The Arkansaw traveler., 1888-01-21

misery 10 MAX Slmm0nd he had had no experience of either one or the other. To the man ill for the first time it is an awful experience to find that something stronger than himself
 has seized his body and holds it help
 less and passive: to find the limbs
 obedient yesterday to his will, to-day owning allegiance only to the malady and, to man unused to sorrow, the
 presence of great grief is bewilder-
 ing and confounding. It was terrible
 to Max to find sorrow his master, not
 to be resisted, or evaded, or overcome; no more to be thrown of than was
 the bodily illness; no more to be for gotten than the suffocating pain. For as the pain burned all day, was his
 last feeling as he slept, the first token of returning consciousness when he woke, so his new sorrow held on to
 his heart like vampire, filled his mind until the last moment before sleep benumbed it, seized it the instant he woke, whispered to him while he dreamed, spoke to him even in the notes of the song Muriel sang half to herself as she went about the room, and stretched its dark bands between when she stood and smiled at him, when she greeted him in the morning.
 Muriel had kept her word. She had shown him how sweet and tender 8 nurse she could be, cheerful, untiring, and skilful. She made the whole room bright and cosy with her musical voice, her pretty ways, and sweet, cool hands.
 Sometimes he lay awake for long hours, wondering what could have been her motive for slandering him. Not love for Philip May, for she had been engaged to him, according to what he had heard. They had quar- reled, and Philip had sent her an offer of reconciliation; but she had thrown Philips letter contemptuously on the fire, saying there was nothing in it. She had chosen to marry him instead.
 Why had she denied receiving the letter? Was 1t because she had feared Mays reproaches?-she, who could not bear to be scolded Then he re- that Muriel had told him there had never been any engagement between her and Philip. Could it be that she feared lest Philip May, in his anger, might betray the fact that they had been engaged? Great heaven. Could his wife have traduced him for so slight cause as that? Why, he would not have believed it-would not have listened to one word against her from the dearest friend he had on earth. No lips, no voice but her own could have raised an instant's doubt of her.
 Then, when he turned and saw her sleeping in the chair beside him, her face grown pale and weary with he hated himself for knowing what he knew and not speaking. He called himself miser- able coward, and said he was wrong ing his wife by his weak silence. If he had charge against her, she had a right to know it. (There was some in that thought. If he were wrong, too, that would put them more on an equality. She would not be so utterly ashamed if she had some accusation against him. Yes, he must speak, in justice to his wife, but not now, while he was so ill ; he had no strength now, no self-com- might break down, and sob like child-and when he spoke, it must be as man, as judge.
 Would she ask his forgiveness! he wondered. What must he say to that? It was not matter tor forgiveness he was not angry with her. If he had found his beautiful wife had some hid- ,ous and loathesome disease, he would not have been angry, he would only have pitied her with all his soul, and given his life, were it possible, to make her whole and that was how he felt now, but the evil was incurable. Not his life nor hers could wash out the stain of that lie. And she had been to him as his life and honor; he had thought her as true as the word of God.
 Then her words, ,"Philip, dear friend, for my sake," would ring in his ears, and for moment he would see her face as he had seen it then; but if in his misery he had let the slightest sound escape his lips, Muriel would wake and lay her cheek against his, and wonder when he was going to be we'll again, and say he was her dear, brave boy to lie there SO quiet and patient, when he was in such pain, and he would answer her carelessly, md turn away, wishing wearily that his illness had been dangerous so that he might have died-and been spared the telling of what he knew.
 So the time passed, and Max re- slowly. At last he could come down stairs, and see his head work man, and listen to reports of what had taken place during his illness.
 Philip May called and congratu-