The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1878-08-10


| charge of my little pile, and | soon be-
gan to look for letters.
Rob's | could easily imagine-noble,
manly, like himself. Susy's [ thought
of, and tried to fancy, hundreds of times,
for I'd never had letter from her. |
knew it would be delicate and dainty,
and like my pretty snowdrop.
Well, well, fancies may do very well
but they won't feed a hungry heart.
Day after day passed by and no let
tiers. My soul grew sick, l made all
sorts of excuses for them. | imagined
all sorts of delays. But the long, dreary
days went by with leaden feet, and not
word came to the wanderer.
grew morbid and bitter, and at last
| wrote to an acquaintance in San Fran
cisco skiing for tidings of my brother
and wife.
The friend was not so neglectful as the
wife and brother.
Soon-too soon-I got reply. | can
see it now, in letters OF fire. My dear
| fellow" it ran, 81 have made inquiries,
as you requested, about your wife and
brother, and | can only find that they
| disappeared from here few months ago,
telling no one whence they were going,
but evidently having plenty of money"
| What more the letter contained |
never knew; that much of it was burned
| into my brain, and at that point / lost
myself. They do say | was a raying ma
MAC. Perhaps so; | don't know.
only know | found myself an old
man, blasted before my time, like a tree
struck by lightning.
Yet, | could not feel angry. How
could blame him? Was ] not mad to
leave him, with his tender heart, to care
for tender beauty like my Susy? How
could he help loving her? Wasn't she
all that was lovely? He was not to
blame, poor fellow.
And she? Did she not love me, and
was he not my twin brother? What so
strange that, seeing his love, she should
grow to return it?
What should [ do? Should search
them out, and blast their lives forever?
Should | come with my ignoble revenge,
and tear her from his arms? Would She
love me for it? Should / get back my
wife and brother?
Oh, no! had been gone long enough
to give her divorce-she had undoubt-
eddy got it, and even now was his wifel
His wife, Oh, Godl and could live!
Weeks, months, years, dragged on. |
scarcely knew they passed. Mechanical
ly | worked on. Fortune, no longer
sought, showered gold on me. | cared
naught for it, but instinct prevented me
from throwing it away. Gambling was
utterly repugnant to me. No form of
dissipation lured me. / was an old, old
man at thirty. | only worked and
thought, and lived over the old days
my one brief day of perfect Joy.
never cursed them. The hurt was
too deep and too sharp for curses. From
the depths of my torn heart, [ pitied
them
Well, twenty years rolled on, and |
have got to be forty years old, feeling
and looking more like sixty-fve, bent
and stiff and gray-haired.
One day, in my wanderings, l came on
a travelling party of miners, bound to
the gold regions. | Joined them, from
tier fashion, and was soon seated at their
fire, exchanging news of the Indians and
from the states. | CHANGED to mention
my name.
"We've got namesake of yours in
camp" said one fellow
Have your" | said carelessly. alt
isn't common name"
"No, and that's where it's odd" said
he; besides, you somehow remind me
of him, though you're much older than
he. By the way, there he comes"
| turned-something | knew not what,
shot through me. | rose, and knew my
brother
My heart gave one bound. [ forgot
my wrongs. | saw onl Y my dear other
self, the companion of my boyhood. |
sprang forward.
"Robert dear old boy! is it your"
He looked at me eagerly-incredu
lousy.
"Ralph! it can't be you'll"
"It is" | cried; and-well, / don't
know as | am ashamed of it embraced
him like a school girl, and wept,
And so did he, poor fellow, though he
could hardly believe the wrecked old
man was his brother.
But what struck me, even then, as
strange, he did not shrink from me, nor
act as though he had injured me.
"Robert," | said, when we were alone
and calmer, GIVE forgiven you long
ago. We won't speak Of the past. Let
me only be happy in the bliss of seeing
you once more. I'll never come around
to trouble you"
Forgive me|' he said inquiringly.
81 don't understand You'll never
trouble me and We'll not speak of the
past? Why didn't you write to us,
Ralph? Your poor wife"
"Don't speak of herW | cried in sud
den agony. 81 can bear anything else
spare me that"
'fBut, Ralph, there's something very
strange here. Why didn't YOU let Us
hear from you? Why can't | speak of
her? Since you are not dead-as we
supposed why did you desert herr"
"Desert her! My God" and | fairly
laughed.
A horrible laugh, dare say, for Rob
ert turned pale. | could see he thought
| was mad. | resolved to control my
self, and since we must have it ont, talk
it over. So after turn or two, / came
back and stood by him once more.
"Now, Robert, if there is any mistake
here, let us understand it at once. left
you, twenty years ago, in charge of my
wife, in San Francisco"
You did, and /"
"And you i" | interrupted, took good
care of her, and did not hear from me;
and she grew tired of waiting, and low
ing a shadow; and you-and you loved
herr
:" Hold" he shouted, his eyes blazing
4" Who told you that infamous lie?'
And sho I wont an not headline Ia ~,