The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1884-08-14

! tO.01&Qtf nave IN aunt VINO mas 3
villa here who is the soul of hospitality,
and would be charmed. know to make
your acquaintance. Will You come?
By.the-by, she has q friend visiting her
who is as beautiful As Peri, and is
magnificent musician.
"The latter is an inducement, Marks
companion answered. am passionate.
~ fond of music. But fear my society
manners are sadly out Of repair. How
ever if you wish it, will accompany
you willingly"
And so at 9 O'Clock, just as the young
moon filings her pale radiance over the
along the path to the villa, whose
grounds slope in q succession of ter
races down to the sands.
As they near the house they retard
their steps, for through the open win
dow sweet sounds steal out upon the
night air.
Pausing beneath the balcony they
listen.
The song is sad one, and is sung in
q voice whose melting pathos pene-
trates one mans heart with q potency
SO strong as to cause his face to pale
and his limbs to tremble beneath him.
He laid his hand upon Marks arm
with an urgent pressure.
do not go yet" he said. "Wait and
see if she sings again."
"An right" Mark whispered back.
"But if you are charmed with her voice,
just wait until you see her face"
But the song ended there came not
another. Instead, tread of feet and
rustic of silken drapery above their
heads appraised them that the Sc
cret songstress, accompanied by anoth-
er has emerged from the room into the
balcony.
Another moment, before the two men
had time to make their presence known,
they became the unintentional listeners
to an ardent love declaration.
II have looked in vain this whole
week for an opportunity to speak with
you alone. Oh, Violet, thank you.
thank you, for granting it to me at last.
Surely, you know what am going to
tell you-how madly, desperately I love
you. Violet, your manner to me has
never given me any encouragement,
but can not believe that I am wholly
Indifferent to you. Such devotion as
mine must win some return"
A soft voice interrupts him.
"Do not thank me, Cousin Ralph,
it says; II indeed understood your de-
sire for an interview, but have only
granted it to you to show you the
hopelessness of your attachment.
"Why 'hopelessness There is ut
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own mistress, young and beautiful.
capable of loving and of inspiring love.
Why say 'hopelessness?'"
Because, comes the sad reply, lit is
the right word for me to use. Cousin
Ralph, have loved, but he who alone
possessed my heart is cold in his grave,
and all my hope is buried with him.
Ralph I am now going to tell you some
thing that will cause you pain, and
what, had it not been for this avowal,
you would never have known.
"One day, as you remember, six years
ago, you came to my house, in the alb
sence of my husband, to beg from me
the means of assistance and concealment.
In fit of passion you had challenged
a fellow student to an unlawful duel.
You had fought and had fed, wounded
yourself, from the field where you had
left your contestant, as you thought,
MORALLY wounded.
"You had succe eded in reaching the
Hall before the alarm had been sounded
and the pursuit begun. I listened to
your story with horror. You implored
me, by the ties of blood and old &C.
quaintance, AMI for the honor of our
name, to hide you until your hurt should
be healed, and you could make your es-
cape to another country. did so.
THE excitement in the town run
high, for the young man whom you had
wounded lay between life and death
but at imminent risk to myself I con-
cealed you in an empty tool house with.
in my own park, and ministered myself
to your wants. BY my action in thus
befriending you I ruined my whole life.
my husband returned two days be-
fore you effected your escape. A treach-
erous member of my household aroused
his suspicious. Ny solemn promise to
you bound me in iron letters, and when
he questioned me, and implored me, if
it were indeed possible to explain my
mysterious nightly absences from my
home was obliged to remain silent.
All that sustained me through that
dreadful interview was the hope that in
q brief while you would be far away
and safe from the disgraceful conse-
quences of your rashness, and then I
could tell my husband all. But that
hope was not to be realized.
HE left me in bitter anger, and I have
never seen him since, nor heard from
linn, until year ago q friend abroad
sent me papers containing the account
of the loss of French steamer, one of
whose il-fated passengers he was. I
thought then I should die, but God
willed it otherwise.
cousin Ralph, surely you will never
approach me again upon subject that
can only add one more pang to the sor-
row that through you'll must say it,
though it wound you-must forever bar
the entrance of happiness into my
heart"
There is moments pause, then q
mans troubled voice breaks it:
"And it was my hand that wrought
you this suffering! Though he I
wounded recovered from his hurt, and
my hand is free from the blood of a
fellow.being, I have slain a soul!
Cousin Violet, forgive me if you can
I can never forgive myself"
There is sound of retreating foot
steps, and woman's sob; then, unable
to control any longer the emotions that
impelled him, deserving his friend, and
climbing with agile quickness up the
balcony supports, Carroll Danton stands
before the wife he had lost but had never
ceased to love, despite the torturing
doubts that had embittered the last dark
years.
my wife he cries; "my injured
Violet! It is your husband, not dead,
but alive and beside you, who has heard
your exoneration from your own lips.
Do you not know me? Do not shrink
from me. 1t is indeed your Carroll
asking upon his knees pardon for
the sorrow he has caused you to suf-
fer"
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