Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1870-06-24

and noble : and [ loved him so we'll [
wonder why | turned from him that night
God knows how it panied me- But the
spoiled, wilful temper, that has been my
ruin. urged me on.
Did you ever speak harsh word to one
you love, and feel something within you
prompting you to speak to another? Then
you understand how it was that I left my
husband standing there, weary and supper
less.
"violet, DEAR" he said, softly, as I paus-
ed involuntarily at the head of of the stairs,
''come back and let me explain you know
| have not kept you waiing willingly"
But went on without word, not to our
chamber, but to a little dressing room ex-
clusively my own, and closed and locked
the door. ! am sure the Evil one must had
control Of me that night In little while
he came up stairs, and tried the lock of my
door; then he called my name softly =
but | did not answer-and he went away.
A dozen times that night I lifted my
throbbing head from my tear wet pillow to
go out to him and implorc his forgiveness.
but pride kept me back Thus, I lay,
slecpless, till morning. 1t was a wild morn
ing, too, with drifting rain and sobbing
winds, and the sea laundering on the strand.
My husband was already in the breakfast
room when [ went down. He turned and
said kindly.
Good morning, dear. Are you quite
we'll 2"
-"Quite well, thank you,' 1 responded,
crossing to a window on the opposite side of
the room He arose, and I hoped he was
coming to my side, but he only looked at
his watch and said
''Be kind enough to let me have break
fast at once, Violet, if you can am in a
hurry, for | have important matters to look
after"
[ rang the bell at once, and placed my
self at the head Of the table. When the
cherries repast was over, and my husband
rose to go, [ felt the hot tears binding me.
| could not let him leave me in anger I
had made step toward him when he spoke,
and his words reused all my old anger and
discomfort
Violet" he said, II may not be here to
dinner Don't wait for me it is impossi-
ble-'
"Make no excuses, sir; p I replied,
haughtily; 'tnone are needed %
Oh ! those sad, reproachful eyes But
his lips uttered no retort He only said,
Good bye, dear" and went out.
watched him from the window, hidden
behind a curtain, as he rode away through
the driving rain
The memory of that day comes back to
HE like a terrible dream Toward evening
my agony become uncomfortable; and as the
rain poured in torrents, determined to
drive over to my husbands office in a neigh
boring village About half way, we met
covered carriage. containing a lady and
gentleman.
''Why, that's Mr.. Reade p exclaimed
my driver. as the vehicle dashed past us.
One glance confirmed his words. 1t was
my husband, and by his side was the same
woman that I had seen him with once be-
fore. My resolution was taken on the in
slant. [ ordered my servant to drive back
to Swans Nest. would not wait my hus-
bands return, said to myself; could not
even charge him with his infdelity I would
90 away at once, and never let him see my
face again.
In short time I was ready for my de-
parture. [ wrote note for Horace, telling
him that believed our marriage had been
an unwise one, and that [ should be happier
with my own friends begged him not 10
hunt me down as fugitive; but to leave
me to follow the bent of my inclination. I
put the note upon his table, and then went
out from the home. where my life had been
SO happy. In less than week, my father
and I were on our way to Europe.
At the expiration of two wretched years
we returned and learned from our lawyer
that my husband had sailed for China, first
making over to me, in fee simple, all his
real estate. He never, so the lawyer said,
expected to return. I went back to Swans
Nest. Everything was unchanged. The
rooms were just as | had left them My
husband would not let them be touched,
the housekeepef said. ''Had she ever heard
from him ?" I asked. 'Only once" she
replied, ''and then the letter contained an
other it was on my dressing table" I
went for it myself and read it, sitting there
in our old room
"Violct," it began, "you must pardon
this intrusion. It will be the last, for, in
all human probability, the disease that now
consumes me will give me a grave in for
eign land But there are few things I
wish to say before I die. I was wrong not
to explain all to you from the first. But I
desired to spare you what you might consid-
er disgrace. thought you could and
would trust me. It was my sister you saw
She was vain and frivolous, and eloped with
proAigate The marriage was illegal, and
Ethel was disgraced. She came to me for
help. I could not refuse her I was taking
her to a safe asylum when I was absent that
night You understand it all now. Don't
be troubled, dear, but forget me, and be
happy My sister is dead now, and I have
not, I fear, long to live. God bless you,
dear ! In heaven all these wrongs will be
s;;ghted"
For two years lived alone at Swans
Nest-two years Of ipeEpress!hle agony
then the news came! A steamer, homeward
bound, from Calcutta, was lost, and Horace
Reade was one Of the passengers. That
was the death Of hope
Another year dragged by. One sweet
May evening [ strolled down to the sea-
shore. The sun was setting in waves of
gold and purple, and a full moon came up,
flooding the great sea, and the long stretch
Of glittering sand, with misty splendor.-
The tide rolled in with low, musical muir
MUIR [ sat down on rock.
Far out upon the bar, a stately vessel
swung at anchor, and little boat from it
was coming in: ] watched the tiny craft
with kind of fascination. Presently it
grated on the sand, and a man sprang
ashore.
A wild, nameless hope took shape in my
heart. arose and tottered forward, blind,
and half unconscious. The instant after a