The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1888-01-19

1t Is gone, and we o'en nave 1orgotten ltS nalno-
Deep down in the heart let its memory lie;
Perhaps it was both, perhaps neither to blame
We care not, so long as the dream has gone by.
We care not, now freed from the glamour it gare
The while unto everything on the wide earth
So that it Is dead, and secure in its grave,
What is the past and its follies oil worth?
Frank Lesle's.
SUSPICION.
Ihaye often thought that would keep
diary. The journal OF q sick nurse ought
to be nearly as interesting as an old novel
that have read q am very fond of novels,
especially sensational ones), called "The
Diary of q Physician;" and then am not
an ordinary garde malade, as they style
us here in France. am always called
Miss Morris, 7and I never AXE my m ais
with the servants; and we sick nurses, ac-
cortling to the sensational novels aforesaid,
have great opportunities Of witnessing
strange and tragic incidents, and Of learn
ing oil about romances in real life.
wonder if I am not on the track of q
real tragedy just now. It is ten days since
the Count de Viana came to engage me to
take charge of his young wife, and already
it seems to me that her illness has some
thing mysterious about it. The co 'ntess
is very pretty, even in her present wasted
and faded condition. She has large blue
eyes, and profusion of soft, shining fair
hair, and very delicate features. She is
extremely pale, and her lips are tinged
with vivid and unnatural scarlet. But
sheis extremely pretty, all the same. She
is an American by birth, and was the
daughter and only child of Amos Lyddell,
the inventor and proprietor Of the Lyddel
Hair Tonic, SO she was great heires. In
deed have heard her fortune was to be
counted by millions.
She has been i'll now, she told me, for
over three months. Such trying form
of illness, too; constant nausea, a burning
sensation in the stomach, inability to take
food, etc. She has had all the best doc
tors in Europe to attend her, and not one
Of them can find out what ails her; Ihave
my suspicions-and I mean to look about
me pretty sharply to see if there are any
grounds for me to so upon and to war
rant my interference. In plain language,
it seems to me as though the countess
was being slowly and gradually poisoned.
Now, who is it that is poisoning herr
Can it be the count?
May 25.-I should not wonder If itwere
the count. never liked his looks from
the very first; good looking truly, with q
fine figure, big black eyes, and soft,
silky looking, curly beard. Soft and silky
-yes-like his manners. He is always
cooling over his poor sick little wife, and
wanting to carry her about in his arms,
and calling her his poor dear little Nellie.
am afraid Of him, must confess. His
sweetness and 1ovingness seem too much to
be real Then, what is he doing half the
day in that room at the top of the houses
Whenever he is not in his wife's sick room
he is shut up there. And why did he come
out here to Passy to take house, instead OF
engaging rooms in q fashionable and
central part of Paris? It is all very well
to talk about fresh air for the invalid, as
the counts valet, Antonio, did tho other
evening. Fresh air, indeedl 1t is my
opinion that he came here just to get out
Of everybody's way and to carry out his
nefarious designs where there was no pos
sibility of any interruption. 1t really
makes my heart ache to see that poor
young thing clnging about his neck, and
to hear her calling him her darling Carlo.
It makes me hate the very name of Carlo.
Ihave dog called that at home, and !
shall give it away as soon as I get back.
And yet sometimes think I may be
making mistake; Nine. de Viana's
ualady may be wholly natural, and even
if it is not, T have no proof that the count
has any hand in it. I must be prudent,
and not let my imagination carry me
away.
May 27.-The countess is rather better
today. She sat up for several hours, and
was strong enough to make quite an elab-
crate toilet with the help of her maid.
She has put on q perfect love of dress
ing gown in pale blue surah, trimmed
with white lace and ruby velvet-a pres
ent, she tells me, from her husband, on
the first anniversary of her marriage.
The count is delighted at her improved
health. he is going into Paris in an hour
or two to get some medicine made up for
her. 1t is prescription given her by O
French doctor, which did her q great deal
of good some months ago. when, rs she
tells me, she was afflicted with II terrible
eruption on her forehead and her cheeks.
She discovered little redness near the
corner Of her left eyebrow last night, and
thinks she had best recommcnce the med
icine. Like all pretty women, the coun.
tess takes an exceeding degree Of care OF
her complexion whenever she is well
enough to think of anything beside her
illness. She has been talking 10 me q
great deal about her life as q schoolgirl,
and her marriage, and the pleasant we'd
ding Journey she made to Italy and Spain,
and how kind her husband has always
been to her, and how dearly she loves
him. But then she told me something
that has set me to thinking harder than
ever.
ssI have made my will, leaving Carlo
all my fortune when I die, Sarah," she
said. s'You see, have no near relations,
and there is no one on earth that love so
well as do my husband"
She chatted on for some time, and then
took some cream and cup of beef tea,
and seemed stronger and better than she
has done at any time since came. About
6 o'clock the count returned with the
bottle Of medicine, and a beautiful bou-
,ouet, and basket Of hothouse strawber-
ries, and a new novel by Hector Malot
He quite frightened the sick room witt
his gifts and his presence, and he seemed
so pleased at hearing that Nine. di Viana
lelt stronger and had been able to take
some nourishment. "Bravo, little wife!"
he cried, lifting her bodily off the lounge
in his great, strong arms (she is not a
great weight to lift, poor little creature,
so thin and wasted is she). "We shall
have you out driving in week, and then
we may begin to think about trip. to
Switzerland or to the seashore;" and then
he sat down in the American rocking
chair, and rocked and pettcd and mur'
INJURED to tho poor sick girl till she actu'
ally fell asleep on his shoulder.
Decidedly my suspicious have been both
foolish and wicked. Ishall burn my diary
tomorrow and never think Of them again.
What! this kind, affectionate gentleman
poisoner!-the murderer of his own wife!
1t is impossible!
May 2s.-Oh, dear me! what day we
have had of it, and how utterly all my
newborn confidence in the count has been
scattered TO the four winds of heaven! On