The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1886-12-02

le quite COnCenC.i,- :. ,.o 49,.
But before he. has time to complete
his sentence, Lord .Chetwode grasps
his revolver, and taking aim, fires dc.
liberately at him. The bullet passes
through his heart, and Blake. ffinging
his arms wildly into the air, falls heav-
lily to the ground.
Not a word escapes him, and when
he Is discovered later on, life is quite
extinct.
Lord Chetwode makes his way Is
one in a dream to his hotel. Going
upstairs, he hurries along tho CORR
dor, seeking his own room. The door
next to his happens to be open, and
in his agitation mistaking it tor hls
own, he walks in, not discovering his
mistake till the figure. of woman
seated at distant table recalls him
to himself.
The woman, rising gently, turns to:
word him
Az she does so, a faint cry escapes
her, and she clutches eagerly at the
chair near her. as though DESTROYS OF
support: Chetwode; going up; seizes her
by the arm: 1t is his sister-Lady
Mary Chetwode!
"John," she cries. piteously stretch
ing out her hands, "Why are you
here?"
And taking a step forward, she sinks
fainting to the ground.
Lifting her gently, Chetwode places
her on the sofa; and as he gazes on
her beautiful face, nov marked with
sorrow and suffering, all his love for
her returns, and pressing his lips to
her forehead, he murmurs, brokenly,
tenderly, MY poor, poor girl"
Presently she RECEIVERS conscious
ness; and, shrinking from him, buries
her face once more in the pillows of
the sofa.
Quietly gaming possession of her
hands, he says, tenderly, dearest
Mary, look up. My heart is full of
love for you! Let us forget the past"
"It is impossible" she says bitterly.
Then anxiously and eagerly, she cries:
"You have met? Where is he? Oh,
what do see in your face? 1t cannot
be that you have killed him?
1T is even SOL" Chetwode replies.
"Oh, miserable wretch that l am"
she cries, wildly. First ] ruin my
self, and now you, through me, have
become an assassin"
Mary" Chetwode says firmly,
"calm yourself. Can'tyou realize that
while he lived there could be no hope
for you? had looked forward to the
Staying of HIM since the day he stole
you from me. 1t is but right that he
should answer for his sin in that 9TH
er world, as he could not atone for it
in this
"You have broken my hearth" she
says, sobbing bitterly.
"Only to save your soul, Mary.
Think no more of one so utterly base,
degraded; and unworthy!"
Days and weeks pass, during which
time Lady Mary's life lies in the bal
ance. Fever ensuing from her over
wrought brain, brings her to deaths
door; but with tender care and care
full nursing she rallies, and then, when
the doctors permit Lord ChetwOde
making the necessary arrangements),
they start for Biarritz. where Lady
Mary wishes to seclude herself for
some time. She looks even more
lovely in her misery.
She assumes a false name, and for
several years keeps entirely from the
world, leading a very solitary life.
But can a lovely woman hide for
ever? No; and a pity indeed could it
be so.
DEAREST JoHS:-1 hope you do not at
ribute my long silence to forgetiulness-in
that you would be very wrong. l had
nothing to tell you, my life being very
much the same from day to day. Beyond
helping the poor in this parish and attend
ing church do literally rothing. But even
in this. John dear, have been sineularly
unfortunate. Hugh Maberly Jour rector
has chosen to fall in love with your poor
Mary, and only yesterday asked me to DO
his wife. How could I dare link my wretch
cd life with his pure and perfect one and be
that would make existence endurable! Give
me your advice. He loves me with all his
heart. Am to break it?''
my DEAR MARY:-I have Just read your
welcome letter. with mingled feelings OF sur
prise and pleasure. If this man loves you
as you say, 60 to him and confess all.
Your loving brother,
JOHN
When Msry receives this. she is anx-
ious, miserable, and grateful. She
kisses her letter, then cries over it;
then remembering how soon she will
have to make her horrid confession,
she filings herself upon her bed and
gives way to passionate weeping for
some time.
She has only one hour to recover
herself before Hugh Maberly comes for
his answer.
She goes down to the drawing-room,
and seats herself on a low chair by
the fire, and remains wrapt in thought,
till Thomson, the footman, announc-
es, "Mr. Maberly."
When Mary sees him, she advances
to meet him, looking SO white and
nervous that Hugh, taking both her
willing hands, asks anxiously, care
you ill?"
"A little" Mary gasps. II shall be
better soon. l have been thinking
about a sad story of a woman knew,
and it has overcome me-that is all"
And then, fearing he may say the
words she knows must come sooner
or later, she plunges at once into her
confession.
"You have heard. no doubt that
pitiable story of Lady Mary Chef
wode?"
II have. l always pitied her"
odd you? Her sin was very great"
''lt was. Therefore the more to be
lamented."
s'She was wretched woman"
'Why, Mary, thought you were
more charitable. Could YOU not be
sorry for one who must have suffered
SO much?"
II could; am! Ihave been sorry
for her all my life!" cries Mary, pas
sionately.
"There, that is what would have ex-
pected OF you!' Hugh exclaims, rising
and taking both her hands in his.
Expect nothingfrom mel" she cries,
excitedly. Il am the one black sheep
in your flock! Oh, Hugh, forgive me!
am that woman!'
There is no answer for q moment.
Hugh only clasps her hands the tight
er, and at last he speaks.