The Lambertville record. [volume] (Lambertville, N.J.) 1872-1968, 1883-11-28

the door.
'Florencel Florencem He called again
with some anxiety: "Are you still sleep
ing"
No answer came, and he opened the
door. The room was deadly cold the
window had evidently been open for some
time. At the first glance at the bed Dem
man thought: ale sat up all night
The coverings of the bed were undisturb-
ed, and every detail Of the apartment re-
yealcd night of sleeplessness. The
lamp was still smoking; the glass of wa
ter was empty, but what most disturbed
the cashier was the sight Of the drawer
in which he had deposited the package
wide open and empty.
The package lay ON the table, and con
tanned some photographs Of Sylvia taken
when she was but fifteen. The simple
muslin dress, high to the throat, the hair
parted over the pretty forehead, She
slightly awkward attitude. bore little re-
semblance TO the Sylvia of later days; and
it was exactly for that reason that Flor
ence had kept these photographs
Job was overwhelmed with consterna-
ton.
at is my fault" he said; 81 ought to
have locked them up But who would
have thought that he cared stilll He
vowed that this woman no longer existed
for him."
At this moment his sister entered.
ale has gomez she cried.
"Gone2 Impossiblel The gate was
locked"
sBut he climbed over the wall; ii is
quite evident, the marks are there"
Job looked blankly at her.
..It is that letter,"h he muttered.
1t was plain that this communication
from Sylvia had given her husband some
astounding intelligence, and in order not
to disturb his hosts, he had left the house,
like burglar, through a window But
where had he gomez
"You will see" said poor job, as he has
tily swallowed some breakfast, "that his
abominable wretch of q wife has played
him some fresh trick
And when his sister offered him some
few words Of comfort he shook mis- head
despairingly.
81 have no confidence. he murmured,
returning to his old formula.
On the earth, soaked by the heavy rain
of the night, Florence's steps were to be
seen to the garden gate. He had gone be-
fore daylight, for the flowers were in some
places crushed by his feet, and the walls
was marked where be had climbed upon
it. Once outside, it was impossible to
trace him.
"Why need we disturb ourselves7" said
Miss Denman at length. ale has pro-
badly gone back to the factory"
Job shook his head. He dared not give
utterance to his thoughts and fears.
"Return to the house." he said sadly,
sand 1 will go up the road and ascertain
if anyone has seen him.
At this time in the morning there are
not many people to be met on the road
leading to Hammersmith Bridge; but job
saw small group gathered there, and in
stinctively turned his steps in that direc-
ton. AS he drew nearer he saw the toll
keeper standing outside his little lodge.
The man was talking loudly, and evident
ly impai ting interesting information to the
others.
'He was the first to go on the bridge
this morning." he said, ''and he went,
should think, about halfway across.
had Just gone inside when l heard
splash ! rushed out, but it was too late.
Some men, from the boat-house below
there. got him out as he drifted down, but
he was quite dead. They said he had
razor in his pocket, so that looked as If he
meant it,
Some one in the crowd said: ..Poor fell
low" Then another voice, choked with
emotion, asked if he we're really dead.
Everybody turned to look at job.
s.You can see for YOURSELF the man an.
swered roughly. "rhc body was carried
to the police -station yonder."
1t was not far to the poliee-station, and
yet job had the greatest difficulty in drag
enough in London, and yet he felt but too
sure of what he was to see and hear.
"Ah! You have come to look at the
suicide,p said the policeman outside. 'tio
in; he is there"
They had placed the body on long
table; over it was thrown coarse rug.
A group of men were in the room, and a
couple of policemen, all talking with
lowered voices as il in church.
job said gently Scan see him?" and,
receiving an asserting nod, the cashier
walked up to the table. After moments
hesitation he drew away the covering
from the marble face.
"She killed you at last, dear old friend"
murmured Denman, in choked voice.
The others IN the room had drawn u
little nearer to look at the dead man, but
remained silent and uncovered.
"Look, DOCTOR" said one at last. "his
hand is closed on something"
"a very ordinary occurrence in these
cases." answered the doctor, making an
effort to unclose the poor stiff hand.
ut is a letter." he said, and was about
to read it, when, suddenly recollecting
himself, he handed it to job "If you
were friend of the deceased, sir, you had
better read it. II may he the last express
sion of some last wish, or an explanation
of the cause which prompted this sad act"
Denman tottered to the window. The
room was gloomy, and a mist was over his
eyes. He deciphered these words on the
torn and crumpled page;
II love you. love you more than ever,
and for ever. Why should we struggle
longerf We We're destined for each
other ~
It was the letter written by Frank Ia
his sister-in-law more than year before.
Sylvia had sent it to her mother the day
after her fight, meaning to revenge her.
self on him and on his brother at the same
time and by the same blow.
Florence lived through the treachery of
his wife; but his brothers falsehood
killed him.
When Jobs bewildered brain finally
graspcd the fatal meaning of these words,
he stood thunder-struck, looking through
the large open window with blank eyes
which saw nothing.
A clock struck six. Yonder lay London,
overhung by low clouds of smoke and
mist. By degrees, spire, tower, or the
solid front Of stone building, emerged
from the fog. And, all at once, thousand
chimneys belched forth dense volumes OF
black smoke. The work of another day
had begun.
Denman extended his trembling hands.
"Wretch!n he cried, with angry vehe-
mcnce--'wretchw
But no one about him knew whom he
Observation-Disclosures it was the crowded,
busy Babel, or the guilty woman who had
wrought such infinite woe.