The times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1882-1897, 1882-08-04

| sNOJ uHtll We udu nldItcu Oh tHes urSU
stage of our wedding journey did real
ize all that had happened, all that had
done. What had donep By my own
act placed an impossible gap between
me and the man had so madly loved
aye, whom had loved to-day, when
now my love was sin. ~
In the darkness of the night it came to
me. Had not have been so rash, had
but left him time to explain, ID might
yet have been well, even though had
waited five. ten, fifteen years, with his
love to comfort me. But did he love
mep Over and over turned the hope
less riddle in my brain. The tears which
had refused to flow, burst forth. bu-
ried my face in my pillows to sti1e
my sobs; called his name under my
breath:
"Everardr'
"Mabel!' said voice.
1t was my husband, who had softly
entered the room and bent over me.
''Will it be less hard for you to bear,
child, when l tell you that the man
whose name you call is the husband of
anotherP"
"He, too, was married to-dayP"
gasped.
''He has been married these five
years; but, to do him justice, until three
days since he believed his wife dead
He learned then that she was. living
in fact, she appeared before him; but
even then he strove to buy her silence.
/ learned of this-how, it matters not
but in time to save you from suffering
keener pain, my darling, than that you
have endured. Mabel, child! will you
not try to remember his unworthiness,
and-to forget himp"
Forget himP Neverr' 1 sobbed, in
my madness. go away-go away or
l shall hate your
Silently he obeyed me. / was again
alone; but when the morning broke,
was conscious neither of solitude nor
suffering, for was raving in brain fe-
yer. They thought that l should die,
but I was young and strong, and grief
seldom kills.
1t was six weeks before knew any
one, and when 1 first opened my eyes
to consciousness | saw my young hus-
bands head was thickly streaked with
grey. But as / grew stronger noticed
ever thoughtful, he yet never obtruded
|
a caress, however slight, and oft-times,
as he handed me in and out from q car
riage, would see shudder pass from
head to foot.
'.He is learning to hate me-" said,
sadly, to myself, and wondered why the
thought gave me such pain.
We had been married year, and
were wintering in Rome, when one
morning newspaper announcement at
tracted my attention, publishing the
death in New York, of Leonora, wife of
Everard Digby. aged twenty-four years.
A faint cry escaped my lips. Godfrey
sprang to my side.
"What is itp''
"Nothing!'' 1 answered and hastily
left the room
At the door l glanced back. He had
caught up the paper had dropped
Once in my own chamber, L buried my
head in my hands to think.
''He was freer' What did the news
bring mep The memory of the past year
rose before me-all of Geoffrey's fond
loving care, his generous sacrifice, his
unselfish projections; and side by side
with it, the fearful consequences Ever
ards selfish passion might have entailed
upon me- The first whirlwind of ex-
element passed, l found myself calm
and at rest-aye, happier than since L
had been Geofrey's wife.
That evening my husband complained
of severe pain in his head. / sat down
by him; but at my first touch he gently
drew down my hand.
Don't dear he said-"it hurts
MEL fsfs
''Geoffrey," was on my lips, won't
| you try to love me just a little? Aud
maybe can atone for the wrong have
done you" But pride hushed them, and
they remained unspoken.
Two months after this, at great ball,
l found myself suddenly face to face
with Everard Digby. He grew very
| pale, but extended his hand
''Will you not shake hands with me,
| Mrs. Somersp" he said.
"You do not know how have longed
to see your'-he went on, in low
voice-"how have longed to tell you
of all that / have suffered! Mabel, why
did you marry? Think of it, my dar-
| ling! l now am free, while you are
| boundp'
He spoke with the fond assurance of
q lover.
Why did it find no answering echo
within my hearth Could it be that no
| longer loved himp
The tell-tale blood had receded now
| was calm and unmoved, save that
felt indignation at his words.
Would Godfrey thus have spoken to
another mans wife, though she had
| loved him an hundred timesp No! And
l knew it, and gloried in the knowledge.
81 have no regrets, Mr.. Digby," l
answered, ,coldly. "Iowe you my life's
happinessr'
Then, with naughty bow, left thin,
crossing the room to where my husband
stood. With new sense of depend
ence and peace, slipped my hand
within his arm.
Take me home, please DEAR" l
whispered,