St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1888-03-18

he returned at her call.
II cannot" he answered. ''for Pm
not innOeent!"
"YOu killed your son!'
eyes. killed him.
"And you avOW it to me. when justice
has been unable to draw from you a
word?'
Il have but one judge-you, Made
leine, you!"
81 am not your judge, and will not
be; but hOw-hOW will you be able to
support life under such conditions?
YOU HAD BETTER HAVE DIED."
II know it, ma dam; but before
leave the world forever. | accept the
trate to whom had been Of service in
other times, and accept it but to come to
Herac1eS. For six weeks [ have been
concealed among the peasants of
the neigborhood, who have believed me
Russian political refugee. My enc
mics have discovered, however, the ruSe
employed to save me. My friend has
been dismissed, and must in turn seek
safety. They are hunting me now.
Tomorrow. to-day, perhaps, shall be
rearrested."
''And you come to demand an asylum
of me, of me whom you have so in
jured?"
81 have come to look upon you for the
last time-to carry with me to the tomb
your face and memory. The greatest
saints have had pity upon the greatest
criminals. What matters it to be con-
demned of men if | have but your par
don?''
MY pity possibIy-my pardon never!"
'When eXpiatiOn has surpassed the
crime? When | swear it to you? What
hell is worse than the hell | am going to
leave? l, who have touched the TIRES
hold of happiness. to lose it! My life,
until / met you, was an endless torment
and punishment-and l say it not to JUS
tify myself. have sustained the brunt
of twenty interrogatories, public trial,
my shameful position, and all with
out flinching, yet now [ shrink from
your gaze. Physical suffering and
death are nothing to me, but | am
afraid of yOu-Of the evil [ have done
you. During my hours OF imprison-
ment, l thought but of you, your sor-
row, your scorn. Why should this have
happened me? What fatality placed
that miserable 10y within reach of my
arm? Why should he insult, mock and
threaten me till my blood ran like fire
| in my veins? I know not, no more than
| | know how dared to love you; how
AhouClSilOS yOu Ao'S hS'SA
| gueSSedr'
She had fallen into her chair, trem-
bling beneath
| THIS TORRENT OF PASSION AND DE-
SPAIR.
What power the voice of this man still
| had over her-what miracle was worked
| by his tears. On his knees in front of
| her, recounting his past existence. his
words hurried. breathleSS, feveriSh,
| poured like torrent from his Quivering
| lips.
Il was not brought up. like Others"
Lionel continued; ''if l had been |
might have repressed my ferociOuS in
stincts. My father, cold, naughty, hard,
encouraged them; my mother scarcely
saw me. lieved in exile in the chateau
of Cavannes, belonging to my grand
mother, who loved me, poor old
woman, but l lived there
| feared and detested by all
| others. At twenty years of age they
married me to Rosa Hastings, rich, ugly,
| hateful and vile of principle. | could
not endure her or my son, being as
| malignant and bad as she. Scarcely had
the marriage been contaminated. when,
to escape from the life she led me, en-
listed in the army of Africa. There only
was / content and happy-an officer OF
rank, decorated for bravery and des-
tined for higher promotion. Yes, was
happy, until listened to the snpplica-
tory letters that my wife continually
sent me, revisited her and consented to
remain near her. What an existence
| WIS mine between child and mother. 1