The One Woman: A Story of Modern UtopiaDixon, Thomas, Jr.
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The One Woman: A Story of Modern Utopia
Dixon, Thomas, Jr.
Utopian fiction; Utopias -- Fiction
"But I shall find it again. When I see the fury of murder in your
eyes, and gaze into the gulf of fierce passions into which Frank has
descended, I cannot seek my own happiness. The sense of motherhood,
the feeling of kinship to all women, brings to me again the certainty
that I am right, that one great love unto death can alone give the
soul peace and strength, and give to man and the world happiness."
He bent forward quickly.
"But if he were dead you might love me?"
"Not as I love him."
"He is dead a thousand times to you and your life," he cried,
bitterly. "He is your wilful murderer. You will see this by and
by, and I will win you. I will be content with such love as you
can give me. Mine will be so full, so tender, so warm it will be
resistless."
She shook his hand kindly and bade him good-by.
"I will send a carriage for you and the children to-morrow. You
will go to the capital with me in my private car."
"I'd rather not, Morris, but I have promised you, and it shall be
so."
The ceremony of the inauguration was the most elaborate seen at
Albany in years.
Tammany came to the capital thirty thousand strong, and thirty
thousand strong they marched through the streets, with their shining
silk hats glistening in the sun and their lusty throats shouting for
their leader. They had voted the ticket faithfully, and sometimes
too often the same day, unkind critics had said, in the years of
the past, but for the first time in generations they had placed a
full-fledged Grand Sachem of their own Great Wigwam in the Governor's
chair, and they made the welkin ring. In the joy of their faces,
the steady hoof-beat of their big feet on the pavement and the
stalwart pride with which they marched, one saw the secret of their
victory. They were in dead earnest. Politics was the breath they
breathed and the blood that fed their hearts.
King felt the contagion of their loyalty and enthusiasm, and his
inaugural address was inspired and inspiring.
He placed Ruth and the children in choice seats near the speaker's
stand, and in every movement of his body, every word and accent,
from the moment he appeared till the last shout of his victorious
henchmen died away, he was conscious of her presence.
She could feel the intensity of his powerful will pressing upon
her in this triumph he was deliberately laying at her feet.
When the ceremonies were over, and his address was being flashed
over a thousand wires, he sent the children for a drive, and
showed Ruth over the stately executive mansion. He knew the hour
was propitious, and he had planned to make a desperate attempt to
win some sort of promise from her for their future.
"Now, Ruth," he said, softly, "sit here on this sofa by the open
fire. We will be alone for awhile. I've something to show you."
His face was still aglow from the excitement of his triumph. He
drew from his inner pocket an official envelope tied with a piece
of ribbon.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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