The Manitowoc tribune. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1866-1878, 1874-12-17

apparently hot. IOI, Wueu lue 1OlIS
duet came at last to an end, and supper
was announced, Mrs. Lawrence contriv-
ed, by low spoken word to servant,
to have the young artist placed at her
own peculiar table, among her own IN
innate friends. She babe him goodnight,
| too, kindly, and glance from those
dark eyes haunted him strangely on his
way home that night. Late the next
| morning he awoke from dream of seeing
Mr.. Lawrence hanging suspended from
his favorite flute, and Of feeling in no
particular hurry to cut him down. At
ter that he breakfasted, dressed, and
went to call on Mrs Lawrence, whom
he saw only for five minutes, and IN the
midst of circle of dearest lady friends.
But the mischief was done.
| Mrs. Lawrence, also waking late that
morning, remembered the remark she
had overheard about her ''spirituelle"
face. She glanced at it in the glass
from between the dark, heavy masses OF
hair she was arranging. Was it really
ssspirituelle?" It must be since an artist
has said SO. And ''spirituelle, . indeed,
| it looked, the next moment, when the
round ford face other husband, fresh
| ly washed and shaved, peered over her
shoulder in the glass with a growing re-
quest about his 'sshirt buttons 'in
case she could stop admiring herself
long enough to sew them on" Mrs.
Lawrence sewed on the shirt buttons,
and thought, with sigh, of the tiny
diamond studs the young artist had
worn. Mr.. Lawrence would not wear
studs of any kind; and pulled off more
buttons from his wristbands than was
reasonable or just in any man.
He looked rounder and redder to her
that day. It the evening, when he play
ed the variations to 'SKinloch of Ken
loch," on the flute, and wiped his bald
forehead theoretically as be finished
for the evening was warm, and the I'M
dertaking no small one-Mrs. Lawrence
sighed again, and felt more herself of
martyr than ever.
Her glance fell on the tall, golden
haired, blue-eyed artist, standing calm
and cool, at the farther end of the
room, cycling her husband with a slight
| ly quizzical smile, as the worthy man
pulled and painted and famed himself
| after his late exertion. Then the blue
eyes turned toward her. Their express
sion changed and softened. Was it a
! look of pity in their azure depths?
What excuse can I make for her, dear
reader?
She was thirty, and the wife of good,
kind hearted, noble man. The artist
was but three and twenty-a mere boy,
and coxcomb to boot. Yet for the
sake of single word OF glance of adj
miration from him, this vain and foolish
woman was toperil her husbands happi-
ness and her own. Yes, her own. For
words of love and praise from any other
lips than those of her own lawful hus-
band never yet gave happiness
ever much they may fatter Yanity-to
the heart of any wife. How all this
would have ended it is impossible to
say. The foolish woman was blinded
by her own vanity, the boy artist was in
fatuated and fattered by her preference.
The gay world looked on with vailed
smiles and whispered comments, and
waited for the denouement, which all
felt sure must speedily come.
Only the husband was blind, and
trusting and unsuspecting all the while.
! He was the very soul of honor himself,
and he loved his wife. The idea that
she could take more pleasure in the
| company of the young artist than his
own never crossed his honest brain.
| And so he welcomed his unknown rival
to his house with cordiality that ought
to have shamed him into departing for
ever, then and there. It did not, how
ever, and the giddy woman seemed in
danger of fearful fall, when suddenly
! the angel of sickness took her by the
hand, and led her away from gayety and
folly, down, down into the very valley
Of the shadow Of death; and so sayed
| her sould alive
More than four weeks passed away
before Mrs. Lawrence was pronounced
| convalescent and before she could re-
cognize those who were around her.
The first face on which her eyes rested
was that of her husband, no longer
jolly, ford and nlirthfull, but pale and
worn and anNious-all for her,
| He burst into tears as he laid her
wasted hand upon his own, with look
of thanks. He could not speak but hur-
RED from the room. But she had seen
how tenderly he loved her. And if she