The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1877-08-16

afternoon, Dr. Richardson. is the pa
tient up stairs better to-day? I am on
my way to see her. shall not take you
with me, Agnes, in order to earn Dr.
Richardson's good opinion over again
for once he had good opinion Of me-"
She looked in at him sideways and
laughed. She was wonderfully pretty
this afternoon all sparkle and glow.
There was an instant's, but only an
instant's, odd restraint in DR.. Richard
sons manner then he said, quite grave
ly, "You have not forfeited my good
opinion, Miss Huntingdon"
"The truth is, DR.. Richardson" said
Miss Huntingdon, her face all lighted
with saucy, inward laughter the
truth is, you owe me debt of gratitude
deeper than you can ever repay. Tell
me now frankly, if it were not for me,
would you be at this moment the happy
man you are ?"
Cranky, would not"
DR.. Richardson was very serious.
Even Miss Huntingdon seemed to veil
some feeling under her gay manner. I
was troubled.
"Why do you talk in riddles" I
asked. "Do not you know that I have
no talent for guessing ?"
cat least you shall not cultivate it
just now, DEAR" said Miss Huntingdon.
"Dr. Richardson will tell you when
am gone. I must go to your aunt. Tt
does her good to scold me-" She turned
away and moved step or two, and
then looked back with a changed face.
agnes she said, wistfully, "would
you mind kissing me ?"
Mind kissing you? What ques-
ton. But you are not going away i'm
mediately?'
cob, [ don't know. Perhaps I had
better bid you good-by now. She
kissed me twice. "Good-by /" she
said Absolutely, the spark in her eye
was quenched in dew. "Agnes," she
said, with an odd sort of half-laughing
seriousness, eff you should ever come
to think that Ananias was moral char
acter in comparison with myself, it
would be impossible for you to love me
any more, would it not? But let me as
sure you, my dear, that some stories
are told with the best possible inten-
TONS"
Then she left us.
"What can she mean, dear ?" I asked,
turning in wonder to DR.. Richardson.
He led me to the chair [ had Quilted
and placing me there again stood before
me.
"Agnes, she means me to confess to
you something that you need never have
known. And yet, perhaps, it is better
that you should. She means that I once
loved her,"
He went on talking for few minutes,
but I do not know what he said. NY
hands were cold, and objects before my
eyes were blurred. She had deceived
me. It was to her and to him I had
listened that evening so long ago. He
had loved her. [, who had heard him
declare it, knew the depth of sincerity
in the voice that told her so. Had he
sought my love only as a solace for the
wound that she had inflicted? Friend
and lover-were both to fail me?
'Have you nothing to say, Agnes?
Why do you not answer me?"
Wait for one moment, [ replied,
hearing my voice, but hardly recognize
ing it. 81 will answer you when [ re-
turn. ;"
I left him abruptly, going slowly up
stairs, my heart feeling broken. I got
the ring and came down, not trembling
at all, quite quiet, with that dreadful
calm which accepts despair. In the
blind jealousy Of the moment it seemed
impossible that he could really love me,
having once loved her.
"It is usual, I believe" I said with
some sort of smile, "to break an en-
gage1ml1ent by returning a ring. Would
you like that ours should be broken so?
This is your ring; is it not?''
"What do you mean, Agnes? Where
did you get this ring?" cried Dr.. Rich
ardson in great surprise.
&c L was in the alcove there the night
that Miss Huntingdon threw it away. I
found it in the garden next morning. I
heard all that you both said. But she
has deceived me. She said, when 7
asked her, that this ring was never hers.
And you have deceived me; you told me
you loved me"
In another moment the sob in my
voice would have given way to miserable
childish tears But DR.. Richardson
folded me in his arms and kissed me,
laughing. That comforted me more
than any words could have done.
Yes. When he had talked to me an
hour or two, particularly when he had
treasured me as to the grounds upon
which I held his love, I freely forgave
her. Sitting there in the delicious twi-
light, with that dear voice sounding so
lovingly in my ears, whom and what
could not have forgiven?
And then, in the dusk, [ hear her
light footsteps on the stair, and the rus
tie of her dress.
"Poor, trusting little one r he cried.
"The whole world is ia conspiracy
against you; is not it? I shall play my
role to the end, however and say that I
love you forever. And cannot you for
give Miss Huntingdon Is not she
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