The Elk County advocate. [volume] (Ridgway, Pa.) 1868-1883, 1873-11-20

dropped along the sofa. She saw O
face swollen and sensual; frame nerve
less and heavy; man turned to u
beast.
Her maid tapped at an inner door
to ask if Mrs. Burnhom wanted her
now.
"Go to my dressing-room," replied
Isabel, towering between the damsel's
eyes and that tive-laboring-u
steep-grade upon the sofa. "Wait for
me there"
She closed the door and went back
Not being addicted to harangues and
handkerchiefs, she merely clasped her
hands and looked at him, thinking, I
suppose, that no woe like hers had ever
come upon the world since the deluge.
Yet Mrs. Smith, down by the wharves,
could have shown her deeper depths;
and thousands of wretches within few
square miles, might have smiled at her
butterfly misery. Yet, after all, every
enc suffers according to his capacity
rather than according to his stroke.
Isabel considered wine as belonging to
gentle breeding. That Mrs. Smiths
"man" should come to the gutter
through rum, was thing to be expect
ed; "that sort of people you know,
etc. but that Mrs. Burnham's lord
could be touched with the same infrm-
ity, was q revelation of human nature
for which she was not prepared. Like
all natures of her cast, she stood in
fercest Judgment over what she loved
best.
Burnham slept till late sun thrust
bright daggers through his hair, and
heated his eyelids.
Dissipation treated him kindly. He
came down to luncheon after bath and
toilet and a little philosophy, as fresh
and suave as your father confessor.
Isabel did not trouble him for the time.
She had taken her maid and gone out,
he supposed, and he was glad of having
more time to recover himself before he
attempted to pass muster under those
black eyes again. He came home to
dinner, invigorated by business, with
his winning, repentant guise on his
arm, ready for use, as you may say.
But Isabel had not yet returned. No
one had seen her that day.
He rushed to her room and plowed
among her belongings. She had taken
little and that little had evident
ly been packed hastily.
portrait, Durham found her last Iesta-
ment he opened it with face like the
dead. She said to him
"Do not search for me. We can
never be anything to each other again
You have killed me you taught me to
lean on and adore the best of men and
then you unmasked and showed me
what you were. The world is black
| r fniLl ,,,o
Mr.. Burnham, i'll reading this scrap,
forgot the repose Of good breeding. He
! fell upon his knees as if Hercules had
planted blow between his eyes; he
rung for the police; aud whirled up the
great hotel liks madman. But those
much buttoned gentlemen, With clubs
and ornamental caps, have a soothing
| effect on the most narrowed mind.
Burnham dropped down in his parlor,
with his head between his hands, and
explained himself IN fragments to one
of them, who stood reading him like q
! book.
"Did she have money ?" asked the
immovable.
"She has large bank account, her
own property, which 1 never touch.
Perhaps she has cashed that"
On investigation it was found that
she had.
"And with eighteen hours start, ="
pursued the immovable, " she'll be well
away from the city by this time. De-
scription of lady, an, lady's woman,
sir @
SO they took notes, examined, put
their hand to the wires, and flew about
surely and silently. While Burnham
measured his rooms or the streets, or
set in police stations, looking like an
old man.
Once, when juvenile, I seized a
stone, with an impulse of disgust, and
hit rat which crept from under the
barn. 1t screamed and tottered, lifting
suffering eyes. The poor thing had
been poisoned; great ulcers were on its
back it was crawling from death, and
l hurt it sat down on the grass,
crying and wringing my hands, the
veriest wretch alive; I had struck a
suffering, defenceless creature If l
could only have gathered the rat on my
lap and soothed it's dying moments /!
But he dragged out of sight and left
me everlasting remorse. Since cruelty
is two-edged sword that falls back
painfully If you use it even against
vermin, how it must cut if we have lift
ed it against our best beloved
The rhyme of Burnham, his wander
ings, his remorse, his sack-cloth and
fastings, are they not written in the
book of his experience
His police force traced Isabel out of
the city, but they were long discover
ing her. They sent him continued
messages of their progress he left his
affairs to follow every clue. And dis
NAL hours he spent in her dressing-room
poring over glove or ribbon, enjoy
ing the sweetness of freedom and
widowhood, The "Pickwick Club" was
no stay to his care. He hated the sight
of their Bacchanalian faces.
1t seemed that years instead of
months had passed, when the chief man
of buttons and clubs waited on him one
day, with the joyful assurance that in
certain Northern village, in certain
house, he would find his wife. Was it
joyful assurance after all ? At the end
of his long, sickening journey, he stood
at the gate of her house, about dusk,
more depressed than he had ever felt
before. She had commanded him not to
search for her he was minded to turn
and go back, satisfying himself with
the knowledge that all was well with
with her. Such floods of change had
rolled between them. He knew not
how to approach her.