The Bloomfield times. [volume] (New Bloomfield, Pa.) 1867-187?, 1872-04-16

tenderly in his arms and watched 1T till the
fever left its cheeks, and then, committing
her to the care of the faithful nurse, retired
to his own room. He sat down and wrote
letter, sealed and directed it to his wife,
and left it on her dressing-table. He then
proceeded TO pack small portmanteau;
and taking it in his hand, quietly left the
house.
Just as returning day was beginning to
light up the eastern horizon, Mrs. Lyle re-
turned home, and, taking up the lamp, that
had been left burning for her in the parlor,
she made hel way, hastily and nervously to
the side of her child. She found her sleep
ing quietly, and evidently much improved.
THANK God," she murmured fervently.
GLOW miserable have been. / was on
the point of turning back last night. But
my darling child is better, and all is well.
will not leave you any more, my baby;
and will tell my good, kind husband SO
this very morning. How wrong, how wick
ed / have been but God forgive me, will
do better in the future ~
She entered her chamber, saw the letter
addressed to herself, and, with a fearful
foreboding of evil, and a strange sinking of
the heart, recognized her husbands hand
writing. With barely strength enough left
to break the seal, she opened it and read:
My DEARLY BELOVED WIFE:-With an
guish indescribable, have long seen that
my society was not indispensable to your
ho~ u;n hnn
attractive to you, have thought it best for
us to part have made every necessary
arrangement to secure your comfort and
happiness, hope. Be mother to our
child and may God watch over you both.
/ am not decided where / shall go, or how
long shall be gone. at may be for years
and it may be forever"
Your wrctched husband,
ROBERT LYLE.
Every word entered her heart, and with
low moan, the deserted wife sank to the
floor. Hours later they found her lying
there, moaning piteously, the fatal letter
still in her grasp. For days and for weeks
her lifewas despaired of; but at last she was
restored from "death unto life." Repent
ance had come too late, alas but she did
repent, and now devoted all her time and
attention to little BERTHE. For two years
she continued at the old home, hoping,
praying for his return, lbut no news
came of the wanderer.
Mr.. Lyle was still partner in the COM
mercial house. He had instructed his as
sociate, Mr.. Pearce, to conduct the bust
ness as it had been done all the time, and
to see that his family were supplied with
everything they required. For two years
the business prospered; then there came
pressure in financial circles, and the firm Of
"Lyle g. Pearce" went by the board.
Mr.. Pearce surrendered every dollar of
his property to his creditors; but strove to
save something from the wreck for the wife
and child of his friend. Mrs. Lyle, however,
would accept of nothing as long as there
was debt unpaid. "My husbands name
was never dishonored," she said, "and it
shall not be now, if can prevent it by any
sacrifice. Even now there are many, l fear,
who will say he absconded with his pocket
full"
The last creditor was satisfied, and I" all
was lost save honor" Mrs. Lyle changed
her abode, and the places that once knew
her, knew her no more forever" Those
who, in palmy days, had been proud to call
her friend, now forgot that their was such
being in existence. Still she did not de-
spond; hoping yet and praying for the dear
ones return. She went earnestly to work,
and with her needle earned q subsistence
for herself and child. Three more weary
years of waiting and watching, and still no
tidings of the wanderer. sit may be for
years, and it may be forever" 'Oh God I
will he never return, sighed the desolate
woman. "Will he never return to lay his
hand on my guilty head and forgive my
follyP'
At length the dreadful conviction fasten-
ed itself on her mind that she was deserted
for all time; that he would never come back
to claim his discarded wife. She reasoned
then that she had no right to bear his name,
and, under an assumed one, she sought for
and obtained a situation as teacher in dis
tant city.
Death, swift and terrible, rides ON every
breeze. The voice of mourning is heard in
every house The fearful pestilence,
throned under sable canopy, tolls inces-
sanity its funeral bell. The yellow fever is
marching with fearful strides through every
street and alley Of Norfolk. All who have
had means at their command, or friends