Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1877-06-20
VOL. 72.-36SS. NO. SO.

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:
81 love you
AT last she could sit up and talk little
Ard then she told Roscoe and me her story.
will not repeat it here. 1t was tale too
sickening; of human passions innamed by
liquor of mans tyranny; of woman's weak
ness Her husband was false to her and to
his manhood. She clung to him, pleading,
he knocked her senseless at his feet And,
before that she had borne-oh, pitiful heav-
ems, so much
He has killed my love for him." she
said, white and shuddering. al am afraid
OF him ! had rather die than live with
him again Let me stay here Here he
will not find me. Oh, Roscoe Constance,
let me stay with youi"
We soothed her-promised earnestly that
she should stay, protected, beloved by us.
For the conversation was most hurtful TO
her, and nearly brought on relapse of her
fever.
So found what had never had-a sis.
ter--and | think we made her as happy as
she could possibly be after the terrible
blight upon her youth. She found fund
OF comfort in little Lyle, who was very fond
OF her. calling her Lolo " in his soft, lisp
ing accents. She was most unselfish and
sympathetic in disposition, and this latter
trait won from me, at least, a confidence.
She sat with me, sewing in my chamber
one day. Roscoe had just sent out from
town package of new books | wished to
see We had looked them over-promised
ourselves much enjoyment in the long winter
evenings coming
"What a splendid man Roscoe isl" Ora
said, thoughtfully. Z" He is champion-a
friend-he is interested in everything you
care for-he councils your wishcs-ninis-
ters to your tastes Now my husband never
seemed to care for anything only to own me !"
She seldom or never referred to her hus-
band. 1t seemed to make her physically ill
to do so. | hurried away from the subject.
al know have good husband, Ora |
respect him, | admire him. But yet"
added, 81 should have been happier if had
married another man.
Then told her the tale of my youth. Of
my exceeding beauty--of the tourist who
wandered to my mountain home-of his
beauty, his charm, his power-my passion
for him OF my invalid mother, who prayed
me not to leave her-of the choice | needs
must make-of his departure--his subse-
qient desertion. Of howmy mother died
blessing mellow my conscience approved,
yet my passionate longing for what | had
lost. The hot tears raned down my face as
| conclnded-so deeply had my nature known
this experience
Ora listened with wide eyes, quckened
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 picture of him ?" she asked,
in sharp, suppressed voice.
| unlocked the cabinet, found the pho
tograph, placed it in her hand
She glanced-dropped it as if it had stung
her. " 1t is my husband, Constance |"
could only stare at her.
"Itsurely is, Constance" she said, winding
her arms about me. "When you first spoke
Of your childhood's love in Blue mountains,
| | remembered to have seen some sketches my
husband made there bearing date 1855.
Ten years ago. Oh, COMFY, what an escape
you made that You did not marry him To
be the wife of Ivan Grey was reserved for
my fate" she added, mournfully.
"Was Mr. Grey's name Ivan" | stammered.
Yes" she answered.
was forced to accept the truth.
Irose, by-and-by, and put the letters and
the photograph in the fire.
And that night talked alone with my
husband. Through all eternity he will never
loubt now that love him.