Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1884-12-04

easy step to finding excuses, and, later,
obstacles, to keep her at home: to ali
of which Mary acquiesced only too
readily. She had expended ali her
spirit in pushing Herbert up the rising
road, and now she sank without a
murmur. without a struggle or a pray
The old father and mother were gone;
the homestead had passed into the
hands of strangers; bot even her
name was left to her. Herbert, with
his usual genius for development, had
evoluted it into Marian for state oc-
casions, and to the world she was
merely the wife of Herbert Aymes
Pennoyer, without any individuality
of her own whatever. Back at the
old Connecticut settlement they had
always called her Mary Lyddy. How
strange itsounded now-Mary Lyddy
Penncyerl 1t was old-fashioned, but
so was shel O, that she had never
left the peaceful old home on the
prairie! 1t was because the park re
minded her of it that she sometimes
came there for a quiet hour-to rest
her eyes with the cool green of tree
and shrub and the sparkle of little
fountains.
Perhaps the singing words of Mar
ion Chisholm had spurred her dulled
senses into unwonted activity; per-
haps there was yet dormant posi-
bility remaining that might arise from
the sacrifcial ashes. Be that as it
may, as she sat there a horrible
thought sprang, full-armed with GER
! tainty, into her mind.
! Weary, one day, of her endless
knitting and crochet-work, she picked
up a magazine that Herbert had left
on the table. Looking over it's
pages she came upon a little story
with neither signature nor initials at
tached to furnish a clew to the
authors identity. There was strong
undercurrent of passion and despair
too realistic to be lightly passed over
| by the dullest reader-such a one
even as poor Mary; and, contrary to
habit, she read it from beginning to
end. Why did it come to her now
with the force of a blow that Herbert
had written 1t? Why did she now
recognize herself in the ignorant,
dully-faithful wife of the sensitive
souled hero?
She had never taken much notice
of Herbert's writing except in their
monetary value as representatives OF
so many pounds of flour or tons of
coal. Now she began to wonder,
with dash of crimson flaming on her
sallow cheek, if Herbert had written
many such things!
She arose like one whose only relief
lies in immediate action, and drawing
her veil over the poor, plain face
beneath, turned homeward. If Her
bert had written that sketch she could
surely find some proof of it in his
study; scrap of paper, letter from
the editor, perhaps rough draft of
the story itself something. She
must know-she mustl
Miss Chisholm, 1 did not hope to
meet you heren Herbert Pennoyer
exclaimed, springing from his horse
and coming to Helen Cnisholm's side.
Marion was chatting confidently with
friend short distance away, and
Helen walked on down the tree -shad-
ed path with Herbert Pennoyer in at
tendance.
II saw your wife in the park this
afternoon, she remarked almost i'm
mediately.
| Herbert paied little and IA irritat-
ed frown gathered ON his forhead, as
he wondered impatiently why Mary
couldn't stay quietly at home.
''She looks very sad and pale; has
she been i'll recently?" Helen con-
tinued.
80, MOI Mary always looks So" he
was obliged to return, with an attempt
at smile.
''Did she look so when you married
, herr" was on Helen's lips, but she
, forced it back, and spoke of other and
! pleasanter subjects. Marion was quite
out OF sight when they paused by the
railing of a little fountain.
, Il saw a sketch the other day in a
magazine to which you contribute. 1t
impressed me greatly, and interested
me the more because fancied that
, recognized your style. do not recall
the title Just now, but the hero is a
man, married in his youth to pretty
!, but unintellectual country girl. BY
, virtue OF his talents and energy he
to higher phase of life than her
abilities can compass, and in the new
, world opened up to him with the
golden key of genius, meets and falls
In love with woman, in every res
, pect fitted TO make him happy"
!, II wrote it-yesr' Herbert replied
little huskily.
''You authors are such unrelenting
| peOD1e and o11i1tu of en- much ,,oG,oJ
cruelty. Is there not enough real
trouble in the world Without working
us up over imaginary woes2" Helen
asked with a little laugh.
''But suppose this is not an imagin-
airy case; what il it is story OF real
life" Herbert exclaimed with good
deal of agitation, laying his hand
daringly upon hers as it rested on the
railing of the fountain.
/. Helen made use of the imprisoned