The Vancouver independent. (Vancouver, W.T. [Wash.]) 1875-1910, 1881-03-31
THE WIFE'S SECRET.

OAu L UtttI IL. dohoU OCOAS0 OucotoI-
fields wife, of her own heart, as she
knelt beside the bed, her arms upon it,
her face hidden upon them; "can bear
it? can I bear it?"
Then her own heart answered, "You
can, for if he does not love you, you love
him." And she arose and stood beside
her baby's cradle, and saw its fathers
eyes look up at her from this, his tiny
miniature, and took upon her gentle
shoulders burden she had never
thought to bear.
That morning letter had been
brought to her-an anonymous letter,
accompanied by packet. The letter ran
thus:
DADAM-A friend who does not wish
to see you imposed upon sends you these
to show you what man may be. They
have been stolen from the person to
whom they were written, but the good
intention sanctifies the means used to
further it. A WELL WIsHER.
The wife of two years reads, this and had
opened the packet. There she found
love-letters, written to some woman ad-
dressed as Olivia, and dated one year be-
fore her own marriage-letters that told
VI u DtbbIOu WuILucI UudA IL WdS pure, lOI
she who had awakened it was evidently
a wife-letters such as George Chester
field had never written to the woman who
now reads them. Following them, came
this. dated on the very day before their
wedding:
Dear Olivia, Dearest Olivia: I shall
write no more to you. shall never say
O word of love to you again, for am
about to place myself in a position which
makes it my duty to appear to forget you.
/ am to be married tomorrow. l have
done this to tear myself more completely
from YOU. You have often told me that
I should. You are right. A man in love
can not trust himself. For my sake-may
l say for yours also, Olivia?-I take this
step.
Of course I do not love this girl; but
only your face can be beautiful to my
eyes.
It rises before me as I say adieu. 1t
will haunt me always, but here l part
from it. Farewell-farewell, as though
l we're dying.
Perhaps in heaven We shall 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 ont
in great agony: "Oh, why did | not
die upon that happy wedding night?
Why did I live for this?"
Then for two long hours she knelt
beside her pillow, struggling with her.
self, her heart gave her the answer we
have already written down:
Eyes, you can bear it, for though he
does not love you, you still love him. y
Then the poor wife tore into frag.
ments these passionate love letters, and
that final one which seemed her death
wound--the whole cruel packet that
had brought her to 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.
"For he has not deceived me-" she
said to herself. "He has been true to
me, honorable to me. That he has been
sorely wounded should not make me
hate him, and he shall never know it, If
can help it, how lsuffer. He is always
kind-oh, God, pity me!-always kind,
that must suffice mel
And so she met him, with a babe in
her arms, as calmy as she 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 any
thing save that the roundness left her
cheek, that her eyes lost half their sweet
ness, that she never INDUCED in 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 called the Chesterfelds a
happy couple. Women envied her, for
he seemed model husband. She locked
her skeleton carefully up, and gave no
one peep Mt it.
Years flew by. Two other babies took
the first baby's place. George Chester
field grew rich. She had helped him to
become so by frugality and usefulness,
and now it was pleasure to him to give
her the means of doing good among the
poor. Helen Chsterfield's carriage was
oftener found waiting at the door of
some wretched tenement house than at
those of her fashionable friends. She was
happy in doing good, happy in her child
rem, but still the great craving emptiness
was at her heart-the burden of her life
song was. "He never loved me-" A word