Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1877-08-08
A WIFE'S STORY.
THE FALSE AND TRUE.

cSsaIy w Icll Hlih NAV "i' NV wv
him as he loved mc-that | under
stood his devotion, because | had felt
it for another--that other, Ivan Grey
that to my husband | had to give
only a grateful affection. Would
that suffice ?
He said that it would. He told me
afterward, that through my weeping
he did not catch the name that he
thought I said also that my lover had
died.
From the first, Roscoe was a good
husband. fl did not appreciate him
then, / vas not unhappy. l had a
bright, beautiful home which Roscoe
name Hesperides. The library was
extensive, the conservatory Luxurious.
Books and flowers being my ruling
passion, my husband had taken espec-
lal pains to gratl1y me.
After our boy was born, and every
body pronounced him most healthy
and beautiful child, Roscoe said to me :
"Constance, are you happy now ?"
I looked straight into his honest
brown eyes as l truly answered; eyes,
Roc"
He bent and kissed me with de-
light had never seen him show be-
fore.
'Dearest you are mine!" he muir
INJURED.
That was all he said.
1t was just two years after our mar
riage.
A few days later he received let
ter. / asked who it was from.
''My sister, he answered.
Il never knew that you had Sis
ter" I said, in surprise.
"No, l have never spoken to you
of Ora. When my parents died IN
my boyhood, Ora, was a baby, and
taken by an aunt down to New Or
leans, where she was raised with her
children. I 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 pa
per, the penmanship easy and grace
full, but rather too fine. Rather
brief communication, prettily express
ed, asking us to come to the wedding
"To New Orleans in July! ] an
afraid to take baby. and | could moi
leave him.
81 see that we cannot go. 1t Is I'm
practicable. l will write and tel
Ora.
"And give her my love. Say tina
I hope she will be very happy.
had been present at but one wed
ding in my life, and that was my own
I was six-and-twenty. 1t was YER,
different from what I thought it woul'
be when I was eighteen, At eighteel
Ihad been bethrothed to Ivan Grey
at twenty.six I married Roscoe Ar
mold.
The suggestion of another wedding
brought back the past to me. Whe1
I was alone, and baby asleep in hi
basket, I went to a drawer in tn
private cabinet, and took out packe
of letters and photograph.
The latter was vignette-a fac
handsome as Greek gods, with
perfection of contour that must eve
be fascinating. AS I looked at it, tn
peace OF my heart fled away. Th
breath Of the past, fragrant, new
spring.like. swept over Inc !; the warn
imperious impulses of youth starte
to lite in my blood.
Hooked at the letters but did nc
open them. There was no need.
had learned each one by heart yeal
ago. The packet was small, and
sat with it held between my palms fc
nearly half an hour. But / put ava
letters and picture at last, and s;
down by the open window, swingin
the baby's basket to and fro. Jul
then / heard Roscoe whistling light
as he ran upstairs, and in a momel
be entered the room, his hands full
pond lilies.
"See here, Connie-here's tre
for you! Aren't they beauties 2"
My favorite flower [ took tt
splendid things from him and put the
in a crystal globe of cool water.
''See here !" said Roscoe.
He had pulled up his straw hat, al
the curling hair about his white for
head was literally dripping with per
piration.
"See how wilted I am, hurryir
home through the heat to save 20
l.