Mineral Point tribune. (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1869-1938, 1873-08-21

let me know as soon as possible, | beg,
Mr. Palmer, whether you mean to forgive
me for making you believe that was my
sister Eva. [ suppose there is no use of
our speaking any further just now.
Words will only aggravate matters. The
mere sound of my voice must remind you
of how | have lately reveled in deceit"
While the last sentence leaves her lips,
she turns away from him and takes step
or two toward the hall entrance. But
just then Eric, hurrying forward, plants
himself in front of her. Every sarcastic
| trace is gone from his mouth and eyes;
nothing but sort of questioning passion
| ateness of appeal seems to fill his face
"Gladys," he breaks forth, while his
eyes meet hers burningly, 'you cannot
ask me to pardon you until l hear one
thing"
'What is that?" she quivers, as though
fOreseeing the answer
Just this: when | wrote you certain
words yesterday, as we sat on the rocks
together, why did you not then seize the
chance of ending my deception9 For
Heavens sake, answer me thatl Did you
| merely keep up your false part then that
might remember more humiliatedly here
after how | had asked you to be my wife
while fooled in such ridiculous fashion as
to what you were?"
No, no." she cries, mot that!-indeed
indeed not that | could take no pleasure
in your humiliation; it makes me shud
der to have you suspect that | could"
And now the tears seem beSieging voice
and eyes alike, as she hurries on brokenly
but with eager heat "Can you not un-
derstand a PERSONS being prompted to
take certain course by every truthful and
honorable impulse he or she may possess
and yet, being weak in a cowardly strength
| to resist these impulses? 1t was Just that
way with me. | tried to tell you yester-
day-l-I have been trying to tell you
| for days past" And at this her eyes take
sudden flash to which their tears lend
livelier brilliance, while she draws sud
denly nearer to him with one or two rapid
| little steps. "Shall | tell YOU what has
dragged my confession forth from me ?"
she questions, with a sort of headlong
! tremulousness. Your own words to
Mrs Ramsay, which l lately overheard.
Listen; can repeat them perfectly; they
were these: To me she is perfect as she
| is. | love her for just what she is. AT
one time my pity and regret nearly mad
dened me- All her loveliness seemed I'M
reachable. Now | laugh at myself for
| desiring more-for desiring anything a
whit different Of course, after that |
| dared not be cowardly any longer. My
| falsehood became an utter enOrmity. Com
mon selfrespect commanded me at once
| to undeceive you"
Dead silence follows between them for
perhaps minute; to Gladys a minute of
sixty slow, long, heavy, suspensetul sec
onds. Then she moves toward the door
again, with quick sob-like sigh.
That movement rouses Eric. "Stop" he
exclaims, catching one of her hands be-
tween both of his, and leveling upon her
| face eyes which she knows are smiling
| pardon the instant her own meet them.
81 forgive you, Gladys; and in turn /
must ask g0ur forgiveness"
"Mine?"
''Yes-for having sad what l did to
Aunt Edith. 1t was true, and not true. If
my love had not had such a mystery of
power, it could not have turned calamity
into blessing with such careless ease.
When there are grand faults in any thing
we love it is human nature, you know, to
persuade ourselves that these are grand viz
tues. suspect that wanted you different
all the time, but did not love you an atom
the less for not being so; and, rather than
let either myself or Mrs. Ramsay believe
that my love was at all tinged with re-
gret, | lashed myself into that fine fury of
defense 1t was all, admit, species of
selfish"
Il forbid the word" breaks in Gladys,
each eye a separate little April Of tears
and sunshine "You must never dare to
call yourself selfish when / am near
After the way you have acted, it would be
a sacrilege, "a"
But he stops the further current Of her
tlattering reprimands by kiss. 1t is
kiss so imperative, obstructive, and un-
compromising, that Gladys can only bow
to its sweet despotism-the sort of slavery,
as most of us know, that is better than all
the freedom that all the martyrs and
patriots of the world ever died and fought
for.-AppLetons' Journal.