The Rock Island Argus. (Rock Island, Ill.) 1877-1885, 1882-04-08

and her husband almost lying In each
others arms Theoretically, the meet
ing between them had been reserved,
almost to GOODNESS, with an air of re-
straint which had scarcely fallen short of
embarrassment.
"Isbelieve Gerald fancies / would be
Jealous was her generous thought.
Ibid he indeed love her (his wife) SO
well that all this strange element in the
house was distasteful to himp' unused
Glare. .TWell, it would be delightful to
be alone again.
But she did wish Gerald would do
himself greater justice. These were his
friends rather than hers, for he had
wooed and won her far from these scenes,
in qniet country town, where his regi-
ment had been quartered.
One evening tableaux were proposed,
and the proposition eagerly accepted.
One followed another, and were raptur-
ously applauded by the guests, who had
constituted themselves as audience.
The final one was taken from an en-
craving entitled Yes the man stand
ing holding both hands of the girl who
thus had answered the momentous ques-
ton of his life, while with deep, earnest,
loving scrutiny, he looks into her eyes,
frankly and fearlessly raised to his, as
though, thus meeting and replying to his
challenge, they endorse the language of
her lips.
For this Mr.. and Mrs. Onslow were
cast; but, at the last moment Glare re-
belled.
''It's too absurd-husband and wifer'
she declared. Il shall look just as I
did when you proposed to me, Gerald,
and don't care to amuse an audience
with that. Do take my place, Miss Val
lance"
mo, nor Muriel demurred; but al
ready she had been gently pushed into
position, and Glare had made good her
escape.
A minute later, the folding-doors were
thrown open. murmur of admira-
ton ran throughthe room-the girl look
ed so exquisitely beautiful, the man SO
strong, so tender, so manfully in earnest.
But only they two knew the icy touch
of their claspcd hands, or heard the
quick breathing, each of the other.
The picture, when the doors were
closed, was eagerly encored, but all de-
mands were in vain the actors refused
to re-appear.
The evening was young, and it was
now proposed to end it in dance. The
gaiety was at its height, when Clare's
the room. She did not notice that one
of her guests was also absent, as she
went in quest of him, that they might
have a waltz together
The library was entered through the
little mushroom; the portiers between
them hung to the floor. She had her
hand appraised to draw it one side, when
a low sob struck her ear. She stood at
an instant, paralyzed-an instant too
long; for it was her husbands Voice
that answered it.
''Muriel,'' he said, ''for Heaven sake,
calm yourself, or you will break my
heart! Why did You come here? Why
did you impose this ordeal on us bothP"
s'Why did | come herePa she answer
ed. you can ask me why? Did you
| not heartlessly invite me? / thought my
pride equal to your hardness. If he
has so forgotten the past that he can ask
me to live under one roof with him and
the woman he has married, will prove
that am equal to the proof 1 could
have borne it to the end, but that when
you held my hands and looked into my
eyes tonight all the past rushed over
me, and buried me beneath its ruins. "
THE past, when / heard the little
| whispered, Yes from your lips, Muriel,
and thought it the sweetest sound in all
| the universe. 1t is not for you to recall
| the past, who so ruthleSsly destroyed
| it,
| lit was my pride, Gerald. When the
crash came, which ruined my father and
left me an orphan and penniless, Iwrote
Won Your release. l knew that a poor
| wife would drag you down where you
should rise Your uncle wrote that I'M
less your wife brought you dowry
equal to his inheritance, he would dis
| inherit you 1t was cruel, mercenary,
! and unjust in him. / grant you that;
| but / was so sore and bitter III the
realisation of my poverty that / released
YOU. You believed it sprung from other
reasons as we'll For a little time / fos-
tered YOUR jealousy, thinking it would be
easier for you thus to give me up; but
after you had left me, Gerald, l knew
then to what l had condemned myself,
and my heart cried out against its tor
ment, until one day / sat down and
wrote you, asking, nay, imploring you
| to forgive and return to me; that VIC
| would defy fortune and the world to-
gather. The day | read your marriage
| IN the paper, that note was returned TO
me through the dead letter office.
Through some mistake it had never
reached you
| IA hccP SIOdI but oG II OiA SOL e'Ab oA7
lows white lips.
.sYou drove me madr' he said. 81
met my wife, and read in her eyes pure
and innocent love. / knew that she was
rich, that all the conditions my uncle
| had imposed would be fulfilled. / was
| desperate Six weeks from the day
met her carried off my prize. had
almost learned to be happy in her smile.
| The knowledge that / was not SO would
| break the child's heart"
''And we will not break it, Gerald, y
answered the sweet, low voice. '.She
must never know the truth. Tomorrow
/ will go away. We shall see each other
never again, but Clare shall know no
shadow on her sun. Only, in your
thoughts, Gerald, remember that my
burden is heavier than yours, and so
think kindly of me-
s.Muriel, 1 cannot let you gon' he
said.
For Clare's saker' she whispered.
'sGo, 90! quickly, then!' he said.
Quickly she obeyed him; but when
she drew aside the portiere to pass out,
the room beyond was empty.
A half-hour later. when Gerald re-
turned to the drawing-room, he found
that his wife had made her excuses and
retired. The excitement of the evening
had brought on severe headache, she
had said; but few minutes after when
he tiptoed into her chamber, he thought