Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1873-03-01
che said in her sweet, even voice, ''for yor hus-
. I~,si IA Ia

che said in her sweet even voice, ':for your hus-
band s sake"
smiled.
"For my husbands sake, - said, s.yes."
"When he wrote.to me asst" she began, TAX
ing no notice OF my words.
started little.
"When he wrote to you!" exclaimed. "when
aYesserdsy," She said; aisst week. the week
before-eyery week since you have been here.
Of yonr wants, and he was anxious to hear al
about your illness, and to be quite sure that no
wish was left un1atifed.v
leaned back in my chair, and held to the
cushioned arms for support. Ny breath was
coming quickly and . sudden heat had nashed
to my face. 1 could not understand this, but a
strange feeling of Joy took possession of me
though 1 told myself that did not love this
man, and had never loved him.
Your illness has been great anxiety to him
Gervase." Lsbeth wentOn still, with her face
turned upward In the twilight-''and it has
troubled him more since you came here. He
! hiss felt your absence deeply"
Il id not speak in answer, but I was weak
woman enough to feel another thrill Of mingled
pain and pleasure. lest a. the past irrevocably
was, 1t had yet a strong power over me-. As
there never was a husband colder than mine,
so there had never been a bridegroom more i'm
FASHIONED in affection: and even in this winter
of indifference, could remember DAYS i'm the
dead summer when hts untiring love had wax
ened me to a happiness almost divine, ephcme-
n,
thought struck me that undet her quiet speeches
and quiet manner there hay deeper thou yht
for me than had fancied, and then there Hash
ed across INV mind remembrance of times
when she had silently stood between me and tli
man who was my evil genius.
At this moment recognized the mans pow
er for evil over me as had never done before,
and a cuTious sense of repugnance came upon
me with my recollection Of some thing L had
sometimes seen sleeping in his quiet persist
ence. cOnla not understand the influence that
stung me to anger and reused my pride, but I
never failed to succumb to it, nevertheless, and
II invariably reused me to some fresh rashness
OF speech or action. But though l said little to
Lisbeth, the pang of remembrance softened my
heart, and before she left me had made up my
mind to write few words to my husband, at
least; and when she had gone I drew nv desk
towards me and wrote them-oniy a few word:
"fOur wife, Geryase."
L had not ended letter thus for two wears.
ana hesitated moment before L wrote the
signature. But despite the lingering of pen
over paper, they were wrote at last, and as 1
looked at them felt the warm blood beat into
my cheeks, and my head dropped upon my
ciasped hands Should send them or not? /
thought or Ralph Gwynne, and of what had
suffered, and my letters fate almost sealed.
But even as L paused, a soft little cry from
Lisoeth,s room broke upOu my ear. 1t was
dashed the next moment, but the tiny voice had
turned the scale.
put the letter into its envelope and sealed
1t with new resolution. i would try to re-
trieve something Of the past, at least L would
do no new wrong. would cherish no bitter
ness against my dead chiid's father. III could
not be happy l would endeavor to be patient
IL might not be for long-it could not be for
Il will give it to Ralph Gwynne to post in
the morning" said aloud; lit will show him
did not finish my sentence because dared
not, even in the silence of my room. Even to
the readers of this rece<d l have not told all
that my reckless misery drove me to. 1 could
NOT Justify my weakness, and otherwise had
better be silent.
The sun shining bright and warm into
the breakfast-room when went down with my
letter IN the morning, and the salt sea wind
blew fresh through the open window up from
the beach. As / had lain awake in the night
a change seemed to have come over me, and
under its influence I forgot the dull Noyem-
Der days, and Pitiless November skies, in this
one rare chance OF morning warmth and sun
light;
stubborn persisteney showing itself as il always
di0 In his waiting for my coming.
went to him at once, holding my letter in my
hand.
"I have aletter here am anxious shall reach
London Tonight said, looking straight into
his face 81 thought 1 would give it into
your charge at once, as you generally go into
Marlborough earlier than any one else. Will
you post il for me?"
He held out his hand and took it from me
slipping IT into his vest pocket with scarcely a
scripti0n by the instantaneous change i'm his
face. 1t was very slight change, almost an
imperceptibie one in fact, but | saw it not
withstanding and caught its meaning.
81 envy your husband, ;" he had said to me
once; 81 pity him-I hate him.,
And just at the moment this abrupt passion
ate speech, which was only one of many sdeh,
was embodied in the faint change that passed
over his dark face, as he leaned upon the win
dow ledge and looked out calmly enough at the
fishermen working upon the beach.
He did not even refer to the letter in the COM
monplace conversation we drifted into. The
nomentary shadow left him so entirely that 1
found myself wondering if he had altogether
forgotten It. But though he did not refer to
the letter, before Lisbeth came in he spoke OF
my husband. -
81 did not know" he said, after an inter-
val OF silence; "until yesterday did not know
that your husband had ever visited Bambo-
rough"
The words we're so unexpected that glanced
up quickly to see what they might signify, but
TO judge from his careless, averted face they
might have held no significance at all.
~ did not know" said cOldly, "that nv
husband had visited Marlborough at all. Ii he
has been here l have been kept i'm ignorance of
':He has been here,'' he said iudifferently,
I did not make any reply. 1 knew well
ti0ning him, but 1 was not in the mood to ques-
ton, and SO was silent. II my husband had
been to Marlborough in secret, whatever his
motive might be, he had hidden it from me- and
the mystery was only new thread in the web
Of his distrust, 50 il might pass. 1t was only
fresh sting, but felt 1t at the time all the more
deeply because Of my last nights resolve and
the three words with which had ended my let
ter. l made no comment, did not even speak
of 1t to Lisbeth when s3ie came. I buried it
in MY own heart, as l was prone to bury my
miSeries.
When breakfast was over I wa ndered out on
the beach alone. L did not often walk alone,
but this morning even Lisbeth herself would
have been unweicome.
Down upon the sands where the rocks clus-
tered together, and where the boats Oftenest
came up to the little cove, was my vOrite rest
ing place, and there I took ny seat as usual
upon large fat stone. The brawny fishermen
knew me, and the barelegged, shouting children
knew me, too, and a. 1 sat there there were few
who passed me without q gOod-natured greet
ing L had amused myself with watching them
often, but they did not amuse me now. was
dull and wretched again. 1t was u trivial thing
TO be wretched about, this slight cOncealment,
which have had no motive, but 1t had dampen-
ed my spirit and made me Indifferent and mis-
cradle once more. The brown, bare-leRped
fishermen passed to and fro, mending their nets
in the sun, and wading in and out of the water
but scarcely saw them; the children shouted
and chased each other like happy, uncouth
young sayages, but did not notice their PLAY
saw nothing but the sea and sky, and a boat
whose tiny sail seemed growing larger as it
and glanced up, half impatientiy, and saw
Ralph Gwynne. He took a seat at my side, and
then spoke to me carelessly.