The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1881-02-03
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OUT OF THE STORM.
BY NJ. C.

No, there were not many women in the
| world who, unless they loved already
would have looked with disfavor upon
| Guy Ravensden; not many who, heart
free, but would have gladly given their
lives into his keeping and although
Grace Thornton, looking back from this
hour, just after the wedding ceremony,
knew she never had loved him, she also
knew that she would do her best, her
greatest best, to never let him regret
what he had done,
1t was almost heart-breaking that she
did not love him, could not love him /;
for he was SO entirely enthralled by her,
so perfectly devoted, and was one of
those handsome, gallant men, who are
irresistible in their way with women.
Besides, he had done so much in tax
ing her from her obscure position, and
placing her where all his world of So
cial exclusiveness, and wealth, and high
birth might know, and admire, and en-
Wy her as the wife of such man as
Guy Ravensden would have to command
admiration and envy.
But, after all, the half-pitiful strange
ness of her marriage, poor child!-after
the half-shamed, half-wounded way in
which she had apparently and so
icCclNtd lut
of her husbands guests-after it all, and
she and Guy We're alone-then hurt and
panied her SO keenly that the knowledge
that he deserved so much and could re-
ceive so little at her hands-because she
did not and could not love him.
And there was such possibility of alb
sorbing passion in even her face, irf>her
exquisitely curved and colored lips, her
lovely, white-lidded eyes-passion and
devotion that the maSter-hand had not
yet aroused from its sieep-and sine
was his wife, land he loved her SO dearly,
and accounted all things loss in the bal
ance with her love.
Something OF such feeling express
ed itself in lis handsome face as he took
her caressingly in his arms.
My precious little darling! my bless
ed little wifet'
And if ever a woman meant it Grace
meant it when she looked up in his face
with her perfect blue eyes, clear, pure,
and shining as summer sky, and an
swered him:
''Iou are SO good, Guy-you are so
good TO me! 1t seems as if it must all
be some wonderful dream from which /
will have to awake"
He held her beautiful golden head
down against his breast, with o caress
of such infinite tenderness.
s'And you are glad it is not dream,
but a beautiful reality, GracieP'
She whispers her answer:
"Could / be sorry? Would any
woman be sorry?'
Just shadow of dissatisfied yearning
showed itself briefly in his face.
''Grace, look in my eyes moment
YES, there like that, while YOU say
something to me you have never said
| yet, through all our courtship. But
surely. my wife will tell me she loves
me! Dear, did you know you have new
er, in so many words, told me you love
| me?''
The faintest little smile curved her
lips. How her heart sank at his tender
words.
'.Did 1 nevcr-really? You know I
am never very demonstrative, Guy; but
-but-why, how absurd! Am l not
your wife? OF course II love your
And the sweet, hesitant words, that
stirred all his blood, carried with them
none of the heart-breaking truth.
The days and weeks went by, every
one of them teaching Guy Ravensden to
love his beautiful wife more and better;
and so gentle, so good was she, that he
never dreamed that the sometime re-
straint in her manner, the desperate,
hopelessly patient look in, her eyes,
meant that her heart was starved, be-
cause hecould not furnish it its nour-
ishment.
That autumn, after the close of the
London season, he took her to his spa
cious, magnificent home in Sussex, a
home rep1ete with every luxury that
devotion and money could devise and
procure. Guests were invited, and
among them was Cyril Kesterton.
That was the beginning of the end
the day Cyril crossed Guy Ravensden's
threshold was long time before
Guy understood it all.
But somehow he was vaguely con-
scious there was something happening
somehow he realized that something
intangible was occurring; and it was
not very long after that vague discovery
before he learned that his wife was not
as she had been before Cyril Kesterton
! came.
Then, when he saw the delicious
light in her blue eyes, that he had so
passionately longed to see there-when
he heard her. light, happy laugh, as he
had so often wondered he did not hear
it-ah! then the jealousy, the horror,
the despair that overwhelmed him.
He struggled manfully to conceal
what he suffered, but he was not the
same, for all his desperate efforts, to
Grace.
He could not, to save his life, caress
her and pet her as he was in the habit
of doing. Great heaven! to think she
was in love with another man, and that
man the friend who was eating his salt
daily!
What should he do? Was Grace false
to him?-or, was it only his own mad
jealousy that magnified his acts, and
looks, and courtesieS?
Until one cool, starlighted night,
when he was lounging in a rustic chair
on the moonlit lawn, and then he heard
Cyril's voice-that rich, caressing,
charming voice of his that Guy sud
denly remembered women loved to
hear.
This cannot last much longer, Mrs.
Ravensden, or L shall go mad! Be
merciful! If you can bless me, bless
me now! Is there any hope for me?'
Great heaven! Cyril Kesterton had
dared
And then her voice Grace's- his
wife's voice:
T. g Don't ask kme-iust yet. Be patient