Белая птичка

           Sheenterednoneofthem,butpacedslowlyandshrinkingfromobservationupanddownthestreet,averyfigureofshame;andneverhadIthoughttoreadshameinthesweetfaceofMaryA——.HadIcrossedtoherandpronouncedhernameIthinkitwouldhavefelledher,andyetsheremainedthere,waiting.I,too,waswaitingforhim,wonderingifthiswastheman,orthis,orthis,andIbelieveIclutchedmystick.

           DidIsuspectMary?Oh,surelynotforamomentoftime.Buttherewassomefoolishnesshere;shewascomewithouttheknowledgeofherhusband,asherfurtivemannerindicated,toameetingshedreadedandwasashamedtotellhimof;shewascomeintodanger;thenitmustbetosave,notherselfbuthim;thefollytobeconcealedcouldneverhavebeenMary’s.Yetwhatcouldhavehappenedinthepastofthathonestboyfromtheconsequencesofwhichshemightshieldhimbyskulkinghere?Couldthatlaughofhishavesurvivedadishonour?Theopenforehead,thecurlylocks,thepleasantsmile,thehundredingratiatingwayswhichwecarrywithusoutofchildhood,theymayallremainwhentheinnocencehasfled,butsurelythelaughofthemorningoflifemustgo.Ihaveneverknownthedevilretainhisgriponthat.

           ButMarywasstillwaiting.Shewasnolongerbeautiful;shamehadpossessionofherface,shewasanuglywoman.Thentheentanglementwasherhusband’s,andIcursedhimforit.Butwithoutconviction,for,afterall,whatdidIknowofwomen?Ihavesomedistantmemoriesofthem,somevaininventions.