The Wheeling daily intelligencer. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1865-1903, 1877-06-16
PART w,

Tomorrow, and to morrow, and Tomorrow,
Creep inths petty pace, from day to day"
Shakespeare.
The honeymoon is past. All ! rather
say, a moon OF gall. Never did this earth,
ireighted with the misery Of many human
souls, lag so on her accustomed journey.
"SO fierce lmpatenee, no entreatlng,
Can spur or wing tbs tArdy tarrier;
No strength, no skill, can rear barrier
Between departure and the feGtlng."
Daphne has made the cheering discoy-
cry that her husband, with the stupid
pertinaCity Of one.ideal mind, intends
devoting his whole time and attention to
iealonsy-not only Of Alfred's memory,
but Of every man to whom Daphne des.
perately turns for ten minutes converse.
ton, rational or sentimental. She scarce
ly appreciates the "new found bliss"
which, for at least one delicious month, is
supposed to intoxicate the happy bride.
Yet it is only in occasional dark hours
that she feels she would be willing to lay
her unsilvered head meath the green that
folds the grave" thatshe could turn from
the arms Of her living husband, TO hurl
herself into the chilling embrace Of the
monarch whose sceptre is n scythe, and
ieel the touch Of his bony fingers, press
ing on her eye.lids, forever shutting in
the light that flashed so maddeningly into
her lovers soul. Ordinarily, she looks
forward with an apathetic discomfort to
the years before her. Resolves that she
will see Alfred as often as possible.
Surely, they can safely exchange ideas
concerning the weather, the dullness Of
society, the boredom OF life in general,
even like two other fools, who have not
rejected each others lifelong society, 10
be wretched apart.
So thinking, she has returned to Ask
withs city home; but only for few days
OF preparation, before sailing for Europe.
The day is exceedingly warm, and Mrs.
Francis Askwith is sitting, alone, with
u novel, in her dress.room, not looking
in the least like the victim Of grand
passion, robed in cool white, when her
husband enters, and prepares to favor
her with one Of the caresses which he has
right to bestow.
Don't" she says,.rather rudely push
ing him away. "It's horribly warm,
Frank, but Pm going to the theater to.
night" she announces, gazing at some oh.
iect, apparently very interesting, immedi.
ately above the line Of his eyes-a prac.
tice which he considers peculiarly blight.
ing.
"Are we, reSllyp he answers, vicious.
ly. ~ can hardly prophecy accurately
as to your movements. l speak entirely
for myself. The blindest could scarcely
accuse us OF being two souls with but a
single thought, two hearts that beat as
one,' she answers, chillingly.
"What is the play2" she enquiries, viii.
ling to change the subject.
"ROmeo and Juliel,' she replies, laconi-
cally. "Ah! yes. l remember, now,
seeing something posted up down town
about this being Altred's last night. lie
is about to take an affecting leave Of the
public. Do you remember, Daphne, the
first time we went to see Alfred? What
an awful fool you did make Of yourself
tool
ayes, l recolIect distinctly" she rojOins,
with emphasis.
"What blasted cad Romeo was ~ he
pursues, meditatively chewing his nous.
taGhe. ITO go around blowing about
roses, and gloves, and all that"
ale vas something Of a fool, now
come to think OF it" she returned, with
fine irony. Then, her novel is re.opencd
and the subject is dismissed.
i
Mrs. Askwith ia again at the great the.
atrc, in the same box from which she frat
as a pretty maiden, looked into Altred's
seldom smiling face, the reflection OIL
whose shadow can never be entirely lifted
from her own. 0utwardly, the circum.
stances are little changed. The tempera.
ture is higher, by several degrees, and
many scented fans are agitated through.
out the house. Daphne'S dropping gaze
rests again on bunch OF white yiolets,
fastened in her black dress, and the small
glove on her left hand, hides no plain
ring, to burn into her flesh, and remind
her OF the difference. She left it at home,
on her drcssing.table, Just for this one
mig ht. It seemed such an aggressive
badge.
The play is half over. Her husband,
her mother; and several Indifferent gen.
tlemen, are some distance behind her,
and Thorpe is again at her side. Thorpe
knows her slender romance, feels for her
,,,g.o.,, .nJ foa.. T.. L.. Ft.--