Knoxville daily chronicle. [volume] (Knoxville, Tenn.) 1870-1882, 1881-02-27
THE WIFL'S SECRET.
ny MARY KYLE DALLAS.

bear lt?'
Then her own heart answered, you
can, for if he does not love you, you can
love him" And she arose and stood beside
her baby's cradle, aud saw its father eye
look up at her from this. his tiny miniature
and took upon her gentle shoulders a burs
den she had never thought to bear.
That morning q letter had been rought
| to her-an anonymous letter, accompanied
| by packet. The letter ran thus:
Madam: A friend who does not wish to
see YOU imposed upon sends you these to
| show you what a Dan may be. Ihey nave
been stolen from the person to Wnon they
were written, but the good intention
sanctifes the means used to further it.
A WELL WIsHER.
The wife oftwo years cad this, and had
opened the packet. There she found love
letters, written, to same woman addressed
as Olivia, and dated one year before her
own marriage letters that told of . pas
sion warmer than it was pure, for she W
had ava ened it was evidently wife
lie tiers such as George Ches erfsld had
never written to the woman who now read
| them. Following them c4me this, dated on
the very day before their wedding;
Dear Olivia, Dearest Olivia: l shall
write no more to you. l shall never say a
| word of love 10 you again, for | am about
to place myself Ia a position which makes
it my duty to appear to forget you | am
to be married tomorrow / have done this
to tear myself more completely from you.
GU have often told me that l should. You
Pare right. A man in love cannot trust
himself. For my sake-msy l say for
yours also, Olivia?-I take this STEP
Of cOurse do not love this girl; but she
is pure, good woman, and respect her.
They Call her beautiful. but only your
| face Can be beautiful to my eges.
1t rises before me as 1 say adieu. 1t will
haunt me always, but mere part from it.
Farewell-.arewell, as though I were
dying.
Perhaps in heaven we may meet again,
and there we shall be all in all to each
| other.
Yours forever, GEORGE CHEsTERFIELD.
| Helen Chesterfield read this through,
knew it to be genuine, and cried out in her
| great agony: ''Oh, why did / not die on
this happy wedding night? Why did live
COR this?'
Then for two long hours she knelt beside
her pillow, struggling with herself, strug.
CLING until at last her heart gave her the
answer we have already written down:
| Yes you car hear it, for though he does
not love you, you still love him."
| Then the poor wife tore into fragments
| these passionate love letters, and that final
one which seemed her death wound-the
| whole cruel packet that had brought her
| so much woe-and burned them to ashes in
| her hearth, and vowed that while she lived
her husband should never know that she
had read them. .r..#
For he has not deceived me-" she said
| to herself He has been true to me, hon
] orable to me. That he has been sorely
wounded should not make me hate him,
| and he shall never know, if | can help it,
| how | suffer. He is always kind-oh, God,
| pity me!-always kind. that must suffice
mel" r
and so she met him, with her babe in
her arms. as calmly as he parted from him.
He never saw the great change in her.
| He never knew that from that hour life
| lost its beauty for her; that even the
| brightness of her love for her babe had
| faded, because she knew that its father had
not loved her. No one knew anything save
| that the rouDdness left her cheek, that b er
leyes lost half Their sweetness, that she new
er INDUCED 10 those moments of reposeful
reverie of which she had once been SO
fond. Work was her refuge, and she dared
not pause to think.
| People c.lled the Chesterfelds happy
couple Women envied her, for he seem
ed model husband. She 10, ked her SIX ele-
ton carefully up, and gave no one peep
at it.
Years flew by. Two other babies took
the first baby's place. George Chesterfield
grew rich. She had helped him to become
SO by frugality and usefulness, and now il
was pleasure to him to give her the
means of doing good among the poor
Helen Chesterheid's carriage was oftener
found waiting at the door OF some wretch
ed tenem Mt house than at those of hel
las hionabl0 friends. She was happy in
doing good. happy in her children. but
still the great craving emptiness was at her
heart-the burden of her life song was
He never loved me-" A word of tender,
ness from poor laborer to his wife would
a~ak en- it. the words of a love song, the
blush on girls cheek. She had suffered
untold agonies for ten bitter years, had
awsk ened IN the night to wet her pillow
with her tears because Of it, and yet haC
kept her secret when ne day woman il
the most wretched haunt into which sh,
carried her pure presehce spoke to her o
another lying i'll in the next room.
She's been lady. ma'am." she said
but she's come down dreadful. / thinl
you'd do her good"
And Helen Chesterf Id followed he,
into a room, where upon a bed, lay tht
wreck of the loveliest woman on whom
Helen's eye had ever rested-a blond
with black eyes, whose golden hair sAep
over her pillow down upon the floor as sht
lay-a creature with viii hands ant
|
upon her features as though it had beef
written there,
She looked at Helen angrily "Mor
tracks," she asked, in harsh, ruined
voice. take them away then. It's to-
late for th EN- with mel
But Helen Was not one of those who sat
4 lsfy starving wretchedness with mer
y words What she said or did hardly ma
r ters. 1t was what was most needed N
: pharasslcal pride made her shrink from
!. contact with q fallen sister. There was foo
= ana WINE and decent linen in that poo
- room before many hourn were over: an
she old not even ask the woman's name. i
;. mattered not who She was to Helen Sh
> sutfered-this was enough for charity.
!. So for days and days she ministered +
I this poor creature, who grew to yesrn fo
It her coming; who prayed her to stay lou
ger when shs came, but who often locke
J, at her in q strange way, quite unaccounts
y Bile to Helen; who sometimes bean t
5 speak. and paused and said, "Anothe
;. time. y asthough she postponed some cor
fer, nce-the story of her life, perhap
$ OGly God knows what it might be.
q So the autumn wore away. Wints
: came and went; and in the spring the Ii