The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1888-07-07

Mrs. knowle began to grow exceedingly
uncomfortable, not to say alarmed. Never
since the marriage had she and Emily re-
newed their former intimacy, or been on
other than the formal terms of visiting ac
quaintance and partners wives. Esnily
did not seem to wish 1t, though she was
scrupnlously kind and even affectionate.
But then she neither encouraged nor cult
waited anybody. Life to her was an alto
gether passive thing. And Mrs. Knowle
had had the good sense. and good feeling,
never TO encroach on this reserve, never,
since circumstances were so changed, TO
make the slightest allusion to their former
intimacy, nor to intrude upon the present
their painful relations of the past. Thus,
little by little, seeing that the silence she
desired was unbroken, Lady Bowerbank
had gone back from her first shrinking,
nervous GOODNESS into comparative cordial
itv. Still it was never warm enough 10
warrant Mrs. Knowle in doing what now
was hor natural impulse, to seek Emily all
over the house, bid her open her heart, and
then scothe and comfort her if she could.
So she sat, very anxiously, alone in the
drawing groom, not liking even to make in
quiry CT servant until the mistress reap
peared.
A sad sight Emily was. If pale before,
she was now CHASTITY; her eyes red, with
black circles round them, as if she had
been crying. And as she sat down, and
took her coffee from the butler, trying to
make some slight observation TO her visitor,
her hands shook so much that she could
hardly hold the cup.
When the servants were gone there en-
sued dead pause, at last broken only by
Mrs. Knowles perplexed remark about
its being very fine evening for walking.
Would you like to walk on the shore?
Say if YOU would" cried Emily, eagerly.
"Im not strong enough myself but my maid
would accompany you; and the gentlemen
will not be out of the dining room for
hours
81 don't want to go out and leave you
alone, my DEAR" said Mrs. Knowle, her
very heart melting within her as she looked
ut the trembling hands and pallid face,
where two bright spots of carmine Ind now
risen; one on either cheek, making the
large eyes larger and more 'far-away' than
ever She remembered, with a sudden
spasm of memory, that pretty, round, mer
ry, girlish face of Emily Kendall. when it
first came into her house, and made a
brightness in the dark rooms, and fitted
like sunbeam among the garden walks.
especially on the Saturday and Sunday
when John Stenhouse left his hard count
ing-house life and his dreary lodgings, and
came to bask in Paradise there.
'My dear I'll not leave YOU alone" said
Mrs. Knowle 1T isn't good for YOU"
That soft, motherly tone, the spell of
womanly tenderness. which no woman,
married or single, happy or unhappy, is
ever proof against, or ever ought to be, I'M
loosed the iron chain which bound the
| heart of poor Lady Bowerbank. She fell
sobbing on Mrs. Knowles shoulder.
Il must speak to you--only let me speak
to you-I shall die if l do not speak to
somebody"
That was true Judge her not harshly,
You brave, strong women, who can bear so
much. OF course, her duty was silence
total silence, to shut her secret up In her
heart, and never breathe to living soul
what she had not dared to br eathe to her
own husband. But this duty, like a few
more duties in her short, sad life, Emily
had not strength to fulfill. She saw them
all, clearly defined enough; perhaps, if she
had had anybody beside her to help her to
do them, they might, weak as her nature
was, somehow or other have been done.
But her only strength, her love, had been
taken from her, and now her life was q
mere fragment a melancholy incomplete
ness, il which all aims aud aspirations re-
manned only such, and never developed
into active perfection. Whether the course
was right or wrong, dignified or undigni-
fed, 1t was gu tie true what she said, that
she must give her confidence to some one
must speak out, or she would die.
We'll, speak, then, my poor child. Be
assured | will never tell anybody never
did, you know" (For Just at that moment
she had forgotten Mrs. Smiles, her only
breach of confdence.)
Yes, you were very good to me once,
and II haven't forgotten it." sobbed
Emily. 1T was q terrible, terrible time;
l wonder | lived through it. But l think
! it has shortened my life. l shall never be
an old woman feel that"
/ Nonsense, my dear. What would Sir
/ John say to such talk, | wonder?"
1 Emily neither smiled nor sighed. "Sir
/ John and 1 are very good friends he is
4 exceedingly kind to me. Do not suppose
1 have shadow of complaint to make
4 against my husband"
/ 1t was noticeable that she always called
/ him my husband Bowerbank," and
5<terward Sir john" AS plain John"
+ the fond, familiar Christian name of other
times, she never by any possible chance
SPOKE either of him or TO him.
1 My dear, If you had any complaint
( TO make I'm not the woman to listen to it.
4 Wives shouldn't grumble against their hus-
j bands. For better for worse runs the
church service. If Edward had his little
q
! why, I'd bear them as long as | could, or
/ bit longer; if he grew bad, I'd try to mend
/ him; if he couldn't be mended but turned
/ out such villain that L actually despised
! him-why, ia run away from him. Az,
/ though he was my husband, I'm afraid [
should run away from him. But I'd do it
/ quietly, my dear, quietly. And I'd never
/ abuse him to other folk I'd Just hold my
| tongue"
and will hold mine have I not done
/ It hitherto?7 gasped rather than spoke poor
! Emily. Il have a peaceful home, far
/ peacefuller than Queen Anne street ever
was; and she shuddered involuntarily. 81
/ ought to be thankful for il, and / hope
/ am. He knows nothing Sir John, mean
and he never need know; he would not
/ care. | owe him much kindness; shall
never wrong him; that's impossible. But"
I here her feeble fingers clutched with the
/ tightness of despair on Mrs. Knowles
wrist, and she locked up at her imploring-
ly-"you must do one thing for me. Prom
ise me you will.
Il never make promises without telling
/ Edward knowle."
! You may tell him, for 1T is he who must
do 1t. He can manage it, and he will; say,
| entreat, he will"
What is it, my love?" And, though she
! spoke soothingly. more than one anxious
doubt crossed Mrs. Knowles mind. pray
speak out"
You heard what my husband said. Now
your husband must manage, by any excuse
he likes-eyen e lie, if necessarv-it will
be lawful lie but he must manage it.
That some one, you know who, does not
come back 10 Liverpool.
Il understand, You are quite right
lie must not come, | tell you;" and
Emily'S voice grew shrill with something
almost approaching fear. "For l am a
very weak woman; / know that | have
proved myself so more than once. | am
safe, and L want to remain safe. | don't
love him, not now, not after he has for
saken me; but oh, for Gods sake. keep
him far away from me. Put the sea be-
tween us hundreds, thousands of miles.
Let me be quite sure that | shall never
again see his face, or hear the sound of
his voice, or his footsteps-you remember
used to know his step along the garden
walk quite we'll. l must not see him-neyer.
/ nevermore!"
No, my dear; If | can help it you never