Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1882-07-17

frame nerveless and heavy; a man
turned to beast.
The maid tapped at an inner door
to ask if Mrs. Burnham wanted her
now.
''Go to my dressing-room," repli-
ed Isabel, towering between the dam
sel's eyes and that locomotive-labor-
ing-up-steep-grade, upon the sofa.
"Wait for me there -
She closed the door and went back.
Not being addicted to harangues and
handkerchiefs, she merely clasped
her hands and looked at him, think
ing, | suppose. that no woe like hers
had ever come upon the earth since
the deluge. Yet Mrs. Smith, down
by the wharves could have shown
her deeper depths; and thousands of
wretches within few square miles,
might have smiled at her butterfly
misery. Yet, after all, every one
suffers according to his capacity
rather than according to his stroke.
Isabel considered wine as belonging
to genteel breeding. That Mrs.
| Smiths ''man' should come to the
gutter through rum, was a thing to
be expected; s'that sort of people
you know, etc." but that Mrs. Burn
hams lord could be touched with the
same infirmity, was a revelation of
human nature for which she was not
prepared. Like all natures of her
cast, she stood in fercest judgement
over what she loved best.
Burnham slept till a late sun
thrust bright daggers through his
hair, and heated his eyelids.
Dissipation treated him kindly.
He came down to luncheon after a
bath and toilet and a little philosophy,
fresh and suave as your father con-
fessor. Isabel did not trouble him
for the time. She had taken her
maid and gone out, he supposed, and
he was glad of having more time to
recover himself before he attempted
to pass muster under those black
ewes again. He came home to din
ner, invigorated by business, with
his winning. repentant guise on his
arm, ready for use, as you may say.
But Isabel had not returned. No
one had seen her that day.
He rushed to her room and plowed
among her belongings. She had
taken little; and that little had evil
IDENTIFY been packed hastily.
Pinned to a frame containing his
portrait, Burnham found her last
testament; he opened it with face
like the dead. She said to him:
.'Do not search for me. We can
never be anything to each other
again, You have killed me; you
taught me to lean on and adore the
best of men; and then you unmask-
ed and showed me what you were.
The world is black, | have no faith
in anything
Mr.. Burnham, in reading this
scrap, forgot the repose of good
breeding. He fell upon his knees
as if Hercules had planted a blow
between his eyes; he rang for the
police; and whirled up the great ho
tel like a madman. But those much
buttoned gentlemen, with clubs ant
ornamented caps, have a soothing eff
feet on the most narrowed mind
Burnham dropped down in his parlor
with his head between his hands, anC
explained himself in fragments to ont
of them, who stood reading him ik'
a book.
''Did she have money!" asked the
immovable.
''She has a large bank account
her own property, which | never
touched. Perhaps she has casheC
that"
!, On investigation it was found tina
she had.
"And with eighteen hours start,
pursued the immovable, "she'H b.
well away from the city by this time
Description of lady, and lady's maid
sir?''
So they took notes, examined, pu
their hands to the wires and fey
about surely and silently. Will
Burnham measured his rooms or tn
, street, or sat in police stations, look
ing like an old man.
Once when juvenile, / seized
!. stone, with an impulse of disgust
and hit rat which crept under tn
barn. 1t screamed and tottered
q lifting suffering eyes. The poo
thing had been poisoned great ulcer
t were on it's back; it was crawlin,
l from death, and | hurt it | sa
: down on the grass, crying and wiring
+: ing my hands, the veriest wretc
, alive / had struck a suffering, de
b fenceless creature If | could onl
have gathered the rat on my lap am
1 soothed his dying moments F.! But h
5 dragged out of sight and left IN
everlasting remorse. Since cruelt.
e is a two-edged sword that falls bacl
: painfully if you use it even agains
: vermin, how it must cut if we hav
: lifted it against our best beloved !!
n The troubles of Burnham, his wan
: derings, his remorse, his sack-clot
e and Hastings, are they not written il
: the book of experience?