Old Angeline, The Princess of Seattle [pp. 506-512]

Old Aingeline, the Irincess of Seattle.
with a message. He had just returned
from Seattle, where he had seen Therese. She was sick and unhappy, and
wished her mother to come to her.
Without a word Angeline made preparations to go. She went to her father,
acquainted him with the facts, then fol lowing the winding path down to the
beach, she untied her canoe, and soon
with strong, swift strokes was lessening
the distance between herself and daugh ter.
"It is night again. It is just such
another night," she muttered to herself,
as she strained her gaze over the still,
reflecting waters, and her thoughts reverted to the past. There was an ominous dread at her heart. Her past life
stood out in bold relief,- the one bright
spot in it had been Therese, and now
Therese was sick and unhappy,- Therese with her bright, gay manner, her
quick perceptions, and withal her glowing health. The two years must have
been full of suffering indeed to have
brought her so low. Angeline caught
her breath and shivered as a chill breeze
struck her, but kept on with a steady
stroke.
In two hours she reached Seattle, then
carefully following the directions given
her by Martin's son, she made her way
to a miserable hovel under the brow of
the cliff that then skirted the waterfront. The dread that possessed her
deepened as she stepped to the partly
closed door. The moon was darkened
as-she looked in, and the deep shadows
revealed nothing.
"Therese! Therese!" she cried
hoarsely.
There was no answer. She flung wide
open the door,- the wailing cry of an
infant greeted her. In the indistinct
light she discerned an object swaying to
and fro, suspended by a rope from a
beam above. The moon emerging from
the cloud flooded the room with a sickly
light. Angeline gave a loud cry as she
recognized the swaying object. It was
still warm, but life was extinct.
Thus ended another epoch in Angeline's life.
The succeeding years witnessed many
changes. The death of her father a few
years later severed the only bond that
held her close to human sympathy. The
tribes, scattered and dismembered even
before her father's death, had nothing in
common with her. She left them, and
came to Seattle to live. She took care
of the child left by Therese, a puny,
miserable boy, for whom, however, she
never evinced any tenderness or emotion. He is still living,-a miserable
specimen of a degenerate half-breed.
Angeline herself is a stoic. The days
come and go. They have nothing to
bring her, nothing to take away. Life
is a monotonous existence, in which is
neither hope nor fear, pleasure nor sorrow. In her rude cabin overlooking the
sea Angeline, the Princess of Seattle,
looks out in wonder and contempt at the
turmoil and strife of the new civilization.
Child of a past age, she has outlived it,
-but who can judge her, who understand?
Rose Simmons.
512
[Nov.