Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1880-03-30
The dainty work under the slender fin


glowing fire and building castles of future
happiness. From this tender reverie she
was aroused by a servant, who handed
her a square-folded letter, awkwardly
addressed, and fastened with wafer.
Wondering who her unknown CORE
spondent could be, she opened the paper.
The same struggling hand met her eyes.
Only these few words were written:
II you would have proof Of the false
hood OF one you believe true, go ut 8
o'clock this evening to the second floor Of
No. 2s Ralph Street, and you will find Mr..
Fred Holt and his wife"
Anonymous" the proud girl said, her
lips curling, and her eyes flashing. at
is falsehood!"
She threw the note upon the Goals as
she spoke, and watched the flames curl
and blacken the paper till it flashed out
of sight up the chimney. Then, with
all the color stricken from her face, she
took up her embroidery.
Had Harvey watched her then, he
would have thought that that poisoned
arrow had missed its aim. But it was
not SO. The work was thrown aside, the
piano rang out under the restless fingers,
a novel was opened, room was put in
order, but while the calm face was tor
tured all day by the words Of the anony-
nous note:
Erred Holt and his wife,
Could it be. Had the frank, brown
eyes that had looked so lovingly into hers
mirrored only false heart, Was she,
indeed, so far deceived,
Long before eight o'clock Maud Ches-
ter had resolved to prove or falsify the
words that seemed burned upon her brain.
Surely, of all the world, she had the best
right 20 test the truth of such mon
strous charge against her betrothed lover.
And while she was striving to hide
from any the tortures she endured, James
Rutherford was storming up and down
his library, holding the second of Harvey
Fosters communications in his hand. In
the same awkward handwriting, the same
facts were stated, the same hour and place
to verify the writer's words.
But the peppery old bachelor made no
secret of his wrath. To have listened to
him, one would have supposed that max
ing mince meat of his disobedient nephew
was the least he intended. He called
him all the pet names suggested by a
furious rage; he used all the abusive
adjectives in the dictionary to describe
Mr.. Fred Holt. He exhausted every
threat that he could devise; long before
eight o'clock he had wrought himself up
to rage that was frightful to witness.
1t was with chuckle of satisfaction
that Harvey Foster, secretly hidden in
narrow courtway, watched tall. stately
figure leave a carriage at the head of
Ralph Street, and walk to the door OF
No. 2S. In the quiet Of the street he
heard clear voice ask the servant who
opened the door:
"Does Mrs. Holt live here:'
"Yes, ma am; second floor"
"Is her husband at home:"
20, yes, ma'am; you'll find them both
there"
Then Maud Chester entered the house,
just as a short, painting man, dashed up
the steps, and, not pausing to make en-
quiry, also entered.
In the passage, Maud Chester, turning,
as rapid steps followed her, faced James
Rutherford.
"You here" he said. "You have
heard, too, then, of the trick this migrate
full hound has played on both Of us"
81 have heard" she answered in cold
voice, "that your nephew's wife lives in
this house. | wish to ascertain if it is
true"
1--WE will soon see! We will soon
see Second floor. Here We are. Now
then! And the old gentleman's raps
proved the great excitement under which
he was laboring.
A very pale, sweet woman opened the
door, her eyes showing that she had been
weeping very recently.
"Does Mrs. Holt live here 2 the old
gentleman asked.
"That is my name, sir."
"Can see your husband:"
The soft eyes, full Of deep trouble,
were looking inquiringly into his face.
'Is it on business, sir:
"Very important business" was the
rather dry response.
because the doctor said today he must
not have any mental excitement. He is
SO very much worse today; II am
afraid he is dying" And sobs broke out
again.
dying"
Maud Chester reeled into the room and
sank dizzily upon chair.
James Rutherford, with a face white
as death, exclaimed:
dying! An accident?"
"No, sir: it is fever from overwork." ;"
-overwork!"
"Josie-Josie!
If ever Fred Holt spoke, he spoke then
from an inner room, and the little wife,
seeming to forget her strange visitors,
answered quickly:
"I'm coming, Fred"
She went at once to the room from
which the voice came, and again the two,
listening intently, heard Fred's husky
voice.
bring the last cordial, Josie. Ten
drops! / am sure he knew me. But he
is faint"