The Manitowoc tribune. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1866-1878, 1871-06-15


paused involuntarily at the head of the
stairs, ''come back and let me explain
you know that have not kept you wait
ing willingly"
our chamber, but 20 dressing room
exclusively my own, and closed and lock-
ed the door. / am sure the Evil One
must have had control of me that night
Tn little while he came up stairs, and
tried the lock Of my door; but | did not
answer-and he'went away.
A dozen times that night 1 lifted my
throbbing head from my tear-wet pillow
to go out to him and implore his forgive
ness; but pride held me back. Thus I
lay sleepess till morning. 1t was a wild
morning, too, drifting rain, and sobbing
winds, and the sea laundering on the
sand.
Ny husband was already in the break
fast-room when / met him. He turned
and said kindly:
"Good-morning, my dear. Are you
quite we'll ?''
"Quite well. thank you," / responded
crossing to a window on the opposite side
of thereon.
He rose, and I hoped he was coming
to my side; but he only looked at his
watch, and said s'Be kind enough to
let me have my breakfast at once, Violet
if you can. am in hurry: for have
important matters to look after -
rang the bell at once, and placed
myself at the head of the table. Wien
the cherries repast was over, my hus-
band rose to go. [ felt the hot tears
| binding me. [ could not let him leave
me in anger [ had made step toward
when he spoke and his words reused all
my old anger and discomfort.
''Violet," he said. Il may not be here
to dinner. Don't wait for me; it is i'm
possible
make no excuse, sir, I replied laugh
tily, none are needed
Oh! those sad. reproachful eyes! But
his lips uttered no retort. He only said
Goodbye, DEAR" and went out.
/ watched him from the windows, hid
den behind the curtain, as he rode away
through the driving rain.
The memory of that day comes to me
like terrible dream! Toward evening
my agony became uncomfortable; and,
as the rain ceased, [ determined to ride
over to my fathers house in the neigh
boring village. About half way we met
close carriage containing lady and
| gentleman.
"Why, that's Mr.. Reade |" exclaimed
my coachman, as the vehicle dashed past
our phateon.
One glance confirmed his words. 1t
was my husband and by his side was
the same women | had seen with him
once before. [ ordered my servant to
drive back to Swans Meet. I would not
wait my husbands return, I said to
myself; [ could not even charge him
with his infdelity would go away at
once, and never let him see my
| face.
| In short time I was ready for my
| departure. [ wrote note to Horace,
telling him that believed our marriage
had been an unwise one, and that should
be happier with my own friends. [ beg
| ged him not to hunt me down as fugi-
tive; but to leave me to follow the bent
of my inclination. [ put the note upon
the table, and then went out from the
house, where my life had been so happy
In less than week my father and were
on our way to Italy.
After the expiration of two wretched
years we returned, and [ learned from
our lawyer that my husband had sailed
for India, first making over to me, In
fee simple, all his real estate. He never,
so the lawyer said, expected to return
l went back to Swans Nest. Every
thing was unchanged. The rooms were
just as had left them My husband
would not let them be touched, the house
| keeper SAID.
Had she ever heard from him ?" ]
asked.
Only once" she replied, ''and then
the letter contained another-it was on
my dressing table,
[ went for it myself, and read it, sit
ting there in our old room.
Violet" it began, you must par
don this intrusion. 1t will be the last
for in all human probability, the disease
that now consumes me will soon give me
a grave in foreign land But there are
a few things which | wish to say to you
before [ die. was wrong not to explain
all to you from the first. But desired
to spare you what you might consider a
disgrace. | thought you could and would
tiuss me. 1t was my sister you saw.
She was vain and frivolous, and eloped
with a profigate. The marriage was
illegal, and Ethel was disgraced. She
came to me for help. 1 could not refuse
her. | was taking her to safe asylum
when | was absent that night. You un-
derstand it all now. Don't be troubled.
dear, but forget me and be happy. My
sister is dead now, and, l fear, I have
not long to live. God bless you, dear! In
Heaven all things will be right"
For two years | lived alone at Swan S
Nest-two years of inexpressibe agony
then the news camel A ship, home
ward bound from Calcutta was lost, and
and Horace Reade was among the mas.
sengers. That was the death of hone
Another year dragged by. One sweet