ARTHUR
98

The sadness that afflicts unhappy parents is an outrageous and hopeless kind that is completely incompatible with thought. Some incoherent movements and screams, which tore at the soul, were followed by a deep fainting. She drowned on the floor, pale and lifeless like her baby.

I don't need to describe the pain that such a scene was adapted to produce in me. This was made more acute by the helpless and ambiguous situation in which I was placed. I was eager to provide comfort and help, but I was poor at everything. I was plunged into uncertainty and doubt. I looked at the baby and his mother in turn. I sighed. I cried. I even cried. I bowed and grabbed the lifeless hand of the sufferer. I bathed her with my tears, and exclaimed, "Woman of bad luck! an unhappy mother! what should I do to relieve you? How am I supposed to blunt the edge of this catastrophe, and save you from a new evil?"

At this moment the apartment door opened, and the younger ones of the women I saw below entered. His appearance betrayed his deepest fear and anxiety. His eyes were momentarily glued to the rotten form and sad face of Clemenza . He shuddered at this spectacle, but was silent. He stood in the middle of the floor, fluctuating and confused. I dropped the hand I was holding, and approached it.

"You came," I said, "in a good season. I don't know you, but I'll believe you're good. You may have a heart, not be free from corruption, but still be able to pity the misery of others. You have a hand that does not reject his help to the unhappy. Look; there's a baby that died. There was a mother whose grief, for a time, was the loss of life. He has been bullied and betrayed; robbed about his property and reputation, but not for innocence. He deserves help. Do you have a hand to take it? Do you have the sympathy, protection, and home to give to a sad, betrayed, and unhappy stranger? I don't know what this house is; I guess it's no better than a brothel. I don't know what treatment this woman has received. When his situation and desires are ascertained, will you meet his needs? Will you save him from the evil that may accompany his continuation here? "

He was confused and confused by this address. At length he said, "Everything that has happened, everything I have heard and seen, is so unexpected, so strange, that I am amazed and confused. Your conduct I cannot understand, or your motives for delivering this speech to me. I can't answer you, except for one thing. If this woman suffers an injury, I have no part in it. I had no idea of his whereabouts or his situation to date; and whatever protection or assistance he might fairly claim, I was both capable and willing to bestow. I don't live here, but in the city. I only visit this house once in a while."

"Then how!" I exclaimed, with sparkling eyes and festive accents, "You are not extravagant; are you a stranger to the manners of this house, and an opponent of this manners? Don't be a fraud, I beg you. I'm just depending on your appearance and appearance. profession, and this can be disguised."

These questions, which indeed showed childish simplicity, aroused his shock. He looked at me, not sure if I was really or joking. At length he said, "Your speech is so singular, that I was at a loss how to answer it. I'm not going to take the trouble to figure out what it means, but to let you make guesses in your spare time. Who is this woman, and how can I serve her?" After a pause, he continued:— "I can't provide immediate help, and won't stay any longer in this house. There" (putting the card in my hand) "is my name and place of residence. If you want to have a proposal to make, respect this woman, I'll be ready to accept it in my own house." Therefore, he withdrew.

"I mean to go" I said, "but not until I express my gratitude and pleasure at seeing your concern for this sufferer. You consider me brash and heretical, but I am not like that; and hope the day will come. when I will convince you of my goodwill."

"Go!" sidetrack him, with an even more angry tone . "Go now, or I'll treat you as a thief." She now pulled her hand from behind her dress, and showed me the gun. "You will see," he continued, "that I will not be insulted freely. If you don't disappear, I'll shoot you as a robber."

This woman is far from desiring the strength and courage worthy of different genders. His movements and tone of voice were full of energy. They showed a proud and angry spirit. It is clear that he considers himself deeply hurt by my behavior; and is it really certain that his anger is unwarranted? I have filled his house with appalling charges, and these charges may be false. I have compiled it on the basis of evidence as provided by chance; but this evidence, as complex and dubious as human actions and motives, may not be true.

"Maybe," I said, in a calm tone, "I have hurt you; I have mistaken your character. You wouldn't assume I'm less prepared to repair, than do, this injury. My mistake was without any malicious intent, and I had no time to finish the sentence, when this rash and angry woman put a gun to my head and fired it. I was completely unaware that his anger would lead him to this excess. It was a kind of mechanical impulse that made me raise my hand and try to get rid of the weapon. I did this deliberately and calmly, and without thinking that there was anything else her movements meant other than to intimidate me. However, for this precaution, I owe a lifetime. The bullet was diverted from my forehead to my left ear, and made a slight wound on the surface, from which blood flowed profusely.

The harshness of this explosion, and the shock the ball generated in my brain, knocked me unconscious for a moment. I staggered back, and should have fallen, if I hadn't propped myself up against the wall. Seeing my blood instantly returned the reason. His anger disappeared, and was replaced by terror and regret. He clenched his hands, and exclaimed, "Oh! whaaat! what have I done? The passion of behavior has ruined me."