The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1883-04-07

my soul tnat Sne never WILL.
| said 10 myself; "He has given her his
best; surely that cannot have been unwor-
thily bestowed" dug grave for my doubts
and suspicious, and tried to cover them deep.
II.
We were in winter quarters in a canyon of
the Fraser river. We had no mail for several
weeks, and toward the end of the year We
concluded that there we're a noble army of
martyrs and an accumulation of mail-bags
beneath the snow-drifts which stretched al
most unbroken for a hundred miles, the dis
lance to the nearest post station. One day,
after week of almost uninterruptedly fine
weather, the welcome messenger arrived
arrived on his low sledge drawn by eight
sure-footed degs-arFived in hot haste. with
bells jingling, and frost-powdered beard, and
bright eyes cleaning out from frame of
furs, Tor oil the world like belated Santa
Claus.
Fitzgerald, as usual, opened the bag, and 1
knew by his puzzled look that the letters
eagerly expected by him from his wife were
missing. He kept apart from us all day, but
in the evening Joined the group round the
fire with pipe and newspaper.
There was youngster in our party who /
knew was fully informed of the love of Fitz-
gerald and Miss Emily Gordon-as far. that
is, as the affair had been gossiped over by his
mamma and her women friends. When this
youth, buried in a home paper. whistled
shrilly, and shouted, "Say, Fitzgerald, here's
nut for you!" | felt certain that he had bad
news of Fitzgerald's wife.
''Wnat is it," Fitzgerald asked, indifferent
ly. not looking up from his paper
about that stunning Miss Gordon--the
girl You were such spoons on. Do you re-
member"
Fitzerald took his pine from his mouth.
II remember What about her?r
1t is reported from Rome that Miss
Emily Gordon, one of our fairest daughters.
is to marry the young and distinguished
Count Mondela. Both parties being of the
Roman Catholic faith. the wedding is soon
to be celebrated in the Holy City with great
eelat.'"
wondered how Ftzerald could quietly
listen to this announcement read in the
most deliberate manner. | could barely
refrain from getting up and yelling. My as
tonishment increased when, having asked
for the paper, he carefully re-read the item;
then taking his great fur coat, he left the
room. In q few minutes Joined him, and
we walked to and fro together on the hard
packed snow before the shanty.
You see, Jack, must leave at once"
Eyes" / acquiesced; / suppose you could
not rest here" Then l protested "Fitz-
gerald let her so, She is weak, faithless,
He repeated my adjectiyes with evident
perplexity,
II see Your old injustice to her You
misunderstood The case is as plain as day
light. This Count dances attendance on her;
her parents encourage him. people talk of
them together, and wholesale manufacturer
of lies-a newspaper orrespondent-seuds
idle gossip to America as fact, She is the
victim OF persecution. They may have dis
covered our secret, and prevented her writ
ing to me. How far away is she? Not
miles, days-ten, twenty, thirty. L shall
not rest till she is safe in my arms for she is
10 l., - ,oIr
marry her to thousand counts, but she is
my wife"
Feeling that the moment was not happy
For the presentation of views, l presented no
more. | agreed to all the absurditieS he
chose to advance.
The next morning he announced to the
cam o that he was going 10 Fort Garry to con-
suit some engineers, aud would probably lie
absent about two months l was to accom-
pany him, and undertook to prepare for the
journey
Aboutnoon an Indian runner came in on
snow shoes with an extra mail. There was
one letter for Fitzgerald, and the handwriting
was that of his wife. l sent the letter to his
private room. In about half an hour /
Knocked at his door, and he said, Come in"
He was sitting before table leaning on it
with folded arms. ASST anticipating and wish
ing to evade inquiry he said, Il suppose you
have been getting things ready"
Il am undecided about going now. Ithink
I will put it off until tomorrow. at all events.
| am sorry to have given you SO much
trouble"
Just as you please" I said. 81 am indif-
ferent."
What good fellow you are, Jack" he
said, standing up and looking at me. A cas-
ual observer might have thought his face
only pale from overwork or want of rest.
To me it was dead, like fine portrait with
out any light in theieyes.
l thrust my hands in my pockets and shut
fled my feet, overcome by the enrbarrass-
ment which words of sincere kindliness al
ways excite in me,
'Cun't help you? Tell me something to
do for you."
THE kindest thing you can do is to let me
alone"
l sidled to the door.
DO 60, Jack" he burst out, impetuously.
II can't bear to have even YOU"
Before he could finish the sentence was
on the other side of the door.
l felt that Mrs. Ftzgerald's letter had
merely confirmed the newspaper report If
the marriage which had been but a legal
form could he annulled, l suspected that
Fitzgerald would do it. 1 had no doubt that
he would scorn to strike the woman who
had wounded INN MORALLY. When l fell
asleep that night all my suspicious and be-
liefs had merged into burning anger against
her, and determination to seek the op-
portunity to inflict on her some iniperish-
able i'll.
1 fell asleep with this one idea in my
brain, and 1 was wakened from that sleep by
a cry:
Jack! Jack! Help! help!''
My senses we're penetrated by the voice of
man in agony. crying for succor, crying to
me, and the voice was the voice of my friend
Fitzgerald.
tried to lift myself from my bed, but a
heavy weight held me down. l struggled to
sneak, but my tongue was tied rubbed
my eyes, but the lids seemed glued. At last
they parted slowly, and | saw that of which
my mind has never lost the faintest impress
sion. / was not lying on my bed; was not
in the low, square room, with half dozen
men sleeping about me. l was standing Oh