Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1885-05-14

There are always such old ladies at
wedding-parties, and it is more agree
able to meet them when you are young
than when you are not. [ feared she
might have known me also, and | had
clipped four years off the tag end of
my age.
Somehow, thirty-six sounds so much
better and younger than forty.
/ hurried away and began to play
with somebody's little girl think it
was a cousin s-who had brought with
her hideous staring doll, dressed up
like bride. [ told falsehoods, and
said [ loved little girls, and that the
inwardly with rage and jealousy; and
my head ached only less than my
heart. l suppose hers did also. This
was a state of things for a wedding
day!
But we went down to dinner togeth-
er, and l responded to the proper
toasts, and forced myself to seem hap
Ply.
Champagne helped me. After a
while | said TO myself:
''Idiot! 1t is some little bill she
wants to hide A shoemaker's per-
haps. Her father lives up to his in
come; and no doubt she has had hard
work to get her things ready. Poor
child! I've been cruel to her."
So when she had gone away to get
ready for the journey, and it was time
for me also to go, [ hurried to the room
appointed for me, and knowing it was
next to hers, softly opened the door
and peeped in, meaning to kiss her,
and tell her she should always have
everything she wanted after this. The
room, however, was empty.
Her wedding-dress lay on the bed,
and ghostly veil and wreath foated
from gas fixture; but paper, pens, and
ink were on a desk, and | saw that
even in this hurried moment she had
taken time TO write q letter.
1t lay finished, but not folded, be-
side an unaddressed envelope, and [
tiptoed eagerly across the room, hop
ing to read that she would settle that
little account as soon as possible, and
read this:
Indeed, sir, you are right. | shall suffer
miSerably through all my honeymoon, and
1t is your fault, not mine.
Il could hardy keep my tears back at the
altar for the pain. My husband must not
know, but shall be a martyr until L get
back. On the very day Of my re urn L shall
see you; but as for fOrgiving yOu-never!
II rel ed on GU so implicitly. How could
you? How could you?
PHOEBE PALMER"
/ glared about the room, looking
wildly for the letter to which this was
a reply. | saw wisp Of pink paper
on the floor, and caught it up. The
patter of little boot-heels was on the
floor of the hall, and [ closed the door
behind me just in time.
Trembling with wrath-had [ not
reason for it?-I unfolded the paper.
1t was only small piece of the note;
but read what it contained over and
over. It was this:
Il did not think it would give you pain;
but can scarcely e p3ct you to for i've me
for breaking my engagement with you. L
am SO sorry | cannot SCI. you before you go,
but your husband"
There the fragment ended and left
me in state of mind that threatened
congestion of the brain, to put myself
into a traveling-suit and start on my
wedding journey with bride [ belieV
ed already false to me.
Yet what could / do? Make a scene
before the wedding party? Get into
the papers, perhaps?
NO" | said to myself, ''Tl have
revenge, but won't disgrace myself
publicly" [ put the fragment into my
pocket-book.
Jane had been the children nursery
smaid. I had promoted her to Phebe's
own waiting maid, and she was to 90
with us. There she was already, and |
thought of all the diabolical maids in
French books as | looked at her.
We got into a carriage and ratified
furiOusly away toward the station, for
we were late. Phoebe was in tears
sat leaving home" she said. [ made
no attempt to console her. sat stiffiy
on my seat, with hand on each knee,
James round little bullets of eyes star
ing hard at me, as though she saw some
thing was the matter.
My heart burst, and my head ached;
| wonder | was not seized with apo
plexy, being of such full habit. We
got into the train at last, and Phoebe
looked at me in her dove-like way, as [
stood beside her, looking Heaven only
knows how.
''You -musn't be angry with me. It's
so hard to leave mamma" she said
pleadingly. Il won't cry any more"
you are at liberty to cry as much
as you like, madame" 1 said. Il
should think that you would feel like
shedding many bitter tears"
With this L strobe away into the
smoking-carriage
All through that wretched bridal
journey l never gave my wife a civil
word or kindly look.
When she called to me, Don't you
feel well, Pelham?" [ replied: VERY;
you'll not be rich widow just yet, my
dear" And after that we did not
speak again.
So we reached the hotel at Paris, and
after had engaged rooms I had al in
terview with Jane alone.
Young woman" l said sternly, Il
am going to give you a months wages
and discharge you. [ will also pay
your passage home
My goodness cried Jane. Don't