Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1878-12-28
Gales ano Skcttbes.
THE STORY OF ALICE.
Continued from Yesterday. }

can stand anything better She never
loved me
Did YOU love her ~
Il thought at the time did he re-
turned slowly. Il was very tender of her,
so tender that pitied her for the twelve
months she endured with me Afterwards
| discovered She had treated me i'll before
she left me-
Were you divorced o.
mo. Her mother came and begged me
on her knees not to disgrace the family by
Il public scandal. too hated the thought
Of it and protected all might the name of
my wife
The unhappy girl had gone to Europe
with her married sister for the summer
and as soon as she landed went off with
this man who was waiting for her there.
The thing was scarcely understood and lit
tie talked about. left New York at once
and came here. exchanging the promise of
Il brilliant career for a country doctors la
borouS work and scanty rewards. 1t was
a mistake. Most things we do under thir-
| tN are mistakes
But YOU have done so much good
here, yenturcd, rather timidly
Thank God yes found plenty of
work to do, and put all my strength into
doing it. Still, here his mouth closed
| firmly and his eyes flashed as he turned
back TO me, lit was a mistake should
have taken measures to release myself
from the dead weight of dishonoring
wife. "
at was noble in YOU to spare her fam-
ly."
1T was mistake" he affirmed again
with an an odd patient sort of smile. but
l., L
can mend the past 1t was mistake
which leaves my private life blank. |
can never marry now never have a sweet
wife; never have child. However, he
added. Frightening. II am glad YOU know
my story, Mrs. Rivers You thought me Il
bachelor then ?'
His keen look fastened on my face
II never thought much about it, took
it for granted returned lightly AT
least have this comfort out of your trouf-
le; YOU cannot fall in love with anv wo-
man now who will have a right to take my
friend away from me-
1t was two months after this conversa-
ton with DR.. Wilde, that Miss Dorothy
asked me one day in her quiet way if |
knew that he had IA wife living. She was
the sweetest. the most friendly of chape-
rons, but could not help laughing at her
little air of concern. | told her all that
he had done for me; that | was SO CRATE
full to him. so proud of his friendship for
me. that | loved the very tones of his
voice. since it was his kindness that had
opened my soul and let a love of truth and
goodness and beauty flow into my heart
Any disquietude due to the fact was a
widow and young. and perhaps attractive
to Il man not vet middle-aged. | should
have been ashamed of. Had not Miss Dor
othy's suggestion been so tmid might
have been angry with such an exaggerated
susceptibility in my behalf Not one word
or look of tlattery. of any over-indulgence
had ever weakened the strong, life-com-
pelling influence DR.. Wilde held over me
from the first. No, il was clearly mpossi-
bic that needed to restrain myself in any
feeling which my grateful heart dictated
toward my kind, wise friend
In the fall we planned few improve
mentS in the stately old house whose walls
had been untouched. for century. want
ed conservatory to open from the dining
room, and DR.. Wilde, as usual, took upon
himself all the titigues and troubles of the
enterprise and used to look in every morn
ing at breakfast time to direct the work
men. There was a certain delight in it
all the endless discussions, the differen-
ces of opinion, the plannings through vari-
ous means for the same result, all COM
bined to render our morning meal time
of genuine enjoyment No doubt but that
my saddened heart of the year before had
undergone some magical transformation to
allow me to forget my old struggles and
defeats and claim this sort of unimpaired
contentmcnt n whatever daily existence
proflered. Everything that Autumn seemed
most beautiful; the soft silverness of the
sky, the pearly haze where the horizon
met the yellow stubble lands; the charm
snatched from decay which made the Sc
cret of this tranquil splendor so battling
one longed to penetrate into the very heart
of it.
One Indian summer morning, late in
November, DR.. Wilde came in as usual,
sat down and drank cup of coffee
and ate a roll for sociability's sake, then
declaring he must speak to the carpenters
at once and be off, as an important case
awaited him. he sprang up, bade us good
morning and went out. Cousin Dorothy
also finished her breakfast and went out
on the terrace for her morning prone
made. | still sat in my place, now and
then breaking grape from the bunch on
my plate. | was thinking of DIR, Wilde
and smiling over something he had said.
All at once | noticed that he had left his
gloves on the table, and | exulted little
that, after all his hurry and his adieus, he
must come back for them.
! was all alone reached out my hand
and took up one of the heavy driving
gloves. | loved the touch of it. 1t
thrilled me with a sense of nearness to the
wearer An irresistible impulse moved
me, and | fear held it to my heart. |
know that | put it to my lips and kissed it
twice. suddenly became aware that
some one was standing in the doorway.
and without daring at first to look up
felt myself flushing deeply and painfully.
put the glove down, for the intruder adj
vanced.
"Oh, DR.. Wilde" cried with foolish
terror of him and of myself Our eyes
met. For moment strong tide of feel
ing rushed over me drowning resistance.
loved him-I knew it now | loved him
dearly. He looked at me steadily. His
face, at first fiery red, turned pale gradual
ly, pale even to the lips; he was absolute