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

hand she had felt Lady Bowerbanks wed.
ding ring-the fatal ring. With sense OF
dread, lest one word might lay the founda-
ton of harm that now could never be un-
done. no more than the marriage could be
broken, she stopped, hesitated, and finally
kept her own counsel. a.,
"Ohi what day it was-my birthday!
pursued Emily, pouring out her long pent,
up grief. "We were giving ball; ana
not wish it, but papa insisted; however,
cared little about it. l was so happy. For
when woke in the morning L knew L
should see him before night thought he
would come rather than write, since he had
not seen me for two whole years. l waited
in, hour after hour, all that day; and
danced myself sick at night, lest papa
might notice | was unhappy. And then l
lived on, hoping and hoping all next day,
and all the day after-eyery day for week.
Aud for many weeks, post after post |
watched, and day after day never crossed
the door-sill for an hour without coming In
expecting to find his letter or his card.
But he never wrote he never came. And
then / heard he had gone to India. and
and that was all. ="
Emily dropped her head, and the pass
ing light and energy which had come into
her features while speaking vanished out
of them; she sank back into the pale, pass
i've, quiet woman, John Boweibanks
wife.
DO You blame him?" asked Mrs. Knowle
softly, with her head turned away. For,
she owned afterward TO her husband, Il
was frightened out Of my life lest the poor
girl should discover anything in my man
ner that might set her asking questions.
No, | don't blame him. He had
been SO wronged, so insulted, no
wonder his pride took up arms and
creature to fight for. Or, perhaps he had
somebody else he liked better. Your Liv
erpool girls are SO pretty, you know; and
he always liked pretty people, added
Emily, with feeble smile. Il never was
pretty myself, and perhaps he might be
afraid of people saying he married plain
girl for money.
No." cried Mrs. Knowle, Indignantly,
I'll never believe that He wasn't such a
coward"
well, we'll, whatever it was, does not
matter now. He did not want me- did not
care for me and other people did, and my
father was urging me perpetually to marry.
| could not help myself-indeed | could
not, added she, clasping her hands to-
gether in hopeless resignation. Il was
pieces and so | married Mr.. Bowerbank."
There was long silence, through which
the large dining room clock kept ticking
and ticking, with remorseless diligence,
unvarying and unwearying as Time itself;
and through the open window, from across
the now darkening river, came dim voices
of sailors in ships slowly dropping down
the Mersey, Outward bound.
At length Mrs. Knowle reused herself,
and said:
MY dear, I am very glad you have
trusted me to- night; you shall never repent
it. Iquite agree with you that Mr.. STEM
house must not be asked to come back to
Liverpool. Edward will manage it so as to
satisfy Sir John. And, after to- night, you
and will never name him ngain."
"No. no. That is" she hesitated-
Emily's piteous hesitation.
But her friend had none. Decidedly
not, Lady Bowerbank. When a woman
is once married, she has no right even to
think of any other man but her own hus-
band. You know Sir John is very good,
kind gentleman, and very fond of YOU
And you have many blessing and for
all you can tell, it may please God to send
you one day greater blessing still"
Emily shook her head.
al know what you mean. but I don't
l.
not do my duty to q child. Better live on
as l am livng-just pleasing Sir John a
little, if | can-doing no harm 10 anybody,
and by aud by my whole story will be over,
and | myself, as some Scotch song says,
"Imyself in the aud kirk-yard
With the green grass growing over me.
in this mass of bricks and mortar, and
these wastes CT sea and sand, feel an
actual pleasure in the words, green grass
growing over M.
"IOu are talking nonsense, my dear, J"
said Mrs. knowle, sharply, though her
tears were running down in showers;
you'll live to be an old woman as old,
and as stout, and as comfortable as me-"
DO you think SO? Well, / hope l may
be half as good and as kind" answered,
with grateful look, poor Lady Bower
bank.
And then the lamps came in, and with
them Sir John Bowerbank aud Mr.. Knowle,
both in exceedingly cheerful spirits, hav-
ing apparently settled quite to their salts
faction the knotty business point to ar
range which they had dined together.
Their respective wives bestirred themselves,
as wives should, to welcome the advent of
lords and masters, and after lively half
hour the little quartette broke up.
But when Mrs. Knowle, as her custom
was, Immediately poured out to Mr..
knowle everything that had passed in his
absence, Edward" who was man of few
words, looked exceedingly grave.
There has been foul play somewhere;
I'm sure of that, wife"
"Why-what do you know"
John Stenhouse did ask her to marry
him; he went up to London on purpose,
and was refused. He didn't tell me much,
but he let fall as much as that, or some
thing like it."
and you never told me?" said Mrs.
hnowle, little aggrieved.
You were very ILL., my dear, and when
| you got bt tier he was gone to India. And
somehow l wasn't thinking so much of him
as of you. Remember, You were nigh
! slipping away from me then, old woman. 5"
/ She gave him kiss placid, tender
kiss of forty years accumulated content,
and complained no more.
Men don't think so much of these
things as we do. Poor Emily, Well for
her she's got 9 cd man for her husband.
But, for all IL t, as you say, my love, I'm
certain there as been foul play some
where"
lTo Bl Continued