school closed. The doctor said Maria was running down, w

s I'm running d

awful bad," r

and wondered if he had noticed how badly she looked, and yet how charming. All at once the boy shot a glance at her in return; then he blushed and scowled and took up his book. It all co

re Maria went, and just before her school closed, the broad gossip of the school came to her ears. She ascertained something which filled her at once with awe, and shame, and jealousy, and indignation. If one of the girls began t

patience which at times turns to fierceness, of a man with a brain above his sphere, who has had to stand and toil in a shoe-factory for his bread and butter all his life. He was non-complainant because of a sort of stern pride, and a sense of a just cause against Providence, but he was very kind to Maria; he petted her as if she had been his own child. Every pleasant night Uncle Henry took

, she has fixed your clot

help saying that much. She did not want Aunt Maria to think her step-

hire all these things

es

ing to stand it. I'd like to know what your p

front. After all, she was her f

er is making more m

(Aunt Maria also treated Ida like a pronoun) had just one hundred

ember, she was quite rosy and blooming. She had also fallen in love with a boy who lived next to Aun

brother Henry and Maria were with her on the porch. It was a warm night, and Aunt Maria wore an ancient muslin. The sout

er brother Hen

lushed and paled. S

d, "you've got

much more company for you than a li

mbled and felt cold, alth

ds," said Aunt Mar

in New York. He looked strange to her. He was jubilant, and yet the marks of anxiety were deep. He

s Evelyn,"

her father were crossing the

y name, dear?" asked Harry, with

it is a very silly

d I thought it a ver

er, and realized that it was something to have him to herself without Her, while crossing the city. "I don't kno

ssed her. "Father's ow

, for she had in reality never liked Eve

l turn out for the best," said Harry, as the cab stopped. Harr

aria, for she spoke no English, and nobody except Ida could understand her. She was elderly, small, and of a damaged blond type. Maria approached Ida and kissed her. Ida looked at her, smiling. Then she asked if she had had a pleasant summer. She told the nurse, in French, to show the baby to her. Maria approached the nurse timidly. The flannel was carefully laid aside, and the small, piteously inquiring and puzzled face, the inquiry and the bewilderment e

tle darling?" as

" repli

in the least seem to Maria as if it were Ida's baby. She had a vague impression, derived she could not tell in what manner, of a rosebud laid on a gatepost. Ida did not seem conscious of her baby with the woodeny cons

n't you think it is a p

door. The nurse, tossing the wailing baby, r

Monday, and all the girls as

edly. She did not wish to descry the baby which was, after all

l look alike," said she. "We've had nine

d Ida might have sense enough to stop it. She thought that she could stop its crying herself, by carrying it very gently around the room. Still she did not love the baby. It only appealed, in a general way, to her instincts. But one day, when the baby was some six weeks old, and Ida had gone to New York, she came home fro

ket. Maria bent over it, and the baby at once stopped crying. She opened her mouth in a toothless smile, and she held up little, waving pink hands to Maria. Maria lifted the baby out of her basket an