Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1874-02-05

knew that he was Often driven from HON,
by his business, and hat he was obliged
to be away many days at time. | sen
the letter in fear and tembling, and bideC
my time. In a few days | had notice
from a bankin g-house IN New York that {
certain sum would bepaid me every yeal
by order of Mrs. Isabel Deane. 1t wa,
precisely the amount of the allowance I
had mentioned in my letter-not an ex
trayagant sum, but JUS enough to support
| my boy and me decenly.
"She could spare it well enough. and
after all, l don't know why | should he
sorry for doing it. she had had more
| than her share of happiness, but I have
! often wondered how she took nv little
| thunderboIt. / heard3he went to Eurone
with her children"
Madeleine Dejoux had said all this il,
| a high, constrained voice, as if she had
| been wound up to run just so many min.
utes. She now shran1 down AMONG her
! pillows, and seemed to be bracing herself
| to receive my wrath in whatever form If
might break upon her.
For one black instant I had a SAVAGE
| longing to clutch her throat, and shake
out of her what little life she had left
but the great joyfulness of the tidings that
l could send to Isabel swept it away. I
should have been pagan indeed to give
another turn to the rack on which remOrse
and disease had long bound her. 7 felt
only contempt for the workings of such
a mind when she looked into nv ewes
again.
81 see you have been furious, +" she said,
reading me as if | had been printed in
the largest type; "but now you have
turned scOrnful. You used to be devout
admirer of Mrs. Deane, who, with all her
tameness, could fascinate men and women
both. | know all the wires that men are
pulled by: but l never had woman
friend, unless g0U will be that one"
CT, your friend" | said, with a
shudder that | did not try to hide.
Never mind" she said, YEARLY; al
can do without it as | have always. [ see
your interest in me ends with this inter
view You would trample me under your
feet if you could help Mrs. Deane by it."
"That is of course. | may think of you
in connection with Mrs. Deane's sorrow
as one thinks of the serpent in the ruin
of Eve: we follow her fortune ever after,
but l don't know that anybody caredwhat
became of that particular serpent"
81 was sore tempted" she pleaded,
"and could not see my boy starye.'
"Where is your boy now?"
ooh, he is dead. I never repented till
then"
"And if he had lived you would never
have undeceived your victim; you would
have let her drag out her life in torturing
doubt of her husbands faith?"
eyes. | think So"
"And [ think so too" I said, drawing
my cape, which she had never let go,
out of her hand "You are installing
remorse for repentance; but at least, to
give you your due, you have done one
good thing before it is too late.''
She turned her face away from me with
a movement Of Impotence, as if she half
grudged even that one white thread in
whole life woven out of evil, and | went
quietly out of the infrmary and ran all
the way to my own house.
While Madeleine Dejoux's words were
fresh in my memory, | wrote every one
as she had spoken them; but they could
not reach Isabel in less than a fortnight,
and [ would not prolong her pain even
that length of time
I wrote half dozen kilograms before I
could hit on a form of words that salts
fed me.
One was: Madeleine Deioux has con
fessed her deception" And another:
1.-THE woman who wrote lying letter to
you is dying" but feared the telegram
would be opened by a str:SAger, or by one
Of the children, before it should reach
Isabel, and the questions and surmises as
to its meaning would be endless. At last
l settled on this: "Glad tidings of great
joy. Look for letter.
Then | made three copies of Made
leine's confession, and sent them on sue
cessive days to Heidelberg, that Isabel
might be nearly sure of getting one of
them, if the others failed.
Then [ sat down and folded my hands,
so to speak, feeling myself the center of a
great stretch of peace ana calmness, as
people do after troublesome piece of
work is fairly finished, and folded up and
laid away for future USE
/ never saw again the wild, self-tortur-
ing woman who had first stolen and then
restored Isabel's comfort, but the matron
sent me notice of her death two or
three days after my visit to her.
In less than two months Isabel came
home, bringing her children. She looked
worn and altered; but the sweet, soft dew
of happiness again frightened her eyes
and flushed her cheek. Her talk, as OF
old, was full of simple, innocent, womanly
matters, untouched by the sarcasms which
had come over the sea in all these years,
and had pricked me like arrows. We
spoke no word of all that had come and
gone between us. We just buried the ugly
skeleton, and put no stone to mark the
place But when she was again settled in
her old home, with her workable in front
of Mr.. Deane's portrait (Which she had
begged from his sister, [ sometimes
caught her returning glance as she gazed
long upon it; and | constantly read in
her face, " Forgive me, forgive me, o my
husband"
To hear with eyes is part of Loves fine wit,
and ours was but a woman's friendship
but | loved Isabel Deane well enough for
that.-Gdlarg.