The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1862-11-13


wonder, appealing to him not 10 leave
them helpless to the scant mercy of
the world. However that might be, a
change came oxef his face before long
which augured awetter mind, and he
Iput the shining, loathsome weapon
/ back.
! On the morrow. though his refec-
lions were bitter enough, the desr air
which had given birth to that dark
thought of the previous night no lon
ger haunted him. II was true lat
there was an end forever to his hopes
for Honor; but now at least he could
face conscience once more He was
even glad, amid his disappointed pas,
sion and poignant sense Of Humiliation,
that he had been prevented from com
pIeting his design. The authorship of
the anonymous letter perplexed him,
though his suspicious finally narrowed
down upon his own house keeper,
Y ct how could she have possessed
herself of the secret? His wife, he felt
certain would never have communica-
ted to her what took place at that
troubled interview, but it was pos
sible she might have overheard. He
took measures to ascertain, if he could
the truth; but they were of no avail.
The woman's sullen answers revealed
nothing, and Philip ceased at last to
question, though not suspect her.
With stern selfsdiscipline, Philip
weaned himself from every thing con-
nected with his unfortunate passion,
hoping to find, as once before he had
found, in labor, solace and forgetful-
ness. The struggle, though, sharp,
was IN a measure successful, and he
Gained down by degrees into content.
1t would have been harder to him had
he seen how dim the fair face of Hon
or grew beneath the cruel blow dealt
her in her truthfulness; and, had he
heard the apologies she made for him
to her own heart, he would most sure
ly have been tempted back. Her sex
naturally, it may be assumed, would
deal lightly with such an offence. A
woman perhaps was wronged, but
woman was the gainer-and promises
are but words. Honor was angry
with him, it must be confessed; but
rather because he faltered than be-
cause he allowed himself to be tempt
ed. She had no right to exact such a
promise |; he had no right to give it;but
the fault was hers. o, Philip, had you
urged this as some would have urged
it, | think should have forgiven you.'
So unused the woman he loved and it
was well for Philip he could not know
it. ..aa
With great chivalry of character,
Honor never disclosed to her guardian
the cause of the abrupt termination of
their engagement; and he naturally
attributed it to some petty quarrel or
iginating III difference of disposition.
You must make it up, Homer he said
more than once. write to Philip,
and bring him back But of course
Honor never wrote, and Philip never
came.
Several months had passed away,
when Philip Stourton's housekeeper
was taken seriously i'll. Meeting the
doctor after one of his visits, Philip
asked how his patient progressed. 4
will not disguise from you,' was the re-
ply, that she is in great danger. |
fear she will not recover ..
4 trust you are mistaken, DOCTOR
Philip said | could ill afford to lose
her-she has been most faithful serv-
ant ..
The same evening Philip visited the
sickroom, and perceived too plainly
that he had heard the truth. A Pc
culiar expression came over the pale,
hard features of the Lousekeeper when
she observed his entrance, and there
was an anxiety in her manner of reply
ing to his inquiries which attracted his
attention.
'Are we alone p she asked.
Philip replied in the affirmative.
4 wished much to see you. know
| shall not live long, she continued
'an1 there is a matter nearly concern
ing you, of which l feel it is my duty
to speak-something about your late
wife, my beloved MISTRESS
Her voice was steady, her manner
resolute but she paused, as if debat>
ing with herself whether or not to pro-
coed Philip asked if she referred to
the letter received by Honor West
wood.
Yes to that and something beside.
Mark, sir, do It confess that have
done wrong l do not believe it, and
l do not repent of what / have done
But, if | had lived, i should have brok
ell silence some day, and / feel have
no right to take my secret out of the
world with me. Listen | nursed
Mrs. Stourton when she was q child,
and l loved her. Before she died, she
called me to her, and confided to me
how in the first dreadful moment when
the knowledge of her fate come upon
her, she had exacted from you an oath
that you would never marry again
She told me that in clamer hour she
had considered and repented of that
act, but that the subject was too pam
full to be revived betwlxt you again.
She had entrusted to me a letter
which she had written to you, and en-
joined me TO deliver it to you when she
was dead. That letter / never deliy~
ered.' -..
Philip was struck dumb by the ayow
al the old affection and the new hope
both starting 10 life at the sound o
the dying woman voice, clashed TO-
gether within his heart. r..a
The housekeeper went on: OF
second marriages | do not approve,
and do not believe they are happy
ones. 1t was enough for me that my
darling wished you not to marry again.
she might unsay the words, but she
could not unsay the wish, and ] fol-
lowe her wish. Had you not your
children to console you, and was not
better to Them than a stap mother