Weekly commercial herald. (Vicksburg, Miss.) 1884-18??, 1885-08-14

and IN deep thought. She had Just finished
one Of her periodical letters to her uncles.
L was lying near her, directed but not sealed.
Beatrice was wrestling with the temptation
Of sending a message to Frank. She could
not bear to picture him thinking her cold
and heartless. Should she add a line to her
letteri Should she even write him a letter.
But what could she say to hint Nothing,
absolutely nothingl Besides, provided be
had not yet learned the truth, the most con-
ventional message from her would raise
hopes never to be realized. Poor Frank why
did he learn to love heri Why did she love
hint No, not thatl 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 a mar as Frank, But no
word, no message must be sent.
ut is a part of the price l 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 emotion.
"My sweet, my DEAR" she said; "what is
it, There is no fresh troubleF
'None, the old one ia enough said Bea-
trice. Mrs. Miller looked at her solicitously.
"You are thinking Of the mar who loves
youl" she said soothingly.
'Yes," said Beatrice with recovered com
posure. Eyes, l am thinking that I may
have wrecked his life as well as my own"
mo, no, my poor dear. 1t will come
right. You will be happy-he will be
happy"
Beatrice smiled a hopeless smile
1T 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 fan
atheism had been at once repres cd by Bea-
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 onl 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 a 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 t~wenty-three, had most
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 all acted in tho
wisest ways Was her life to be quite marred
by that n act of folly9 If she turned and
firmly grasped her nettle, would the sting
lie fatal, or even more thar she could bear
She was, like most Of us, a 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 int,
corners. Could she nerve herself to com
forth and face the worst2
What was the worst2 The worst was he
dread of losing her child. Whatif she wrot
to Horace and Herbert and told them every
thing, begged them to forgive the Harmless
deceit which she had practiced; intricate,
them to see this man and make such term
as they couldl Might she not, when the,
had assured her security and peace, fac
such scorn as the world would throw her3
Then she began to wonder If Hervey hal
revealed the truth9 If her father, Lady
Clauson-here she shuddered-her uncle
knew that she was this mans wife. AL
though she had just been resolving to max
it known to them, the thought of their beinl
in possession of the knowledge was horribl
to her. Yet all this while they might hav
known it-might have heard it from Hell
vey's lips. This thought half maddene
her. She must learn if it was so.
She thought regretfully Of that peacefu
life at Lakewood House. Horace and Hel
, berts little womanish ways seemed part an
parcel Of the pleasant home. She though
of old Whitaker, of William Giles, of th
other servants. She thought, with q pan
of deeper regret, of Sylvanus Mordle, VIII
Add "a Ia q OhO WOL1lbu Nv COul
love, She even thought of young Purton
well-meant but unsophisticated advances
Then, Of course, she thought of Carruther
thought Of him more than of all.
And Frank Did Frank know, and if Sc
what did he think of her} Or, when b
knew, what would he think of herl Did b,
would he, ours her very memory9 All, 6
far as her love was concerned there could
: nc hote for better days.
At this j~uncture Beatrice broke down, jul
as she had broken down when she refuse
! Franks love. She laid her head on IL
table and sobbed bitterly. Sarah returnin
from posting her letter found her so, and
!, course knelt beside her, cried with her, an
j soothed her.
d 81 cannot live this lifem sobbed Beatric
Q II cannot live it longerW
: : IN /, A ~