The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1888-07-14

| ing of when he left oil these matters
many of witch he certainly would mo-
have lik, d even Lis daughter to be ac'
| auainted wi,h-to such chance as nov
/ befell them, is impossible to say. Prob
| ably the truth, unseen and disbelieyed
though it s.ares at US in church-yard ane
street, and whispers to US in every bool
or newspaper, that "in the midst of life VIZ
are in DEATH" had been wholly unrecog-
nized by this man of the world, or else he
might have had superstitious dread Of
| setting his house in order, and contem-
| plating, in any way, his own dissolution
/ Certain it was he left no will, and his
most private papers were found in the ut
most confusion, everything being exactl.
as he had quilted his home on the morning
| of his death, to return thitker alive NJ
more.
With solemn tenderness BETTING suct
an Office, his daughter turned over SCRAP
after scrap, opened and looked at lette
| after letter, Just aiding as much as seem.
ed necessary, an, then burning it, or lay.
ing it aside to L = burnt. A good many
papers she destroye at once; she did no
| like even her husbau | to see them-thest
relics of lurely fish ife-not abso.
lutely wicked re bat one self absorbed
and self enjoying nothing but self
worship from the beginning to the end.
Lady Bowerbank was growing weary
the ball clock had just struck eleven, re-
sounding through the gloomy old house
with thrill that almost made her start Of
her chair-she was very feeble and nerv.
GUS still, though her health had been OF
late months little improving. Sick a
heap after heap of letters in unfamiliar
hand writing, to be examined by and by
when she suddenly came across one tina
was not unfamiliar.
No wonder at its being there; her father
and Mr.. Stenhouse had had a sharp cor
respondence; probably this was one of the
letters. None of them had ever been
shown to her; she had only found out &C
cidentally that such had been sent and re-
| ceived. Eagerly she took up this one,
then hesitated-Emily's perpetual hesita-
| tion-as to whether it would be breach
of confidence or of duty to read it, when
| looking at the envelope, she saw it was MOI
addressed, rs the rest of Mr.. Stenhouse's
letters had been, TO Mr.. Knowle's house in
Liverpool, but to Queen Anne street, Lon
don. Aud the postmark bore a date long
| subsequent to that unhappy time; date
which, as Emily Bowerbank gazed on,
cold shivers of feay ran through her, for il
was week after her twenty first birthday
"lle did write, then. | must read it!
must and will" she said to herself; anC
for once that firm Il will the want OF
which had been the great lack of her life
as 1t IS one of the greatest and most fata
| deficiencies il any human life or character
Game to her aid and she carried out hel
purpose. Was it for good or for i'll? Alas
the teller of this simple tale-and maybe
many reader cannot possibly decide
! nv nnrNf hat L. ty>L
open-ey the most binding truth is better,
ay, and easier in the end, than to live I'M
der the blighting shadow of permanent
lie.
The letter addressed TO Mr.. Kendall by
John Stenhouse ri thus:
SIR: Though we ala not part amicably two
years ego, l beg now TO appeal to you to a
gentleman aud a man of honor, and the father
of the lady whom l then, and ever since,
steadily determined to make my wife.
AT your desire, | b stained from all commu-
nication with her until she became of age,
which was week ago. On that day and
again for six days following, l called at your
house, to see her and you and 10 beg permis-
sion to renew our engagement-or rather to
complete it; for 1t has as regards myself,
never been broken; but was not admitted
cannot learn anything about her | have
written to her; | have watched-as far as a
gentleman could presume to watch lady-in
the hope of seeing her; and all in vain.
now take the SRA ghtfOrward course of writ
ing direct to You, sic. You may not like me,
bat you can know )thing against me- Also,
You are father. / entreat you for her sake
-she did love me once-not TO stand in
the way of our happiness That she is true
to me l have not the slightest doubt Tell
me where she is, and when | may see her.
Yours faithfully, JOHN STENHoUsE
Inclosed with this was small note,
scarcely more than scrap, apparently
written in haste, and was blotted as it was
folded:
SIR: | accept your explicit AMI complete OK
planation, and wish your daughe or every hap
plness chat circumstances may afford Ler
Neither che nor you Will ever beaga;n in
truded upon by your obedient servant,
JOHN STENHoUsE
Emily 3 owerbahk read, and sat petri-
fed. he whole world seemed fading
from her in sort of dark gray mist. The
roaring OF waters was in her ears, and a
dull, knocking pain at her heart. Then all
ceased. and she passed into temporary I'M
consciousness.
When she came to herself, she was living
forward with her head on the desk, the let
ter still grasped in her hand. She remem-
bored at once what had happened, but she
did not faint again, not even though she
was one of those feeble women whom q
very slight thing causes TO fall into fainting
fits.
4 slight thing rs probably the father
who had done it believed it to be, or argued
himself into believing and yet it was the
destruction of two livesi
Emily gathered up her feeble thoughts
and shattered senses together, and tried 10
understand the fact thus suddenly revealed
to her
So John Stenhouse had returned at the
appointed time, and once again asked her
to marry him. He had loved her steadily,
faithfully, through these two blank years
He had come up to London prepared to
meet the sharp ordeal that was inevitably
before him-the wounding of his pride
the decorating of his feelings all the hum
bling irritations that, under the best of
circumstances, must be borne by a poor,
proud man who marries a rich mans
daughter Yet he had come, willing and
eager to marry her, setting aside every
thing except his love for her-a love steady
as rock, true as steel.
For an instant, as soon as this became
clear to Emilys lf-bewildered brain,
there flashed upon her sudden 1ight-the
first and most natural impulse of actual joy.
She clasped her hands together, and if
ever the poor, pale face looked like an
Angels 1t looked SO then.
He 'cds true! He did not forsake me,
Oh, thank Cod"
And then she remembered oil that fol-
lowed, and how it had all ended in her
being what she was now-John Bower
banks wife.
Tie dead man had told lie-or perhaps
not a direct lie, but Observation-Disclosures
ting forward what he believed and hoped
as what really existed. He had evidently
Ill ormed John Stenhouse that his daugh-
tor no longer considered herself engaged
to him, and was on the point of marriage
with John Bowerbank Such fabrications
are often given as facts by even good peo-
pie, who hope them until they really believe
them. The falsehoods of the wicked can
be met-the nisFtatemeGts of the respec-
table and worthy cannot.
And lie that is half truth is ever the blacklist
of les
So Emily's lover must have believed it..
as was scarcely unnatural. the father.
When one man has q grudge against
another, it may be small thing to deny
him his house and suppress his letters; ana
such may be, by some people, counted by
no means an unwarrantable proceeding on
the part of any father who wishes to pre-