The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1883-04-21

General Steyne" says a servant, opening
| the door suddenly, so detaching her from a
painful past as to bring her TO yet more
painful present-to judge by the cloud that
covers her fair face
| But the servants eye is on her, and so she
| forces herself to rise and bow coldly to her
visitor, and say How dye do?" as quietly as
II the heart in her body is not beating wild
| ly, madly, with surprise and Indignation,
and something else, perhaps.
| Then the servant vanishes, and as he does
| so her enforced courtesy vanishes, TOO, and
| with passionate contempt and anger she turns
to the General
YOU Aud here!" she saws. 1t is as if
she would gladly have said much more, but
that her strength is insufficient for her. She
| is literally consumed by the emotion that
is making her bosom rise and fall tumultu-
| ously.
II couldn't help it." says the General 1t
! is a perfectly puerie excuse, and at the least
very humbe-so humble that 1t would have
disarmed most women's anger. Unhappily
it has only the effect of increasing Mrs.
| Stamers.
That you should dare to seek me-" she
says with little gasp, Ito even look upon
my face again; to"
1T was that that brought me-" inter
rupts he, eagerly. So eagerly that for
moment ne appears almost young man.
TO look upon your face once more-for the
last time perhaps. That | am unworthy to
do it, know; but risked everything even
your anger 1t was an overpowering DESIRE
| could not conquer it" He spoke some
what incoherently, and when his voice fails
him there is pause.
Now that you have gratifed your desire,
I shall be glad if you will CO." says Mrs.
Stamer, drawing her breath in a somewhat
labored fashion. She is standing always and
has one hand upon chair near her, as
| though to steady herself. Her face is white
as death, her eyes are all afire.
"Audrey have you forgotten all?' cries
| he in anguish "all our happy past. You
used to say YOU were happy then. Must my
one crime be as curse upon my whole life?
Is pardon impossble?"
Quite impossible
Gould you not try to forgiven
For WHAT" she asks sternly. ITO love
again-to be again undone? No! have wis
dom now where l had only childish trust
| before. Unheard, you condemned me.
| Another's voice, the voice of common SLAM
derer, was more precious in your ears than
mine You believed me false TO you-false.
| How can L forgive or forget that? You have
sown, you now reap, and all is at an end be-
| tween u.s."
Even memory" asks he despairingy.
Are there no hours you can look back upon
and wish"
II never look back, " cries She vehemently,
putting up her hand as though to ward of
some fatal blow. Never! l will not"
She is strangely agitated. She betrays
| forced determination not to be won over by
any argument, however specious
IF, then, for the future, am to be
nothing TO you, says the General in Il low
tone that he strives hard to reduce to calm
ness, tell me-what OF the child?'
At this 4 terrible fear takes possession of
her Her lips part. but no sound comes
from them. She looks at him with dumb
entreaty in her beautiful eyes that amounts
| TO almost agony.
Will he take the child from her? Has he
the power to do so? Will he cruelty deprive
her of the little creature who has been to
her for years as her very hearts blood?
Must she live without the sweet companion
| ship tnat has grown necessary to her the
fond baby kisses that have rendered her sad
life not only bearable but almost to be de-
sired?
"You will not take the child from mel"
| she says in q dying tone. Her face grows
absolutely gray with fear-involuntarily she
lays her hand upon her throat, as one might
who is i'll danger of suffocation.
mo no, no, says the General vehemently,
her evident distruSt of him causing him even
keener anguish than what has gone before.
| The child is yours. surrender all claim,
no matter what it costs me. l owe you SO
much. l will do nothing to wound you.
/ You have suffered enough at my hands
Yalready. l shall do whatevyr you wish in
you tell me to 20 now shall obey YOU"
Then CO." excaims she, and his face
| changes perceptbly.
And ii You tell me never to return--if
you think that will be for your happiness"
| his voice trembes, You shall still be obevedi"
Though he has forced himself 10 utter the
words, they are almost unintelligible Is
she merciless, or has she, indeed lost all love
| for him? Has his one act OF unfaith de-
stroyed forever the hold he once had upon
/ her heart?
1T will be better So" she SAYS, her tone
uncertain. She has risen to her feet and is
staring at him with yearning eyes. Is this,
indeed to be the end? Is she. by two or
three words, to drive him forever from her
presence? How tall he looks; how grand,
! how soldier-ike-and he is her husband, and
orce-once she loved him wildly The Cen
eral. drawing himself up to his full height,
which is magnificent, walks to the door.
Has he not given his word to obey her?
In this world how many great things hinge
| upou bare circumstance. But for an in
terrupton he might have gone forth and
never looked again upon the face dearest TO
him. Even rs he opens the door Dulce
comes rushing in with flying hair and spark
ling eyes and happy crimson lips, glad with
smiles.
''Oh, nurse told me you were here" she
cries, and she preciptates herself upon the
General and impounds him on the spot,
ut is my General" she says, gancing over
her white, rounded shoulders at her mother,
who seems turned into stone. The child is
in a very rapture; she throws her little
arms around his neck and smothers him with
| kisses.
Il guessed you would come. l told mamma
l had asked you and that | thought you
would ONE; and you see" with a trium-
plant glance at her pale mother, II was
right"
| '"Ouite riuht" saws the GenernI worry
gently. "Yet you see, Dulce, my coming has
been of no use. must so now, even as you
come"
mo, no." says the child. Mamma, ask
him to stay and have tea with us"
Il can't stay, indeed" says the poor GEN