The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1877-03-10


Loo turns her white face to him inquiri1gly,
Don't you see that it is not an ordinary
case?' he asks. ''What does it signify-E
that few carping Puritans may carp at it ?"
Ottale, my dear one, come with me, can
make you happy now and always"
He waves me aside, | stand aside, and wait.
| 1t seems to me like an eternity; but know
| can trust Ottalie.
She frees herself slowly from him. "Good-
bye, dear love-" she whispers.
"Good.bye?" he echoes, ''What do you
mean? You cannot, you will not, send me
away, Ottalie-"
81 am his-wile, she whispers, drawing
long, quivering breath.
''It is a pity you did not remember that
sooner" he says, his angry mood returning.
| But the next moment he is drawing her to
him again. Remembered it before you
| played with me-"
| 81 know it," she says humbly. But if
| played with you it was dangerous pay; for
l think have wounded myself to death"
| "Ottae, forgive me-" he cries; II think
am going mad. Ottalie-"
"No, no; no! don't tempt me, please"
| she s0bs, leaving him where he stands. "Go,
| Mr.. Dame please go, for all is over. And /
would ask you to forget me il but no, don't
| forget me quite" she breaks off, with cry of
pain mot quite, not quite. Only try not to
l ~ UldiilC Iu0 IuUlC budu yOu Gall utlp.'
Her tears break out at last between the
dry sobs. His only answer is TO snatch her
| to him and kiss her face, her slender hands
even her hair.
60" she.gasps out; please 90 Jasper.n
ana 60 he does And the next morning
before Some is well astir, Ottale and I and
our boxes go off like the shame-faced things
we are.
The sea-shore again. More sand and fewer
houses than at Some; we are hundred miles
from that delectable spot. Some was not
| much but this, who shall describe its dreari
ness Sometimes 1 think 1 cannot bear it,
1t is the fagg-end of the world; hardly any,
thing but the lighthouse to see. Weeks
have passed since we came; the signs of win
tee are at hand. What shall we when winter
comes? 1 am sitting on the door step, and
Ottale is walking up and down as it she had
been wound up and warranted to go so many
hours: her eyes are fastened on the sea and
and her long skirt stirs the leaves that lie
| dead on the path.
"Pd just as soon be in my grave as here"
| groan, for in truth all things, wear cruel
| aspect to me to-day.
Ottalie stops to speak. Deborah, don't!
please don't. We must stay here. 1t is
safe retreat; no one knows it. sometimes
fear am not good woman; that you know
l am not. l am afraid to risk temptation
again. Sometimes wonder whether il he''
her voice sinks, and she turns her pale, thin
| face towards me, ''If he were to find me and
| ask me the same thing I should have the
strength to say no again. Oh, my mother,
| 1t you were but living nowW she adds, clasp
ing hands, and taking up her weary tramp
again.
1t is the first time she has alluded to Jasper
Dame. The thought exaperates me, must
be getting ill.tempered out Of sheer weari-
ness.
ct warned you in time, Ottalie. Did not
tell you it must end?"
"Yes, know all that; it is no ones fault
but NINE" she answers" as her eyes wan
der out seaward again. The eyes have dark
circles perpetuallo now, and her pretty face
has lost its bloom. As gust of wind lifts
her hair, see how sharpened the outline
| has become. ss''
How dreary this is! And what is drearier
still, every day brings us nearer to that of
Captain Joyce's release. And then! Will
he find us here? Will she die of it? Oh,
Ottalie, Ottale! I'll am cross, it is for her
sake. -.o...
To and fro she still tramps. sit on with
my despair, and watch the smoke from the
coastguard cottage chimney curl up against
the gray sky, and the last leaves from the
solitary row of poplar trees fall off in the
| wintry wind.
| And this is our life. How long will it
last? ask the question Of myself as the
faint, red sun CLEANS out for moment be-
yond the lighthouse and then sinks to its
rest; sinks only to rise again on the morrow,
| to rise and set on many countless to-mor-
rows. How long? How long?
The sea-gulls flap into shore, scIeeching
angrily, and the waves, the sad sea waves,
come creeping in slowly over the sands,
with sad, sullen moan, in and 10, until the
| faint color left by the sun is gone, and night
is upon us, And all night long / lie on my
| pillow and listen to the waves, and cannot
sleep. '' ---..-.
| The morning brings letter. A letter for
us! Only one individual in the wide world,
SO far as know, is cognizant of our address /:
the friendly old lawyer, once relative of my
dead mothers, through whom we get our
small income transmitted periodically.
| What can he have to say?- 1t is only the
middle of the quarter. Ottalie, seated oppo-
sit to me at the breakfast table, glances at it
| with some faint curiosity.
"Old Weston must have gone in early"
she remarks, abiding to the distant post
| town.
'He had to fetch something betimes for
| the lighthouse"
The letter is addressed to me, and open
| it. AS glance at its contents, mist gath
| ers before my sight, and turn sick and faint.
Is it right to be glad at fellow creatures
deathP know not.
whats the matter, Deborah9"
"News. 1t concerns you."
Concerns me?"
| "Yes. Some one is dead''
She gazed at me with parted lips. ''Not
| -" she begins, and stops.
! eyes. he is dead. Your husband has die d
| in PRISON.
| don't quite remember how we got
| through the day, except that we hardly ex-
change two words. What Ottalie feels l
know not, am thankful.
why, there's strangerP l exclaim in
wonder, as l discern some tall man marching
down the rugged pathway at evening. A
| gentleman, too. We had not seen anything
| of the kind in the place before.
Ottalie raised her eyes languidly and looks
out. She knows him in spite of the twilight,
| and she stands up and locks her fingers one
| within the other in her emotion.
| He comes in-Jasper Dame. His form fills
| up, the doorway. Opening his arms, OF talie
falls into them. And I and he do what we
can do, to still her hysterical sobbing
.You see, Miss Peyre," he says to me.
| "Fate has been kinder to us than--'
ethan you Deserve" put in. ..
"Quite so. But as my wife, I will endeav-
or to shield her in the future from life's
| troubles and storms. You shall enjoy peace
and rest if ! can give them to you, my darI.
ing Ottalie." 49,.
And the sad sea waves did not sound to
| me that night so sadly as they had done.
| Poor, weary Ottalie! The dark past was
| over for her; hope was dawning; she might
be light hearted once more, even in this
world.-Argosy.
COPARTNERSHI