The Arkansaw traveler. (Little Rock, Ark.) 1882-1???, 1885-03-14
CHAPTER III.

suppose that we snail ever meet again.
Yours, MAUD"
CHAPTER III.
went away from the town where hao
disgraced myself-where had trampled
upon the affections of my wife. Itwould
be impossible to describe my wretched
ness. contemplated suicide, but re.
manned sober. | was late in Carrying out
so good resolve, and | found but little
consolation in the old adage, better late
than never but with a determination
born Of semi-despair, turned my back
upon every temptation. ! lived in the
hope that my wife would return. When
evening came, would go to our house
could not call it home and sit under
the vines, the vines which Maud had
trained with such tender care. My little
angel. His face was ever before me.
found one of his shoes in a closet.
kissed it. Weary months crept along in
tiresome stretch. had written many
letters to many distant friends, yet NO
one could tell me where | could find my
wife. Critics said that my work had be-
come melancholy. Is not the leaf mel.
ancholy when the frost falls upon it :!
The precious essence of life had been
squeezed from my soul. Time and again
prayed that might die. Once heard
man, who did not think that I was
near, say that | was losing my mind. He
was wrong. had too much of my mind.
l wrote book. 1t was sad cry, rather
than voice of sentiment, but the people
bought it. How surprised was. Why
do gay people like to read lines of sad
ness; why does the gilded butterfly light
upon the withered flower | dom,
know.
When friend asked me to take a
drink, said "no." didn't say" be.
lieve not" I said "no." Sometimes
the "hoofed tempter would whisper in
my ear, but when l turned upon him, he
would apologize and retire. The scoun-
drel The world was full of news, but
there was no news of Maud. She must
have heard of my book, and knowing
that such book could have only been
written by sober man, why did she not
come back to me? wandered aim
lessly; strolled without purpose.
/ e0oL ~ daI:rA& so %ha a&&>~a:>--
literary people paid me. How could fair
society smile upon such wretch2 A
magazine said that l had once been a
drunkard, and in encouragement to other
men, held me up as an example.
Ooe day, in section of country which
had never before visited, | strolled
through an almost painless forest. tsud-
denly came upon little log school
house. would have passed on, but a
voice held me.
Children" said the voice, am glad
that you love me, but must leave you.
| must 60 back to my husband who has
become a noble man. We have long
known each other and the separation will
be painful, but mast 60. have told
you of the author of the book which I
read to you. That man is my husband
Henry's father. He does not know that
Henry and pray for him"
Maudp exclaimed, Ainging open
the door and springing into the room.
"Oh, Johnl"
Her tears and mine fell on Henry's
head. "Thank God" l said. "Thank
Cod" Maud cried.
Into the room where sit, the sun
beams fall. From the window, I see
Henry, riding a stick horse. have just
told him little story, how the calf and
the old dog went to q picnic. He in
credulousy shook his head, but accepted
the recital without verbal disapprovaL
am in constant dread, lest he be snatched
from me, but Why should hef Fate,
after all, is not 30 cruel. Above my
head hangs beautiful picture of . man
in whose hands are clasped the hands of
a woman. The picture of the man bears
some resemblance to me, but the fair ar
tist has not done credit to the woman.
Mand v,o;nted fhe rsr<ur~ Manv r~orys