The weekly herald. [volume] (Cleveland, Tenn.) 1876-1888, 1879-09-11

tnat hent some 70 TANK. HarOld, you
suspect me-your own wife-of being
the thief.
'Marian,' / answered excitedly, 'one
word from you will dispel it; or, il il
should be otherwise (here extended
my hand to her, but she flung il from
herr, you have only to acknowledge it,
to obtain my free forgiveness.
Your forgivenessr she added haugh.
tily, 4 do not need it, and without an.
other word she left me.
A day or two after this found note
awiting me when / returned home 10
dinner. The handwriting was Marian's,
aud my delight at seeing il was 80 great
that I kissed it again and again. -
Eagerly I opened and read it. 1t ran
as follows:
THE society OF thief cannot be con-
genial. For that reason 1 have kept out
OF your way till i had made up my mind
what to do. l shall not trouble you
any more. Baby and have gone to
my father. know you can claim baby
if you like to do so, but think you will
see that it is better for him TO be with
me. Do not ask me to come back. l
never can. The miserable life have
been leading lately would soon have
killed me, and my life is precious to my
child.
Your unhappy wife,
MARIAN
That was all, except few words at
the end that had been hastily scratched
out, of which could distinguish only,
'Oh, Harold'
Strange as it may seem, this note did
not shock me as the discovery Of Ma
rian's guilt lad done. I felt 30 angry
with her for her unreasonable conduct
that my tenderer feelings remained al.
most untouched. My love for the Ma
rian of former days had not decreased
one whit, but my anger with the pre-
sent Marian was for the moment para
mount. The child was better with her,
and for the present she should keep
him, for had no idea of fetching her
back. She had left me through no un-
kindness Of my own, and no wife could
be justified in leaving her husband in
the way Marian had left me.
Twas beginning to get little accus.
toned to my renewed baohelorhood,
when one night, very late, telegram
was brought me, worded thus:
Come at once to baby
The night train would leave in about
an hours time. packed few things
and started to catch it. In about three
hours more l was conducted into the
room where Marian was sitting with our
little one lying in her lap, struggling
hard for life. Some medical man was
already there, bending over the child
and anxiously gazing at its contorted
and livid features, but, as far as l could
see, doing but little to assist in the bat
tie against death. He left at once, and
Marian looked up into my face and
said
'Thank God, you have come He
was doing no good. Oh, Haroldl save
my baby; save my child
L will do what l can to save our
child, l answered.
/ called servant and gave my in
structions. / stood at Marian's knee,
watching for the approach of some ia.
vorable symptom. Only once Marian
spoke, an then it was to ask me with
blanched face and faltering lips il there
was any hope.
ITO the last moment, yes, l answer.
ed; and she was relieved at once, hardly
comprehendipg from my words how faint
that hope was.
Presently the struggles grew more
frequent, gradually the almost lifeless
limbs became imbued with fresh vigor,
the heavy lids relaxed, the gasps for
breath became more effectual, and with
mighty effort nature asserted her
sway. In a short time baby was Nesting
peacefully in Marian's arms, wrapped in
a sweet lifs-giving slumber.
When he was laid in his cot Ibis moth
er turned to me and said pathetically,
ooh, Harold when baby was so near
death, and you far away, I could not
help seeing how wicked / had been to
leave you as l did. Will you forgive
me, dear, and take me back, for baby's
sake?'
I could only kiss her, and press her
to my heart. After awhile 1 said. 1T
was only those words, will you forgive
me2' that / wanted. If you would have
spoken them sooner, we need never
had parted
'Oh, Hsroldl how can your 1t was
not that I WIS asking you to forgive
me, but my folly in leaving you. l am
as innocent Of taking that wretched
money as my own child. Won't you
believe me2'
4 do, my darling, ! do replied,
with genuine delight. Il would have
believed you then il you had said this
to me; but you know you never deigned
me word, and what was / to thinkP
Il was so Mortified at your even sus-
pecttng me that l fancied it was be.
meath me to deny it. l cannot now un-
derstand what could have prompted
you to think such dreadful thing Of
me. II is very hard TO bear
/ was beginning to wonder, too, how
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