Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1877-07-11

LOOK vague alarm NJ her appearance,
but | endeavored to speak as usual.
" You are tired-ill. Lay off your wraps
and let me get you glass of wine"
went across the hall TO the china clos
ct; When came back she lay in II dead
faint upon the floor.
Roscoe had gone out of town, and did
not return till evening. | had had Ora
taken to room next to mine and put to
bed. She was mere delicate child when
undressed, not more than seventeen years
old.
"Oh, how good you are-how good you
are! y she said with heart-rending pathos,
as bathed her temples and rubbed her
delicate limbs. l had studied medicine Il
little with my father, and knew she was
close upon II fever. At length she Law
warm and quiet, and soon fell asleep.
sat up till eleven o'clock, waiting for
Roscoe: AT length l heard his step in the
hall. hurried to meet him.
He looked astounded at my news.
why, what does it mean?" he asked.
The next morning Ora was in burning
fever. She talked incoherently-she did
not know me. She lay very i'll for three
weeks.
Poor girl! at one time it seemed certain
that she would die, but, we kept her.
At last her first act of consciousness was
to kiss me, and murmur:
Il love you"
At lust she conld sit up and talk little.
And then she told Roscoe and me her
story.
will not repeat it here. 1t was n tale
too sickening; of human passions inham.
ed by liquor; of mans tyranny; of woman s
weakness. Her husband was false to her
and to his manhood. She clung to him
pleading; he knocked her senseess at his
feet. And, before that she had borne
oh, pitilul heaven, so much
" He has killed my love for him." she
said, white and shuddering. "I am ahnit
of him! had rather die than live will
him again! Let me stay here! Here he
will not tihd me. Oh, Roscoc-Constance
let me stay with your
We soothed her-promised earnestly
that she should stay protected, beloved by
us. For the conversation was most hurt
full to her, and nearly brought on q relapse
| Vi uCl ldNtI.
So | found what l had never had-g
sister-and think we made her us happy
as she could possibly be after the terrible
blight upon her youth. She found func
of comfort in little Lyle, who was very
fond of her, calling her Lolo in his soft
lisping accents. She was the most un
selfish and sympathetic in disposition, anC
this latter trait won from me, at least, {
confidence.
She sat with me, sewing in my chamber
one day. Roscoe had just sent out from
town Il package of new books | wished tC
see. We had looked them over-promiseC
ourselves much enjoyment in the Ions
winter evenings coming.
What Il splendid man Roscoe is!'
Ora said, thoughtfully. lie is champi
on-a friend-he is interested in every
thing you care for-hecounscls your wish
es-ministers to your tastes. Now m,
husband never seemed to care for any
thing only to own metz
She seldom or never referred to her hus
band. 1t seemed to make her PHYSICAL,
i'll to do so. hurried away from the
subject,
"r know | have good husband, Ora
| respect him, admire him. But yet"
added, should have been happier if hat
married another man"
Then | told her the tale of my youth
OF my exceeding beauty-the tourist wht
wandered to my mountain home-of hi
beauty, his charm, his power-my passion
for him. Of my invalid mother, wht
prayed me not to leave her-of the choic,
| needs must make-of his departure-hi
subsequent descrtion OF how my moth
er died blessing mellow my conscience
approved, yet my passionate longing TO
what had lost. The hot tears rainet
down my face as | concluded-so deepl,
had my nature known this experience.
Ora listened with wide eyes, quckenet
breath; her work dropped upon her lap
When had done, she said:
What was his name, Constance? You
have not spoken it,"
"Ivan Grey"
" Have you Il picture Of him?n sh
asked, in n sharp, suppressed voice.
unlocked the cabinet, found the photo
graph, placed it in her hand
one SItnceu-urOppeu IL us II 1t NAT
stung her. at is my husband, Con
stancc!'
could only stare ut her.
"It surely is, Constance" she said
winding her arms about me. When you
first spoke Of your childhood's love in Blut
mountains, remembered to have seel
some sketches my husband made there
bearing date 1865. Ten years ago. Oh
Conny, what an escape you made that yol
did not marry him! To be the wife q
Ivan Grey was reserved for my fate," sh
added, mournfully.
WAS Mr.. Grey S name Ivan" STAN
mered.
Yes" she answered.
was forced TO accept the truth.
rose, by-and-by, and put the letters an
the photograph in the fire.
And that night | talked alone with IN,
husband. Through all eternity he vii
never doubt now that love him.