The home journal. (Winchester, Tenn.) 1858-188?, 1871-01-12
y said, Goodbye. dear" and went

through the driving rain.
The memory Of that day comes back
to me like terrible dream! Towards
evening my agony became unendura-
ble, and as the rain ceased, | deter
mined to drive over to my fathers
house in the neighboring village.
About half way, we met a close car
riage, containing lady and a gentle
man.
"Why, that S Mr.. Rcalc!" exclaimed
my coachman, as the vehicle dashed
asst our phe.on. ..a...
One glance confirmed his words. II
was my husband, and by his side was
The same woman that had seen with
him once before. My resolution was
iakcn ON the instant. | ordered my
servant to drive back to Swans Nest
| would not wait ny husband S return
| said to myself. | could not even
charge him with his intideljty. Iwould l
go away at once, and never let him
see my face again. ...
In short time, / was ready for my
departure. wrote a noteitor Horace,
telling hin that | believed our mar
riage had been an unwise one, and that
| should be happier with my own
friends. l begged him not to hunt me
down as q fugitive, but to leave mt to
tue bent. of my inclination. ! put the
note upon the table, and then went out
from the honse in which my life had
been SO happy In less than wee.A
my father and ! were on our way to
Italy.
A. the expiration Of two wretched
years we returned, ana / learned from
our lawyer that my husband had sailed
TO. lndia, first making over to me, in
fee simple, all his real estate He
never, So the lawyer said, expected to
return. | went back 10 Swans Nest.
Everything was unchanged. The rooms
were just as had lett them. My hts
band would not let them uc touched,
the housekecper said.
Had she ever heard from him p !
asked.
Only once size replied, "and then
the letter contained another; it was on
my dressing table. went for it my
self. and read it, sitting there in our
old room
"Violct," it began, "you must par
don this intrusion. 1t will be the last,
for, in ell human probability, the dis
ease that now consumes me will soon
give me a grave in a foreign land. But
here are few things | wish to say be-
fore l die. / was wrong not to explain
all things to you from the first. Blu. l
desired to spare you what you might
consider a disgrace. thought you
could and would trust me. 1t was my
sister you saw. She was vain and
frivolous, and cloped with 4 prohgate.
The marriage was illegal, and Ethel
was disgra;ed. She came to me for
help. l could not refuse her. I was
taking her to safe asylum when !
was absent that night. lou under.
stand it all now. Don't he troubled,
dear. but forget me, and he happy. Ny
sister is dead now, aud have not, |
lear, long to live. God bless you,
dear. In heaven all these wrongs will
lie riehted."
For lwo years lived alone al Swans
Nest--two years of inexpressibly ago
ny, then the news came. a ship,
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 l strolled down to
The sea shore. The sun vac setting in
waves Of gold and purple, and full
moon came up flooding the great sea
and the long stretch OF glittering sand
with misty splendor. The tide rolled
in with n low, musical murmur. sat
down on rock.
Far out upon the bar Il stately YES.
sci swung at anchor, and little boa,
from it was coming in. | watched the
tiny craft with kind Of fascination.
it grated on the sand, and a
man sprang ashore.
A wild, namrless hope, took shape
in my heart. | arose and to,tercd for
ward. blind and half unconscious. The
instant after, a str ,ng arm clasped me.
| looked up into the face above me.
It was wan and worn. and changed by