The Somerset press. [volume] (Somerset, Ohio) 1873-1977, 1874-03-13

sing Euniee and her little namesake, |
suddenly emerged from a group of
sh1ubbery and beheld scene that star
tied me. Eunice, who was to me the
ideal of all that was pure and faithful
and noble, sat in a rustic chair, and at
her feet, clasping her hand, and muir
muring passionately, was slight, hand
some foreigner, whose features were
strange to me. Eunice, my trusted wife,
seemed deeply affected-so much so that
the cries of her little daughter, who had
fallen to the ground few steps away,
were unheeded Ny footsteps startled
them, and the man, glancing hastily at
me across his shoulder, sPrang to his
feet and bounded hastily away, while
Eunice, stilt fearful, maintained com
posure which astonished me, and gave
me searching, pitying, tender look
which completely bewildered me. For
a moment or two was speechless, and
then I asked:
"Who was the man, Eunice?'
"a poor beggar, Herbert" she re-
piled.
al was very finely dressed for per-
son in that profession said I. The sFs-
picion which for the time filed my
mind probably betrayed itself in my
tone, for Eunice arose, proud, handsome,
and angry, and exclaimed:
"Herbret! DO you doubt my word?"
Never, in her most tender moment,
had seen Funice so perfect a picture
Of purity and nobility. Ny suspicious
were disarmed in-an instant, and throw
ing my arms about her neck, | begged
her pardon, and expressed my penitence
in the fullest terms I could command,
until with her own dear lips she stopped
my utterance entirely.
From that day there commenced a
series of changes in Eunice's manner,
which by turns perplexed, embarrassed,
grieved, and provoked me. At fiIst |
attributed her strange manner to my
grievous blunder in momentarily dis
trusting her faith, so | was unceasing in
apologies and in my endeavors to make
atonement by showing even more atfec-
tion than that which seemed already to
occupy my entire thought and time. But
when she admitted that my mistake had
been fully justifable one, became
cause of her change of demeanor
| Though more than ever devoted to my
interest, hopes, and tastes, she seemed to
shrink from the close and tender COM
panionship which had previously exis-
ted between US.
Little by little she withdrew herself
from me, until we were little more than
polite acquaintance. Pretending that
our little daughter might disturb my
rest by her wakefulness, Eunice arrang-
/ ed for herself apartments near those
which Anita had occupied. These lat
ter had been locked Immediately after
Anita's departure, and had never been
entered by any one. Then, though ap-
parentIy in the best of health, Eunice
complained of frequent indisposition,
! during which attacks she had her meals
sent to her room, and our housekeeper
remarked, casually, that my wife had an
unusual appetite when sick.
Time after time I implored her to tell
ME the cause of her sadness and strange
ness. but every time alluded to the sub
ject she would look so unutterably sad
and weep so bitterly that out of regard
for her finally desisted entirely. She
said that had never made her unhap-
py-that my love for her had been
greater than she had ever believed could
be shown by man to woman, and that
she had rather be my slave than the wife
of any other man in the world. But
when, moved by the passion of hel
words and looks, begged her, for hel
loves sake, to tell me the cause of hel
sorrow, and put it in my power to re,
move it if possible, she would burst into
tears-even my careses seemed to be un.
endurable to her.
| AS lOI illc, my Oh II AIiG OCGGihS uttSA
) ly miserable. The idea of a dreadful
secret sorrow in the life of the woman
loved so dearly was insupportable, We
there was no honorable escape from it
Any privation from her society l woulC
have cheerfully endured if could hav,
thereby restored to her the happines
she seemed to have lost entirely, but tn
+ thought that my suffering was fruitles
l of any good to her only added to misery
e lost my spirits, my appetite, my inter
: ests in my studies, and finally my abili
| ty to sleep. Night after night spent ol
e the veranda, or gloomily strolling unde
D the old chestnuts about the house, won
e dering, hoping, praying, cursing-some
times almost determined to end Eunice'
It life and mine, and learn her secret afte
e we were both rid of its blighting effects
r One dark windy night 1 was pacin
e the veranda, long after midnight, whe
n I was startled by bright light appear
v ing in the room which had been Anita
chamber. | instantly determined this
i thieves, having heard the story whie
d every gossip in the village knew, ha
ir selected this night in which to carr
l away some of the valuable contents {
" my poor erring wife's apartments. FL
at years her memory had been to me
at thing of the past, but now the idea th'
D. rude hands could touch anything one
l dear to the woman had loved, rouse
MS me to the widest fury. Hastily takir
le revolver from my desk, and snatchir
le from case of curiosities two-pointC
Malay dagger, I SOFTLY ran through
n passage which led to the room where Il
of light was shining. l stopped
id Eunice's room to warn her against u
es necessary alarm, but to my surpri
v Eunice was not there. Could she be
I'd Anita's chamber, I wondered? 1 ere
. along the passage, pausing at every ST