The Bloomfield times. [volume] (New Bloomfield, Pa.) 1867-187?, 1874-05-26

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nox, it is nothing that concerns the ser
wants"
The lady did not heed the covert insult
offered by her menial-she heard nothing
-comprehended nothing, only that her
sister was gone She hurried past the
wondering group up to her own chamber,
incapable of thought or reflection, her white
lips murmuring still,
"My sister my sister p
Pausing only to catch upa mantle and
throw it about her form, she rushed again
through the long passages, her lips moving
yet in faint attempt to calculate that
name which died unutterable in moan.
There was no effort made to stay her, for
her husband had not stirred from the cham
ber which witnessed their interview, and
she rushed out of the house, disappearing
rapidly down the broad avenue grown dis
NAL with the coming night.
Mr.. Lennox stood motionless in that ST.
lent room, holding one of the fatal letters
crushed in his hand. 1t had become so
dark that he could distinguish nothing, save
when the embers of the expiring fire
sent up lurid CLEAN and crumbled into
Redeemed ashes upon the hearth. At
length he reused himself, took lamp from
the table and lighted it by the Goals. His
face grew even more livid when he saw
the shattered writing-desk lying upon the
floor, with its contents strewed in confu-
sion over the room, where he had scatter
ed them in his passion. He stopped,
collected everything, even to the most mi
mute bauble or scrap of paper, and seating
himself began to examine them one by one.
There were only the pretty trinkets
which he had himself presented to his wife
two or three brief notes in his own hand
writing-a few cards of invitation-one or
two scraps of poetry-but nothing to ex-
cite suspicion save that little packet of
letters which he had previously discovered.
He read them all, setting his lips firmly
together, but evincing no emotion, and
perusing slowly those burning words which
seemed to establish the guilt of the woman
to whom they were addressed. lie scruti
nized the handwriting, but it afforded no
clue-the name attached appeared only an
appellation of fondness, which the woman
herself had bestowed upon the writer.
He rose after time and began rigid
inspection of everything in the room, but
there was nothing to corroborate the ter
rible evidence Of those letters-even the
fragmentary journal which he found in a
drawer, was made up of the small details
which composed her daily life.
Even passion like that mans must know
a change, and upon its lowering tide
swept in doubts and reflections which filed
him with terrible depression. If she were
not guilty? But that was impossible--he
could not be blind enough to credit for a
a single moment, her innocence. He
walked hurriedly up and down the room,
striving to recall events of theirmarried life
seeking for some one moment an object
upon which to fix suspicion-nothing
Her manner at all times, and to all persons
had been the same-rather stunning So
ciety--fond of solitude All was darkness
and confusion-he looked again at the
letters, for the instant they seemed only an
added perplexity and doubt.
Suddenly he opened the door and called
her name" Mrs. Lennox"'
He started as if the word had already
grown unfamiliar, but there was no ans
wer. Thena change came over him-a quick
fear of something terrible as her pale face
rose before his sight. He rang the bell.
"Your mistress?" he said, to the SER
want, who obeyed in frightened haste the
imperious summons. Quick-where is
she ?'
Gone, sir9'
"Gone, where?"
The man could not tell--she had left the
house, that was all he knew Mr. Lennox
pushed him violently away, bounded down
the stairs and rushed bare-headed out Of
doors.
A hard, driving rain had come up, which
drenched him in an instant, but frantic
with that sudden terror, he flew down the
path which she had taken, while the wind
which chilled him to the heart seemed ut
tering an audible confirmation Of his unde-
fined fears He rushed wildly through the
dense night and pelting rain, but there was
no trace-the gates leading from the
grounds to the highway we're open and he
went through, on down the silent road, but
finding no trace of her he sought, conscious
Of his folly in choosing that method for
search, yet unable to pause Or turn back.