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��SUNSHINE AFTER CLOUDS.
��"No, sister, I have never married and probably never shall. I entered the store as clerk soon after your marriage, and for ten years have been junior partner, succeeding to the whole busi- ness at father's death. And now, Mar- garet, this miserable life must end. You have killed yourself for Tom Ben- son. I can see that, but at least you can die in peace and plenty. I shall take rooms for you where you can be quiet, and telegraph for mother at once. As soon as practicable you must be moved out of this den, Margie bids adieu to factory life at once. As for Tom, he can take care of himself. I'll have nothing to do with him," he con- cluded, bitterly. "William, I cannot leave him like this, indeed I cannot. After all he is my husband," murmered Mrs. Benson sadly. "Well, well, sister, when Margie comes we will see what can be done. Just be as quiet as you can while I go out for an hour or so." Tenderly William Roden bent over his sister, loved so dearly in other days, and pressing a kiss upon her wasted cheek, he turned away with tears in his eyes, and hastily replacing his coat and muffler, he hurriedly left the house. Left to herself, Mrs. Benson burst into tears of mingled joy and sorrow. For twenty long years her parents and only brother had been the same as dead to her. After her marriage, she had written letter after letter to her father, praying for forgiveness, but when she found they were of no avail, she reso- lutely tried to forget them all. Her mother and brother, she well knew, still loved her, but Mr. Roden, stern and unyielding, had forbidden them to see her, even going so far as to threaten to disinherit his son if his commands were not obeyed. About two years after their marriage, Mr. and Mrs. Ben- son removed to the city of M ,
leaving behind them no trace of their whereabouts. Through all the long years that followed, Mrs. Benson had never heard one word concerning her relatives, and therefore her surprise was great indeed, when her brother so unexpectedly entered her home.
��CHAPTER II.
"I tell you it is of no use ! Go away and let me alone, William Ro- den !"
Tom Benson sat in his miserable home near the close of a bitter cold day, about a week after the events nar- rated in the preceding chapter. There was no fire in the stove, and dreary and cheerless enough seemed the drunk- ard's home, as Mr. Roden entered it, having been searching for the misera- ble man for several days. True to his promise, he had conveyed his sister to a pleasant suite of rooms in a quiet lo- cality, and then telegraphed for his mother, who had soon arrived. Mar- gie had seen her father and told him of the change in their lives, and begged him to see her uncle William. This he had utterly retused to do, and had managed to keep out of the gentle- man's sight until the afternoon in question. But at length he had been compelled to drag his miserable body to his old home, the tenement where his wife and daughter had passed so many weary hours. Here Mr. Roden had found him, and had sought to awaken within his heart, hope that he might yet reform. It is true he had shrank from the task his sister had al- loted him, for he despised the besotted wretch, and had no pity for him, until he saw him so worn out and de- spairing, seated before the tireless stove, his face buried in his trembling hands. He remembered him as he had seen him in other days, tall, erect and handsome, and for his sister's sake resolved to do everything in his power to help him overcome the passion for strong drink that had been his ruin.
"Tom, your wife loves you yet, and only this morning, begged me to find you and bring you to her side. She is very comfortable in her new nome, and the physicians bid us hope that she may be much better, with good care and nourishment, such as she is now receiving. Now, Tom, let me hear you say you will try and you shall have every facility in my power to bestow, to help you on your way. Only say you
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