Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1877-06-20
A Wife's story.

me to marry him, felt it necessary to tell
him that did not love him as he loved me
that | understood his devotion, because
had felt it for another-that other, Ivan
Grey-that to my husband | had to give
only grateful affection. Would that suffice?
He said that it would. He told me after
ward, that through my weeping he did not
catch the name that he thought said also
that my lover had died.
From the first, Roscoe was a good hus-
band. If did not appreciate him then,
was not unhappy. had bright, beautiful
home which Roscoe named Hesperides. The
library was extensive. the conservatory lux
urious. Books and flowers being my ruling
passion, my husband had taken especial
pains to crafty me.
After our boy was born, and everybody
pronounced him most healthy and beauti-
full child, Roscoe said to me:
"Constance, are you happy now ?"
l looked straight into his honest brown
eyes as truly answered: Yes Roc"
He bent and kissed me with delight
had never seen him show before.
dearest, your are mine !" he murmured.
That was all he said.
1t was Just two years after our marriage.
A few days later he received a letter.
asked whom it was from.
"My sister," he answered.
g" never knew that you had sister,"
said, in surprise.
"No, | have never spoken to you of Ora.
When my parents died in my boyhood, Ora
was baby, and was taken by an aunt down
TO New Orleans, whore oho raised with
her children. ! have only seen her once
since. She is very pretty. This letter tells
me she is to be married"
He gave me the letter to read. 1t was
written on delicate fragrant paper, the pen
manship easy and graceful, but rather too
fine. Rather a brief communications pret-
tily expressed. asking us to come to the
wedding.
ITO New Orleans in July am afraid
to take baby, and could not leave him.
81 see that we cannot go. 1t is impractlc'
able. | will write and tell Ora"
"And give her my love. Say that | hope
she will be very happy
had been present at but one wedding ir
my life, and that was my own. was six
and-twenty 1t was very different from
what | thought it would be when | wa'
eighteen. At eighteen had been betrothet
to Ivan Grey at twentysix married Ros
coe Arnold.
The suggestion of another wedding brought
back the past to me. When was alone
and baby asleep in his basket, | went to
drawer in a private cabinet, and took out
packet of letters and photograph.
The latter was vignette-a face hand
some as Greek gods, with a perfection o
contour that must ever be fascinating. A
looked at it, the peace of my heart fleC
away. The breath of the past, fragrant
new, spring-like, swept over me; the warm
mperious impulses of youth started to lif
in my blood.
looked at the letters, but did not opel
them. There was no need. ] had Learned
each one by heart years ago. The packe
was small, and | sat with it held betwee
my palms for nearly half an hour. But
put away letters aud picture at last, and sa
down by the open window, swinging tn
baby's basket to and fro. just then hear
Roscoe whistling lightly as he ran upstairs
aud in moment he entered the room, hi
hands full of pond lilies.
IS See here, Connie-here's a treat for you
Aren't they beauties 7"
My favorite Aowerl took the splendi
things from him and put them ia crysts
globe of cool water
" See here I" said Roscoe.
He had pulled up his straw hat, and til
curling hair about his white forehead wa
literally dripping with perspiration.
See how wited | am hurrying hon
through the heat to save your lilies, he sai'
brought him some cool water TO bath
his face laid out for him some fresh clothing
and went away to see if dinner was read
Thus | took up, again, the present.
, Another year went by. ! was surrounde
by comfort; tenderly cared for. resolve
/ not to unlock the rosewood cabinet again
was reading in the portico, one Jur
I morning, while Melsse, the nurse, was lea
ing little Lyle along the garden walks, wht
a carriage came hurrying up the drive.
sprang up, fearing something had ha
pened TO my husband. But by the time
reached the open hall door, lady, alon
n was coming up the steps from the carriag
\ She was very young, richly robed, and /
q stantly addressed me
, " Are you not my brother Roscoe's wife
. she asked. 81 am his sister Ora, from Ne
y Orleans"
don't remember how welcomed he
|, but threw open the drawing-room door, al
/, she entered and dropped into seat.
:. "Where is Roscoe | have come to ST
II with you,' she said, her face pale as ashes
!, IL took a vague alarm at her appearanC
q pul tllucdNolNu W Sptah 40 usual
y you are tred-ill. Lay off your wra
h and let me get you glass of wine"
= went across the hall to the china clos
n When came back she lay in a dead fai
40 upon the floor.
a Roscoe had gone out of town, aud did 4
" return till evening | had had Ora tax
to a room next mine and put to bed.
was mere delicate child when undress,
er not more than seventeen years old.
y "Oh, how good your are-how good y
Is are Il" she said, with heartrendng path
"a as bathed her temples and rubbed her Dc
IL cate limbs. had studied medicine lit
with my father, and | knew she was clC
upon fever. At length she lay warm a
ne quiet, and soon fell asleep.
n | sat up until eleven O'Clock, waiting
Is Roscoe. At length heard his step in
hall hurried to meet him.
lie looked astounded at my news. "Wl
IL what does it mean 7" he asked.
Of The next morning Ora was in burni
at fever She talked incoherently-sh did /
know me. She lay very ill for three wee