The Newtown bee., 1879-09-10

VO1GC--ulauc UlO dISTy.
.Mywife, y said /, in cool, measured
tones, !" forgets nothing-no one; it is
her duty to rememberm
''Oh, of course! Pray pardon me,
Mrs. Blair is most lovely! Pray-pray
forgive me, and understand me. 1t was
solicitude for her welfare, and anxiety
to relieve her of some of her daily bur-
dens, that made me speak"
She put up her hands, white and
shapely, with an appealing gesture, and
| saw what makes any man fool for the
time-tears on her lashes. .s
"Why do you talk of offending mep''
I said, half laughing, half distressed, g
thought you spoke of my wife in rather
thoughtless manner; but, of course,
you cannot comprehend her anxiety
with sickly, nervous children"
Indeed, meant nothing but for her
good. At least-at least-I sympathized
with your loneliness, and felt so sorry for
your wife," she murmured, confusedly.
ooh, Mary and can take care of each
other" was my reply.
Did the small arrow she had let fly
annoy me? think it did, on reflection,
but not in the way she intended.
| thought of Mary's increasing pallor,
silence, alteration; surely she was chang
ing, but what had [ to do with ftp
/ never thought to ask what had Miss
Campsted to do with it.
Mary grew worse, The doctor said it
was some disease of the nerves. Miss
Campsted was full of solicitude. She
and her handsome brother were very at
tentive.
When Invent into the hall Miss Camp
sted contrived to be there to bid me
good-morning. I never thought of her
now as middle-aged. She appeared to
me, gradually, to become an imperti
nent. forward young person.
One memorable day-shall | ever for
get it'll went up stairs to say some
thing that had escaped my recollection,
after my usual visit to Mary's room.
l found my wife weeping Historically,
with all the children grouped about her
and crying in chorus.
"For Heavens sake, Mary, what has
happened?" I cried, frightened almost
out of my wits.
Don't stay, Harry" she gasped &c it
does me no good. I am better alone.
Go down-please 90 down"
but Pm not going down or out, leav-
ing you in this state" said, throwing
down hat and bundles and trying to take
her in my arms.
But she resisted my tenderness.
No matter tor me-" she sobbed. 81
shall be better soon out of the way, per-
"Mary, darling" I said, at my wits
end, L" if you won't let me stay, at least
let me send Miss Campsted up"
That WOmanm cried my wife, with
hysterical anguish" no! DO you want
her to poison me? 1t is bad enough that
she has ruined my home"
| was thunderstruck.
Poison youi-ruined your home! Miss
Campsted! What do you mean, Mary /?
Are you crazy? I thought you considered
her Invaluable" | repeated, still dazed
and nervous.
1nvaluable!" murmurcd Mary, great
tears running down her pale cheeks !;
g can | like q serpentP Can | like one
who has stolen from me all that made
my life blessed-my husbands love? I
hate her! Go! go! She has told me, oh,
such miserable things! Leave me; Miss
Campsted is down Stairs" and she fell
to shudC ring.
[ have heard that an innocent man al
ways has his weapons about him. /
don't believe it. At all events, it was
not so in my case. So obtuse and con-
fused was I at this entirely new phase of
matters that it took minute and twenty
seconds before the real import of her
words reached my consciousness. I am
ally | was following with my eye the
hands of the clock in the corner. Then
it dawned on me by degrees, and Mary,
after. while, told me pitiful story.
My wife, my one crown of glory, my
idoliZed Mary, had been subjected to the
most cruel fall tortufes-that OF hear
ing her husbands words and actions
misrepresented, stories manufactured,
lies cunningly invented.
| no longer wondered that my poor
wife felt dread and adherence for the
creature, which no language could ex-
press, or even feared for her life in the
presence ofsuch viper.
The strangest thing to me was, then
in truth, always will be-that Mary did
not tell me of these things; but foolish
fear of being thought jealous, and some
thing also of pride and the constituencies
of her nature, sealed her lips.
In my anger | suppose | rather over
stepped the bounds of prudence in my
next interview with the fascinating Miss
Campsted, as some of my friends called
her. l had grand opportunity of wit
Messing the uncontrolled fury of VIC
man whose vileness had been prema-
turely unmasked. ~
Never, even upon the stage, have
seen such a perfect piece of acting.
Trouble never comes singly, they say
| had given Miss Campsted warning.
when "a person whom [ had reason to
believe was a detective entered my
house. In an instant Miss Campsted
grew pale and quiet, and begged me to
allow her to see the gentleman alone.
OF course | consented, keeping strict
guard, however, outside the door
For some time the conversation went
on in q low tone; then, gradually, Miss
Campsted's voice changed to entreaty
Sobs followed and bitter weeping.
Suddenly in came Fred Campsted
whistling softly an ar from one of the
operas.
Seeing me in the hall, apparently on
guard, he started, slowly hung up his
hat, tor k it down again, asked for his
sister, and seemed very much surprised
when told him she had company
GU had better go in" | said, for /
fear she is in trouble.
'.Oh, hang it!' was his rough re-
Spouse, she's always in trouble.
have an errand down town. and must be
excused"
He turned, and there, facing him,
standing ON the doorstep, was another
detective How long had they been
watching my house?
The man looked like a tiger. He gave
one bound, but in that moment two Off
GERS were upon him; then he seized his
pistol, which was sn6gly concealed, and
fired.
One of the men was wounded; but the
other secured the prisoner and brought
him. bound and raving horribly. into
the ballco