Waterbury evening Democrat., 1888-01-14
ROGER LAROQUE.
CHAPTER XIV.

SoSA SSNO>N S-N> - in the greenhouse, dumb with sorrow, almost incapable of thought, as though their hearts were scorchcd by lightning For poor Suzanne to be obliged to tell this fearful tale. which she had buried so deep in her young heart that her father had not discovered 1t in ten long years, was almost like living it over again in reality. Shc had said truly she was doomed to n lonely, loveless life. And she loved Raymond with deep and abiding passionse1 mt hopeless one.
 Raymond had thought nothing could aug ment his love for Suzanne before, but now this revelation showed Lim her noble charac- ter, and his love centupled, mingled with respect so profound that it borxlered upon veneration, and deep compassion filled his soul for the sufferings this young girl had so worthily borne.
 aNow," said she. "you know all. Let us say one last ad1eu."
 "Adieu? No A thousand times no. My life belongs to you now, more than ever. 1 shall live to suffer with and for you"
 "Oh, Raymond, we must say goodby; I prefer to feel myself alone to suffer and to re- member. Leave me to my solitude and sor- row."
 But he answered.: 4Iprefer to love you and shall always do so."
 Then they said goodby, sadly and sorrow fully, without more than q hand clasp and Q lingering look.
 He rushed out into the forest, where he wandered about, not knowing or caring where, and not returning to his home until late at night.
 Suzanne sat weeping for while, and then gathered up her strength to try and reach her own room. As she passed 0 large plant which stood between her and the door lead- ing to tho house she found her father lying unconscious on the floor, not ten feet from where eho had stood with Raymond, and he had heard all
 Shc threw herself on her knees beside him and kissed him wildly. She called for assistance while feeling his chest to discover if his heart beat. It did, but feebly, and she called him by cndearing names. She opened window to give him air. Servants came and they did ever, t:ing they could to restore him, but it was ono long hour before he revived.
 Remembrance came to him with conscious ncss, and ho l,eaved deep sigh, and reclosed his eyes aud lay for time in silence gather in., lis faculties. Finally he signed to the sarvants to leave him, and when they were gone he said with effort: ESQ, then, unhappy c.ili, yoii have not forgottens"
 Suzan:c knelt beside him and hid her face Oil his breast, weeping bitterly.
 "Do not cry It is not your fault, my poor lamb. We cannot command our memory. But you havo given mo great pain. I never suffered 50 acutely since the day saw yoar mother and you accuse me, by your silence, before tue judge. What shall do to p-evo to youa For, my child, am innocent of that . vllle I am innocent, Suzanne Do you lear me?'
 ''Oh, father, the past is gone; let us forget it and be happy together. you and IT.
 ''No, the question is now opened between IS and you must know all. was and am still Q victinl.''
 ''But mother and saw you''-
 '.Saw me, oh, child saw me kill that poor old mana"
 "Yes: we were on the balcony. We saw you come up the street, hiding under the shade of the trees. We called you, but you did not answer. Then you went into the house. There was man there counting money, then horrible struggle, then pistol shot, and darkness"
 The young girl placed her hands before her eyes.
 "And you both knew mel"
 q assure you we did. That is why my mother made me promise silence, for what full" "But you were so young, you might have been mistaken"
 "I was young at night, father, but I have been old ever since. If have appeared gay it was to render you happy. But, mother; she could not have been mistaken, too, could shes"
 "Yes, my child. I did not commit that crime, and only enc person believed i'll my innocence-Lucien De Noirville He divined the truth, and his death was caused by it.. Listen, Suzanne. The time has come when must tell you all, and though I am ashamed through all my nature to have to tell you this, it must be told, and it will be an- other punishment added to those I have 1 already borne. Do you remember all the in- cidents relating to that trials" "Alas, father"-
 "That which condemned me more than all was that the money had paid the dead man was found ill my possession, and will tell | you about that"
 l And then Roger began at the beginning and told the whole story until the end, though | as he told her about the woman who had brought the money, he blushed painfully with shame.
 She blushed, too, but believed every word of that unhappy story, and felt that her father was indeed an innocent man, victim ot some foul plot.
 OU3 1oUueI, pdluOu Suo CllSus CD oAle knelt beside him, and she covered his hands l with penitential kisses and tears. q forgive you freely. my child. You could not have known"
 "But, father, some one was guilty-some one who looked like you, was dressed like you whom and mother saw. Who can he bes"
 "That is where the mystery begins, my dear. There is guilty one, and my presence ill France is for the sole purpose of discovering him. feel that shall not die until I have discovered the murderer of Larouette. live in the hope of having my sentence reversed by law and my good name restored"
 During more than week Roger lay sick and Suzanne remained by his side, and never were that unfortunate couple so happy, fol now there were no more shadows between them and they could talk upon tho subject which engrossed both their minds Raymond had tried in vain to meet Suzanne, but as she
 went out no moro he naturally could not set her. and at last, ono Sunday, he could bea1 the suspense no longer. He must see her, hs felt, or die; besides he had something to sa5 to her which he hoped might lift the darl pail which had fallen over their young lives. l zhlA|&A Il