The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1885-08-23

as sick and dizzy leant over I saw beneath me
the cruel waves dashng dark form against the
crueAer rocks, and as one of the men turned to
me and said. Poor chap! If we had been a
quarter OF an hour before, we might have saved
him" knew that in the eye of God | was rs
mucn a murderer as the rufan who drives his
knife through the heart of his victim. Little
wonder was it, as they bore his nerveless form to
the top Of the cliff; as | saw that pale face
stained here and there with blood; the blue eyes
yet open, ana as l almost fancied seeking my
own, that fell one dead upon the grass and
was borne away unconscious as the man had
foully slain.
What more remains to be sad9 You know the
rest-how the illness that followed was atrrib-
uted to the shock / had undergone and the
exertions l had used to save my friend. How
people praised my presence Of mind III at once
starting for assistance. How you-even you
wrote kind words to networks that cut my
heart like knives. Yet one knew that with
me night and day was the face of the dead as |
saw it ere fell senseless on the cliff; that ever
in my dreams | was running, it seemed to be
from an image of you, and that fearful things
were striving to stop me. No one knew how
often went to the spot where Gordon
fell and timed, nearly as | could
the rising waters to ascertain II 1t We're
possible for man to have comprised
the distance and brought aid IN time to
save him. Alas, | only learnt was murderer
in act as well as thought! | gained the prize
that tempted me-but at what cost When,
after some years. you gave me your hand knew
your heart could never be mine but lay In
Geralds grave; l knew that the thing when at
last Induced you to accede to my repeated re-
quest more the love you fancied l bore him
than the love you felt for me- And so, at the
price of lifes remorse, | won woman whose
love- IN life, could never be mine, and who, after
death, must hate my memory.
All, Geralc ordon, slain by the waves at the
bidding of your friend, just as the supreme JOY
d,
than nine!
AS she read the last word Gertrude Blake
dropped the manuscript. and burylng her face
in her hands, cried 20, why did he tell me}
Why did he tell mel This is the worst of all to
bear. Thank God have no children in whose
faces may see murderer written" Then, with
bitter grief and hatred in her heart, she sat on
and on through the weary night. And ever be-
fore her was the image of Gerald Gordon, with
the hungry waters creeping round him, his poor
manned limbs battling in vain struggles to keep
his life until the delayed help arrived And her
face was stern and cold as she pictured 1t. Ii
her husbands hopes of heaven rested on her
forgiveness she felt she could not bring her lips
to frame the words.
She could scarcely credit the tale she had read;
at times she fancied it must have been IN a great
part imagination But his face, ever sad, even
when others were gayest came again and again
to her mind, and she felt that strange sadness
stamped the confession with truth. Yet III all
else he mad been so noble, both in thought and in
deed. He had loved her so; and now, with his
dreary secret barred before her. even through the
bitterness of her mind passed the knowledge that
he had been leading not only life of remorse,
but also OF atOnement and as she grew more
calm she fell at last into q troubled sleep with
wet tears upon her lashes
And as she slept, she dreamed. They stood
before her, she thought; her first and only love,
Gerald, and her husband. The latter, not the
careworn, prematurely old man of the past
years, but young. gay, and handsome as when
he rode with Gerald to see her that morning in
the winter. There was no sadness In his eyes
now, and Gerald's arm was round his neck:
Sweet love-" she heard him whisper, see,
have forgiven-cannot you, likeWlse| And
then, striving to speak, she awoke.
With the dream yet lingering in her memory,
she rose, and tearing the manuscript to shreds,
threw it upon the smoldering fire. When
every vestige Of paper was consumed she sought
her room, but, as she passed the chamber of
death, entered and bending over the pale, cold,
placid face kissed it, whispering: II forgive, as
hope to be forgiven"