“But at twenty-three it is not so easy to die. The young pulsing blood courses with too much strength and warmth in the youthful veins. So she lived and grew strong, and by and by youth more fully asserted itself. She again took an interest in life and her cheerful ringing laugh could now sometimes again be heard, making glad the hearts of her children and friends.
“But yet another trial awaited her. My father was getting tired of single-blessedness. At different times he had sent messengers to my mother to ascertain when she intended returning to her home and duties. To all such she made the answer—‘Never!’ So, just two years from the date she had left him, he entered suit for divorce.
“I cannot understand how that man’s blood flows in my veins. Of all the despicable means imaginable none were omitted to gall her sensitive nature. He dragged her fair name through all the mire and filth known to the divorce court. She was tortured with numberless disgusting questions, such as I think no one has the right to ask, even though holding the highest office in the land. The loathsome secrets of her chamber of horrors were dragged into the light of day, for the court must know why a woman dared to desire to leave her husband.
“The offensive questions that were asked her, and even more offensive remarks made in an ‘aside’ by the prosecuting attorney, stung her to the quick. Her white and trembling lips refused to answer but still the torture went on. They must lash the quivering bleeding heart until she was on the verge of insanity.
“Then the daily press took up the refrain. My father, of course, was the wronged party. The man always is. Nothing of his inhuman treatment appeared in their columns, but a blazoning of all the lies and slanders he had in his maliciousness hurled at her defenseless head. Oh, the sneers and the scoffing! I wonder how she ever lived through it.
“I understood nothing of all this at the time, but since I have become old enough to understand, my mother herself has told me all the dark story, and I never get done wondering how she ever was able to bear it. Methinks if it had been me there would have been murder in my soul. I really believe if a man would subject me to such insults and abuses I could in my righteous anger plunge a knife into his black heart!”
“Margaret! Margaret!” gasped Imelda, “how can you talk so?”
Margaret had arisen and stood with clenched teeth and hands. Her lips compressed and eyes flashing, a picture of towering wrath. Then suddenly breaking down she burst into a storm of uncontrollable grief and tears. Imelda rose, and gently placing an arm about the weeping girl sought to draw her to her side.
“Come, sit here,” she said, “and compose yourself. Remember all this has long since past, and——remember also——he was your father!”
“My father!” With ineffable scorn were these words uttered. “To my everlasting shame and sorrow, be it said, he was my father, but do you think that that fact would deter me from denouncing him as the monster he is? And you can say it is all long since past! Oh, Imelda, Imelda, in this one instance,—my mother’s case,—is in the past, but oh! in how many thousand cases is it not true today? It is now, that those horrible deeds are being perpetrated. Oh, thou holy ‘sacred’ thing called marriage! How many sweet, pure temples of womanhood you are daily, hourly defiling, by the unrestrained lust hidden under thy protecting shelter. O, that I could proclaim it over the world; O, that I could reach the innermost recesses of every pure woman’s and every trusting maiden’s heart. Beware, oh! beware the serpent’s sting. How long, oh, how long has the burden, the blame of the downfall of man been placed upon the slender shoulders of woman, while man stands smiling by, gloating to see how easily the burden is kept there by that horrible bug-bear custom. As it has been customary for her to bear it it is supposed she always must bear it.