The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1860-05-25

mence, that, if he were alone, he could
soon end this suffering, and escape from
the shame that weighed him to the earth
This did not surprise Rachel, who, hay
ing often already, and especially of late,
heard him allude TO the idea Of emigration,
now interpreted his words as referring to
it.
"But," continued he, cone fear with
holds me-I can not face the thought that
were | no longer here, you, Rachel, might
perhaps forget me-
Herbert! Surely, surely you would
take me with you"
lie looked at her strangely, fixedly.-
"No, that | could not do; and when |
was gone my memory would fade fIoln
your mind and you might learn to love
some other man."
"Oh Herbert, how can you speak so
cruelly?"
"Ab ~ said he, with almost groan,
"but for that fear should soon cast this
misery behind me"
Then, Herbert" she replied, $50 whore
you will, SO you be but happy. Do not
let me be the obstacle in your way. Sure
ly you know you feel that, ab, ent or pres
ent, | can love none but you. Surely you
can trust me to keep you, alone, unIival
led, in my heart unit. we meet again"
"Oh, that could believe YOU. For |
could not rest, even in the grave, if tho't
that you could bestow that which once
was mine upon another. VIII you dare
to give me your promise, Rachel 2"
"Assuredly will'
"But, first consider" he resumed more
eagerly. "You must hide yourself from
the world, renounce your name, ellace ev-
cry trace of your illfated marriage. Can
you do this, and never inquire the cause p
Il can-I will ~
Then promise me-"
He stood before her and took both hel
hands, while she said
a give you my solemn promise that
none other shall occupy your place ia my
heart until we meet again.
And mark" cried he, almost fercely
gripping her hands between his own, mark
that from the very ends of the universe
should come back to you to enforce that
promise, were YOU ever tempted to break
it."
81 never can be-
"Then you have set me free"
lie loosed her hands, and, before she
had time to comprehend his purpose, he
had caught up pistol from the table and
pointed it at his own forehead. There
was sharp report, and he fell at her feet
the blood spirting up upon her clothes,
and even to her hands and face. With a
piercing shliek she rushed to the door,
which she struggled wildly to open, but in
vain. She had but one desperate thought,
the ilnpossibility of obtaining help, and
then she remembered nothing more.
Her cry had been heard, and assistance
came, but too late for Herbert; and hia
suicide weapon had done It's work. For
two days Rachel lay in a species Of death
trance, from which she awoke to rave in
the delirium of brain fever. She was
nursed through it 6y her servants. With
her relations all intercourse had so com
pletely ceased that they know not who to
send for, and the newspaper intelligence
Of the sad event did not induce them to
come forward. At length Rachsl's natu
rally strong constitution gained the upper
hand, and she recovered her reason and
by very slow degrees, her strength. The
clergyman of the parish, having learned
the sad particulars Of the case, had obtain,
ed access to her in virtue Of his profes
sion, but she positively refused to see any
one but himself. She seemed absolutely
prostrated both in mind and body, and fol
some time apparently incapable of the
slightest exertion. When at length hel
powers were in some degree restored, her
first wish was TO obey the injunetions OF
her husband, which accorded with her own
feelings, and 10 seek concealment and en-
tire seclusion. With equally implicit ODE
dience to his commands, she made no in.
quiries concerning the past. Her own
small fortune had been settled upon hersel
at her marriage, and all else was abandon
ed to her husbands creditors. She resu
med her maiden name of MorIsnd, wore
her wedding ring fastened to chain round
her neck; and having, thanks TO the inqui
ries of the clergyman, obtained the prom
ise of kindly shelter in the quiet parson
age of Mr.. Wood, she retired thither with
but one wish, that Of GraggiDg out the re-
mainder Of her desola'e life in seclusion
and in such peace as it might afford her.
She thus withdrew from all intercourse
with the outer world, grew attached to the
Woods, in whom she found kind and faith
full friends, and shared their labors for the
good of those committed to their care yet
life appeared to her a sad and weary load
and her only solace was in the murmur OF
the waves, for to them alone could she re-
veal the secret of her grief, which, as tho
it were a trnst from ber departed husband,
she kept locked from every human eye in
the depths of her heart. Yet this afford
ed her meager consolation.
The day on which Randolph Grey had
first beheld her, being the anniversary OF
her husbands DEATH she mad felt more than
usually depressed and miserable. Not on
ly the sorrows Of the past, but the hope
less drearness of the future, weighed
heavily on her spirit. The latter had been
partly, at least, dispelled by the growing
interest for Capt. Grey, which, unknown
to herself, had ripened into a strong feeling
of attachment, and it was only the avowal
of his love which woke her to the painful