The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1873-08-28
whisper. Il will give you my reason

presently sa.aa5 sam
Iobeyed him, as, indeed, had no
wish to do otherwise; but stole several
furtive glances opposite, in the course of
the evening, I observed that, beautiful
as the woman was, none of the men ap-
peared to pay her much attention that
they talked to each other without inter
missions although she put up her hand
several times, as though to entreat their
silence; that at the close of the play they
left her to cloak herself, and that she fol-
lowed them out OF the box without being
offered the arm of any one. &@@a@
guessed who she might be, but I left
my husband to tell me when he saw fit
AS we we're driving home, he said: u
81 wondar Knowles likes to show him
self in public with person If that char
acter. Of course, Marion, you do not know
who she is
! acknowledged my ignorance. la.a
"Poor creature !" he replied, "what she
is is best not told; but she was the wife
of one of the peers of the realm, and the
woman most to be envled, perhaps, in
Eng gland, She made oae false step, and
for the sake of man who forsook her
month afterward-and there she isl. very
beautiful still, ,.as you see, but devoid of
all claim to our respect or courtesy. It's
dreadful thought, isn't it, little womar?"
A dreadful thought-sh was it not !?
He would,have clasped me to him, but
shrank back into the further end of the
carriage-seat, and trembled to think that
in will, if not in deed, I had been as lost
as the woman be spoke of. Had been
YES. Thank heaven, I need not alter
that sentence; the will had now as COM
pletely vanished as the probability of the
deed. .......
My health now began to fail so con-
sjderably that my husband took me away
to the seaside. .,....
Laurence thought it was the close Lon
don air; the doctor recommended tonics
and change. knew the real reason
well, and thought the only change which
could heal me was death. I was begin
ming to love my husband the more l
was convinced of this the more wretched
felt. could not live under the burden
OF deceit which my whole life was 10 me,
but neither had the courage to confess
to Laurence that had so wronged his
trust. What, then, was left for me, but
to die? was so strongly impressed with
this conviction, that actually brought
myself down TO the doors of death. Lau.
renee, took me away to quiet little wa
tering-place, and had the best advice,
but it was of no 2avail-I grew weaker
and weaker.
HIS tenderness to me never failed. Of
ten would he entreat me to tell him if
I had anything on my mind-to be assur-
ed of his full forgiveness before I spoke
to believe that he would not fail to love
me through everything.
But still I could not speak. 1t was all
very well for him, ignorant of the true
cause OF my melancholy, to entreat me to
reveal 1t, but were to take him at his
word, was convinced that the effect
would be far different to what he sun.
posed. He could not Love me with that
knowledge On his mind; he would cast
me out from the light of his presence for
ever.
And SO lay, and looked at him, and
longed to d!sburdeu my soul, and vet
dared not do so, until weeks had resolved
themselves into months, and l really
thought that was dying. One evening,
when ie.t weaker than usual, and he
had been more than usually kind to me,
burst into flood of teArsLand hid my
face IN the sofa cushions.
He came to me at once-my husband
whom had learned to love so much-and
TOOK my head and laid it on his breast. an
tenderly reproached me for my weakness.
mo, no no there! | exclaimed. tear,
ing myself, in the pain of self-contortion from
the position he had caused me to assume
mot there, Lawrence. L am not worthy p,
mot worthy, my dear wife ?' he said
graVely. 'Ifyou are not, who is ?"
Then his apparent perfect trust in my good
ness broke down the barriers of shame which
had prevented me hithArto from tellinc. him