The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1885-05-16
existence, were it not a sin.

degrees and then gradually the suffer
ing itself changed-mellowed, softenec
till at last she was scarcely consciou.
that it was there.
On this evening she sat by warn
fire in the tiny house which her owr
industry had won, and thought great,
fully that at last she might call herself
at rest, at peace.
A jingle of sleigh bells sounded out
side the house. Some one knocked
loudly at the door. 1t was a messenger
from the railway station with a tele-
gram from Victor Joyce-IsabeIs hus-
band.
Come to Isabel. She is dying Says
she must see YOU"
This was all it SAID. The messenger
was to wait and dive her back in time
for the last express train.
Like one in dream Genevieve went
about, setting her house in order for an
absence Of a few days, then dressed
herself for the journey.
At midnight she stepped from the
train into the confusion of a crowded
New York depot. A hand took hers, a
voice said gently
"This way, Cousin Genevieve." And
the next moment she was shut up in a
carriage with Victor Joyce, driving
with all speed toward his luxurious
home. "There is not moment to
lose," he said as they alighted, speak
ing for the first time. "Will you come
to her at once? Night and day her cry
had been for you"
They could hear it as they assembled
the staircase but oh, how weak and
changed, how thin and far away, were
the tones of poor Isabel's voice, inces-
sanity saying
"Genevieve? cannot, dare not, die,
till have seen her p
Every one left the room in obedi-
ence to Capt. Joyce's sign, as Gene
We've entered. But when he would
have followed them his wife cried out,
and clutched him with her weak hands.
"Not you! You must stay and hear
it too, Victor !"
Then she told the story of the past.
''1f you had gone to the ball, wearing
the flower as he asked you to, l should
not be lying here today, and you two
would have had years of happiness to-
gether that can never come to you
now. Don't you hate me? Can you
ever forgive me? And then l had not
even the excuse of my love for Victor
to bear me blameless she went on.
II married him because he was rich
and influential, and partly that you
should not be his wife, Genevieve-for
must tell you the whole truth here on
my dying bed. But oh, how l have
been punished As his wife learned
how noble and good he was, 1 learned
to love him for himself alone, And il
there is torment beyond loving your
husband with your whole heart and
soul, and knowing that he never has
loved, and never will love you-if there
is torment that can exceed that in
bitterness, in keenness, tell me where,
tell me where !" she cried wildly, throw
ing her wasted arms above her head
at has been SO dreadful that l, who
have loved life so well, am glad tc
die !"
only dear Isabel" began her hus-
band gently
She interrupted him, selling his hand
and Genevieve's in a burning clasp.
Il know you have tried to love me
Victor" she said half bitterly, half ten
derby. "And | am sure you will botf
forgive me when l am dead. l joir
your hands now. l, who have been the
obstacle to your happiness on earth
1t is not yet too late. Kiss me once
my husband, and then all will be owe
with me, and you will belong to eacf
other here and in heaven, while walk
a lonely and desolate spirit by my
self"
With these strange words she died
just as her husband left his parting kis
upon her lips,
1t was cruel and terrible scene
But in time its memory and effec
passed away.
Genevieve is the happiest of wive
and mothers, Victor the proudest o
fathers, in their beautiful suburban
home. And white rose, rendered b.
careful hands blooms yearly on poo
Isabel's grave.