The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1884-08-28
A ROGUE'S REWARD.
BY KENRIDGE.

"a strange motto for family, is 1t
not?" he asks, holding up the heavy
seal ring he had drawn from his finger
"What is it? Translate-you know
1 can't read Latin" says my lady, look
ing up from the depths of those soft,
easy cushions, against the dark velvet
of which her neck and face and arms
shone like pure Carrara.
He leans still closer and drops his
voice, as if the words held for him some
strange forboding.
"He who forgets shall be in turn for
gotten"
"Yes, it is a queer one," says my
lady, meditatively, gazing intently on
the handsome, youthful face beside her.
"Queer, too, that you should read it to
me now-under such circumstances, you
know. If It were different" she
pauses and shrugs her shoulders and
waves her hand impatlently, then sighs
and turns her face to the wall The ring
falls to the floor, and Julian Frere
catches her hand as it rests fiutteringly
upon her breast!
MY darling" he cries, forgetful of
emotion, "only answer me as | wish
as j must be answered, and we shall be
happy-oh, so happy, if you will.
My lady slowly turns her face back
again, and her eyes are dark with pas
sion, yet with half contempt for his
unmanliness in their dreary depths
which he has never seen before.
do you think, Julian, that there are
day dreams from which we must awak
en-, love scenes over which the curtain
will fall surely when the little comedy
has been played, and even the actors
themselves are yawningg"
My lady smiles, and looks away, far
out over the waters of the Mediterra-
mean, and the expression of GOODNESS and
contempt deepens in her eyes.
But Julian only sees beautiful
woman who d V by day and week by
week has lured him on to love and
wo ship her.
He stretches out his arms to clasp
her in them, but she makes no response
as she has always done before.
ut has been no comedy on my part, 5"
he muttered, fercelv. You have no
right to say it has been on yours"
"Ah, my friend, did / say that? 1
only meant-well. you will force me to
use such plain words. That motto
brought to mind the peculiar circum-
stances which surround us both. Here
am I" she suddenly stops, then goes
rapidly on-"here you are, mean,
engaged to young lady, not beautiful,
you.jsay, but talented, trustful, and
simple, one who would make you happy
oh, far happier than could or would.
For l am terribly selfish, Julian"
she laughs gayly as if in denial of the
serious charge she so lightly brought
against herself-"and l would not make
you good wife. 1 am too fond of
throwing away maps at dear Mr.. Blanc's
little green table. i like the society of
your sex too well to put up long with
the-with the-oh, the fact is that a
husband, you know, is just like your
cook; you get used to his style, and
tired of it, and naturally want a change.
So with me exactly, dear Julian. We
have enjoyed ourselves together for a
time. Shall we not part as friends,
dear friends, if you choose, but-but
nothing more, you know"
He takes her hands and kisses them
passionately.
Il care for no one else and can think
of no one else now. Heavens forgive
me, but / cannot" he murmurs.
For q moment she says nothing. but
rests in his arms, peaceful, content.
If no remorseful picture disturbs his
blissful feeling, shall she allow the
shadow of a woman whom she has
never met TO come between them then ?
To lie sure, she is married-she has
never told Julian that-but Lord
Garlic is away off i'll Algiers, where
the war is, and perhaps is dead, or
nearly so, for the Africans are terrible
fighters, they say. So she gives herself
up to his caresses, and for an hour
An instant only it seems to
him-he is happy in the silence which
falls sootsngly upon them, as the twi-
light steals over the quiet waves and
changes all the brightness without to
shadows which creep, creep slowly into
the rooms and leave dim forms and
shapes in every corner.
Many other days had been passed
In like manner, and Julian Frere had
been content to let them go in sweet
forgetfulness of time, of place. of eter.
nifty itself-content to sit at Isabel
Carlos feet, enslaved- il
you like. but trapped of his own free
will.
How long the time was since he had
left his own home in England, he mel
ther knew nor cared. How long since he
left sweet face-so dear TO him once
he cared not and would not even remem
Der.
Yet, gentle lettcro came very often,