Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1885-09-25

made some arfang entent which would spare
her pride the modification of her being
known as the wife Of a felon. Gladly would
she have done all in her power to save her
father. her uncles, and such friends as she
had, the pain they must feel when all was
revealed Yet it was not on this account
she fed Her one aim was to save the child
from the man who was his father.
She believed he could legally claim her
boy. She knew he was villain enough to
take him by force or fraud if the chance oc-
CURED. The moment Harry was in Hervey's
hands she saw she would be at his mercy.
She would be forced to submit to any con-
dltions, however exacting and humiliating,
in order to regain possession of the one thing
which was left her, the one thing she could
love- or was permitted to love. Flight gave
her respite; gave her time for considera-
tion. 1t was the simplest and easiest way
out of the difficulty. So she decided upon it.
Once out of England they Travelled by
easy stages, and eventually reached their
destination-Munich The city on inspec-
ton seemed as suited as any other to Bea-
trice's needs, so she hired furnished fat
engaged a good-tempered, handy Bavarlan
servant, and settled down to that quiet,
calm life which she had in her letters to the
Talberts described herself as living
These letters were sent under cover to a
friend of Mrs. Miller's, who posted them in
London AS English stationery can be pro-
cured on the continent easily as every
thing else that is English, the letters CON
veyed no information which could be used
to discover the retreat Beatrice dreaded
sending them; she feared that some unfore-
seen slip connected with them might dis
close her abode But it seemed SO unkind
not to let her uncles know she was alive and
well. She did not write to her father. She
fancied her proceedings would not trouble
him much, and felt sure that any letter sent
to him would run the gauntlet of Lady
Clauson's unkind comments. She trusted to
Horace and Herbert to let him know all that
they knew
Beatrice made few, if any, chance &C
quaintances Some people never do. Just
as there are men whom other men never
think of asking for cigar light, SO are there
women to whom other women do not make
the first advances. Beatrice, with her re-
served but polite manner, classical features
and distinguished bearing, no doubt con-
veyed the idea that she was a state not to be
encroached upon without the passport of an
introduction.
So for society she had her boy and her
faithful slave, Mrs. Miller
However much a mother nay love her
child, she is not blamed if she finds that his
constant company does not give all the
pleasure the world can give. However
faithful and intelligent a servant may be,
the mistress may with a clear conscience
look beyond her for companion.
So Beatrice's life grew once more dismal
and colorless. So much so that under its
present conditions the late life at Halle
wood House, when contrasted with it,
seemed wild round of variety and dissipa-
ton.
She had her books and her music, but she
had no one with whom to discuss the books,
no one to listen to her music. She took les
sons in painting from one of the thousand
artists in the great art center, Munich, but
this was but an aid to kill time, and unbro,
ken with any ambitious aim She had her
thoughts. These she stunned as much as
possible. It seemed to her that there was
nothing upon which she could look back
with pleasure, nothing to which she could
look forward with hope. She often recalled
Carruthers' assertion that in spite of manner
she must have some dream of happiness, and
she sighed as she thought that now less than
ever did life show any joy of which she even
dared to dream
Beatrice was sitting one afternoon in the
room she allied her studio She was alons
md in deep thought. She had just finished
one of her periodical letters to her uncles
1t was lying near her, directed but not sealed.
Beatrice was wrestling with the temptation
of sending a message to Frank. She could
cot bear to picture him thinking her cold
and heartless Should she add a line to her
etters Should she even write him letter?
But what could she say to hims Nothing,
absolutely nothingI Besides, provided he
lad not yet learned the truth, the most con.
yentional message from her would raise
hopes never to be realized. Poor Frank why
did he learn to love hers Why did she love
him? No. not that She was happy that
she loved him; that she had found the power
of loving and trusting still hers. Yes, hope
less as such love was she rejoiced that she
could love such man as Frank. But no
word, no message must be sent.
''It is a part of the price I must pay for
my folly" she said as she sealed her letter.
Her eyes were full of tears as she did SO.
Mrs. Miller entered and saw her amotton.
''My sweet, my dear,n she said; ''what IS
ita There is No fresh troublean
''None, the old one is enough said Bea-
trice. Mrs. Miller looked at her solicitouslv.
''You are thinking Of the man who loves
your she said soothingly.
EYES," said Beatrice with recovered com.
posure. eyes, am thinking that / may
have wrecked his life as we'll as my own"
sNo, NO. my poor dear. It will come
right. You will be happy-he will be
happy
Beatrice smiled hopeless SMILE
sit will belt is written" continued Mrs.
Miller Nothing can change it. Gods
arm is not shortened. His purpose"
Beatrice checked her sternly Since Sa-
rah's outbreak in the train all signs of fam
atheism had been at once repressed by Rea-
trice, my letter is ready she said; stake
it and direct it to your friend. There are
envelopes
Sarah glanced at her mistress, who was
once more deep in thought. She took two
envelopes and also a stray half sheet of note
paper. Then she went into another room,
and hastily writing a few words on the pa
per, placed it in an envelope, addressed it,
and inclosed it, with Beatrice's letter, in the
packet which was to go to her friend in
london,
Beatrice resumed her painful train of
thought, Writing home had made her feel
utterly wretched. 1t was now May; nearly
five months had she been living this dreary
life, and keeping every one in Ignorance as
to where she was. How much longer must
it go on? She could, of course, leave Munich
whenever she thought fit, but every other
place would be just as dreary to her, Local
ity matters little when a sea of trouble sur
rounds one. Let man count up his hap
piest days and he will find the place in
which he spent them contributed not much
to their happiness Beatrice, who was now
somewhere about twenty-three, had mos
certainly a right to expect some happy DAYS
in this world.
She began to ask herself the questions
which had recently been framing themselves
in her mind, Had she after ali acted in tho
wisest ways Was her life to be quite marred
by that one act of follys If she turned and
firmly grasped her nettle, would the sting
lie fatal, or even more than she could beara
She was, like NEST of us, blending of con-
tradictions. She was wise and foolish; brave
and timid; proud and humble, as pressure
OF circumstances forced her to be. She be-
gan to loath this hiding, this shrinking into
corners. Could she nerve herself to come
forth and face the worst2
What was tAe worsts The worst was her