Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1886-01-15
put it oacay Under lock aud key.

put it a,oay under lock aud key.
cared, the whole worll might know fhat
Julian Lorraine was not my fathe". Su
trivial things as accidents OF birth yer
now matters of Indifference to me.
The other papers burned lid no read
one-haIf Of Them They clearly slowed
what manner of man was Julian Lorraine
before he bought Herstal Abbey AMI set.lel
down to the life of a recluse. My life,
told myself, was spoiled-spolled by
woran's treachery And yet / could no,
bring myself to hate her. No-le5 the truth
be known-I loved her even now-loved hsx,
although she was living in shame with my
enemy. Lhungered, craved for sight of
her face The touch of her hand would
have thrilled me as Of old. Although told
myself that were she at my feet praying for
pardon, I would spurn her and cast her
from me, knew that I lied. 1 knew that
if Viola came to me-if my eyes once more
met hers-I should throw all manhood's
pride to the winds, and-such was the
strength of my passi on-take this faithless
woman to my heart an hold her there I'M
til. as l told myself bitterly, some fresh
lover robbed me again.
Sucn being my true feeling, picture my
emotion wnen. one morning, Ifouni letter
living on my table-a letter addressed to me
in Viola's hand writing! | tore itopen W tn
a CRY of delight; l pressed it to my lips.
Had not her fingers touched its Then l
read. 1t wa, but one line:
IF you kae,o all, yoas might forgive"
eff l knew alll' What more was there
to knowa knew that she had left me
without word or a sign Of warning; that
she had fled, accompanied by a man WHO
had loved her passionately long before I
ever set eyes upon her; that they w.re,
some where or other, hidden from pursuit.
Heaven! what more could ! wish to know.
Forgive" Yes-sbame on my weakness
for say ing SOL could forgive. l could do
more; l could persuade myself that tn
strong willed man had forced her to fly with
him, perhaps half against her wish. Icoud
believe that she was unhappy, tlat she was
panitent. that she lived me still. ] could do
more than forgiv, I could take her-I
should bs forcei to take her-again TO my
heart: even to trust her, and be proud Of
her glorious beauty. Yes, I could do Il Is
after had zen Eustace Grant lying life
less at my .et Weak as I was, it could
not be until then!
Where was be? Where was she? Were
they together? l turned again to the etter
1t gave me no information as to The writer's
whereabouts. The paper and the envelope
were pla n; the latter bore the London
pos tmark It was creased, which tod me 1T
Nd been sent under cover to tie posted in
London. Sent to whoma The receipt of
this scrap Of paper worked great change
in me. If had ever been approaching that
state in which man accepts the inevitable,
it lifted me out of it.
Itspurred me on to make fresh exertions
to discover the retreat OF the fugi ives.
That letter-the letter written BY her-l
carried next my heart day and night.
False as my wife had been to me, lov ID
her; and there were times when recalled
her sweet face, AMI marveied how evil
could have lurke1 Leaea5h such mask.
left Herstal Abbsy aad took up my
quarters IN town. There should be ready
to start on tine moment heard where
Grant was to be foual. But, somehow.
was beginning to think that our meeting
would be brought about By pure chance.
Lon ion is the place whore all chance meet
ings occur. There are few Engl,shmen who
do no. visit the capital, either a shorter or
longer intervals. Something must bring
Grant there; so waited and hoped.
Chance, pure chance, brought about
what longed for, but not in the way l ex-
pected. Ibid not stumble across my foe in
the street; did not hear chance mention
Of his name and so hit upon some one who
knew him. found Eustace Grant in tnla
wise:
This wear book, which at once took the
pubic's fancy immensely, made its appear
ance. 1t was but novel, yet work the
depth and research of which, combined
with iss pathos and humor, arrested all
readers attention. People were curious to
know who was the author. The title page
bore one O. those names which strike every
one a; being a nom de plume. Perhaps the
book was not the less read because certain
amount of mystery was KEPT up as to who
had really written it.
Sometimes, not often, since that crushing
blow had al len upon me, read what hap
pencil to come in my way. This particular
book was one which came in my way.
BEGAN to read it, and am bound to say that