The Carbon advocate. [volume] (Lehighton, Pa.) 1872-1924, 1886-10-09

bowed head and tear-drenched face that
the gaslight reveals. "You are con-
stantly in tears-tears for which you
give no earthly reasonl Is there any
thing you want2"
She looks up, and for the first time in
his life Robert Atwood detects a gleam-
ing ray of proud, resentful fire in her
brown eyes, world of naughty pride in
the voice which answers:
eyes, Robert Atwood, l do want
many things-things which you have
put it beyond my power possess. Can
you give me back the dreams which you
have wrecked, the life you have blighted,
and the hopes you have made illusionsP
What have / ever done that you should
spoil my life, put it beyond my powert to
ever find happiness? All. Heaven, that
/ had never seen your
And staring at her in blank misery he
echoed the wish with:
"Twas mad mistake, for which all
my lite must atone. Pray let us have
no scenes. Remember not YOU alone
are miserable. Nothing can avail us
now"
That was all. In his cold cruelty he
walked from the room, and all night
long in the brilliant crowded rooms,
while she sat dumbly staring, he hung
on the very words of the capricious
beauty - Miss Hethburn - forgetting
even the obstacles which separated them
in his wild infatuation, and uttcring
words that afterward he would have
given his life to recall; words, the very
memory of which ever afterward brought
flush of shame to his check.
''If the old times were back. Laura"
he whispered, drawing her toward him
on the marble balcony in .all the brill
liant beauty which blinded his honor
'If were free again, darling, would it
be otherwise? 'Tis you who should have
been my wife-not she. If l would-if
| could be free again, Laura"
Moved, perhaps, by the passion
trembling in his voice; perhaps by a
triumph of her own power, and the ut
ter impossibility of the thing he sug-
gested, the proud beauty bent her proud
head, and touched his hand lightly
with her perfect lips.
''If YOU were free-if this wretched
mistake had not parted us, Robert,
would have been your wife"
More followed in low, thrilling tones,
but neither saw the slim, dark figure
crouching there against the shadowy,
iyy-grown pillar, with the look of death
less pain on her white face.
A few days later, strangely calm and
self-possessed, Cara Atwood entered
the library where her husband sat, with
a roll of papers in her slip hand.
She laid them on the table before him
saying simply: ''Read-and sign them
1t is best for lis both"
lie peruSed then-every word--ever,
line, yet scarcely realized that they wer,
the papers which legally set him ire,
from the woman he had so rashl.
married.
You understand she asked at last
at is divOrce-a separation. None.
can procure anything but happiness
You, at least, are free"
He looked up into her face-so coldl
white-and asked hoarsley:
''Is it your wish, Cara? / do not wisl
to make you miserable, God knows"
She turned to the open window witt
a slow smile of contempt.
"Your consideration comes too late,
she said; ''since we have been married
it seems to have been your ambition t
make me as miserable as you possibl
could. You seemed to have forgottel
that I, too. was human-capable Of jo
or pain. Now YOU have only to forge
that ever came into your life-forge
that you ever spoiled my hfe-and b
happy with the old love, who woul
merry you if You were free"
And well. knowing, with a sense q
self-shame and abasement, that she ha
been a witness to that scene on the la
cony, Robert Atwood took his freedom
e vaguely conscious that it scarcel
y brought the happiness he had expecte'
/, Cara had absolutely refused any a
is lowance, any settlement from him, witt
"When l met you | had only N
IL honor and loving heart. The hea
1t you have broken; the honor, even ASST
a citation with your set has not take
lie from me! can go gladly back to Il
le old life of work, praying God to let II
e, forget"
is And the months rolled on. Free an
10 unfettered in the eyes of the world, Ro
ert Altwood's infatuation for the love
n belle was ended with:
ie "But nonsense. Robert. OF course
Ut could not marry you-a divorced ma
er Who would ever have thought. 81
e there! Here is my partner for the ne
waltz. Take my adyice-tind your lit
at wife and make it up. You should nev
S; have let her CO."
to In his splendid, lonely home, Robe
he Atwood at last realized his own folly.
IN What a worthless idol his bad be-
ne after all; and what a proud, sweet n
ture he had east from him for the 81
~ tering illusionl
by If only lie could find her-if only
to could go down on his knees, and b
nd her to forgive and trust him again,
d, would have done so, without daring
nd hope that she would come back to
he him atone through all the years Of |
n life.
ch She had disappeared as complete
from his life as if she had never bee
Oh and in the rooms where she had so oft
l. I,, haV