The Morning herald., 1878-07-30

= e-tsDc you wish to speak to me, Mr.. Max.
swell9" she asked, coldly; for after an
sesening with SGorald Seton she, was
always less tolerant to her plsbeian hus-
band. ,sEnaar% Ia.
TSyYes-but elons.J I, win. wait in you1l 4
boudoir until you dismiss your maid"
= Something ip his colorless face-some-
thing in the sound of his voice startled her,
but he departed while yet speaking, and
the maid went on. .' beh Of -hH
"Hury, Cecil, her mistress said, briefly,
and Cecil coiled up the shining hair, ar
ranged the white dressing gown, and left
her. Edith Maxwell arose and went into
the boudoar. 1t vas the dainties byou of
boudoirs, all rose silk, silver filigree-work
and delicious Greuze paintings smiling
down from the futed panels. A bright
wood fire burned Oh the marble hearth,
and her husband stood leaning against the
low chimney-piece, whitsr and colder than
the marble itself.
'Well," she said, "what is it"
r. He looked up. She stood before him in
4 all her beauty and her pride, jewels fash
ing on her white hauds-a queen by right
divine of her azure eyes and tinselled hair
his, yet not his; $50 near and yet SO
far" He loved her, how we'll his own
wrung heart only knew.
"Wlat is it?' she repeated, impatiently.
Il am tired and sleepy. Tell me in a
word" ,ra ~.
.T can-ruin!" EE aI 4
"What ?"
81 am ruined All is lost !! l am a
beggar!" ...
She started back, turning winter than
her dress, and leaned heavily against a
chair. ,
''Ruined" she repeated. "a beggarH H'
"Ugiy words, are they not, but quite
true. I did not know it until last night.
Walker came out from town to tell me.
My last grand speculation has failed, and its
failure engulfed everything; L am as poor
as the poorest laborer on this place; poorer
than l was five years ago, before this for
tune was left me- N-J(G Il . y
There was sort of pleasure in thus
hideously putting things in their, ugliest
light. Rich or poor, she despised him
alike. What need was there for him to
mince matters?
'There are your settlements; your five
hundred year and the place in Vermont,
that crumb of the loaf is left, and remains
yours. ! am sorry for you, Mrs, Maxwell
sorry that your sacrifice Of youth and
IOveliness on the altar of mammon has
been in vain. had hope, when I mar
ried you, Of winning some return for the
limitless love gave you. I know to-day
how futile that hope has been. Once again,
Tor your sake, I am sorry; for myself I do
not care. The world is wide place, and
may yet make my way. I give you your
freedom, the only reparation for marrying
you in my power to make. I leave here
tonight, New York tomorrow, and So
farewell"
She stood like stone; he turned and
left her. Once she made movement,
seeing the white anguish. of his face, as
though to go to him, but she did not. He
was gone, and she dropped down in the
rose and silver glitter of her fairy room,
as miserable woman as day ever dawned
on.
A month later, and she was in the cot
tage up in Vermont. ALI had gone; the
nine days wonder was at an end; the erich
Maxwell" and his handsome wife had dis
appeared out of the magic whirl of society,
and society got on very well without them:
They had been, and they were not, and the
story was told. Of all who had broken
bread with the ruined man there were not
two who cared whether lie were living or
dead.
The December winds swept down through
the Vermont valleys and lashed the win
dows of the cottage where Edith Maxwell
lived. She sat in the long, low, gloomy
parlor before a blazing wood fire, and
Gerald Seton stood before her. He had
lust found her out and had run up to see
how she bore her altered fortunes. She
bore them as an uncrowned king might,
with regal pride. The exquisite face had
lost its roseate bloom, the deep, still eyes
looked larger and more fathomless, the
proud mouth was set in patient pain-that