The Arkansaw traveler., 1888-01-21
But Philip spoke again-fiercely


 up in my insane anger, and then let yourself be persuaded to marry him in despair. Muriel, my poor darling, we have been betrayed but, by heaven! Max Simmond shall repent it. Liar! Thief! Muriel, you be- long to me, and he has stolen you. I will wait till he comes home, and he shall answer for it."
 Philip May broke into incoherent threats of vengeance, and Max listened and waited.
 Surely, surely Muriel would speak now-he knew she would. He held his breath and waited.
 Yes-her dear, sweet voice sounded distinct and eager:
 Philip, dear friend, for my sake yes, for my sake-meet him in peace i; he is so good, so kind to me-"
 Max heard no more. He did not care for the answer. What did it matter? What did anything in the world matter after that? His friend might murder him as he had threat ened, if he would. His wife had done worse.
 He turned from the lighted hall, and going out again, wandered aim- lessly down the dark road, trying to understand what he had heard and seen.
 He had heard his friend accuse him of cruel treachery, and his wife had not denied the charge. She had act ually confirmed it by her answer. He had seen her sweet face raised in tender pleading that he might be forgiven a fault, which she knew the whole forces of the universe could not have moved him to commit.
 He knew what the discussion was about. Philip and Muriel had been friends before he had met her. He had often wondered, when first he had seen them together, if they cared for each other; but he had never asked, because he was not given to asking questions, and besides, he had told himself that if Philip May ever want ed him to know anything he told it freely. Then Philip had been obliged to go to Japan on sudden business, and Max had seen him on board the ship. At the last moment Philip had given him letter for Muriel, and he had taken it to her the same evening. Muriel, with some pretty jest about even girls having business letters sometimes, which must be attended to, had read it in his presence, first asking his permission, like the gracious gem tlewoman that she was. Then she had thrown it on the fire, saying there was nothing in it. At that he had summoned all his courage, and begged her to tell him if there was anything between her and Philip, because he had loved her from the first moment he had seen her, but had kept silence because he did not want to disturb her or Philip in their happiness, and that he should love her till he died, because he could not help it, and would not if he could.
 Then she had put her sweet, white hands in his, and had told him that she had loved only him, and he had asked her if she were sure, and she had laughed little, and said, "Very sure she never had loved, never could love, any one but him :" and she had laid her dear, graceful head on his breast, and made him promise he would be very good to her, because she could not bear to be scolded. Ait erwards he had found two or three glistening, wavy hairs on his coat, and had treasured them ever since, in mem- ory of the first time her head had lain on his breast.
 It had lain there so often since. She had spoken the like pleading words so often; not lately, but when first they were married, if things went wrong in the house, or if she had been little impatient or petulant. Afterwards she had ceased to fear scolding, because rything she did satisfied him, everything she said delighted him.
 Max found himself on the bridge again, looking at the far-off' light. All the joyful content in the completeness of his lite seemed so far away in the past that he could scarcely believe in it. The memory of the time when, but little child, he had wept over the death of his mother, did not seem so lost in the past as the days when he believed in Muriel. He found himself almost in tears as he thought of his mother: but the loss of Muriel was as far off as the memory of half-forgot- ten dreams. But Muriel was waiting for him, he could see her shadow cross and recross the light, yet she was as hopelessly lost to him as if she had lain beneath the rushing waters of the river below him.
 He remembered in one ot those books his wife had been in the habit of reading to him, or making him read to her in the evenings, because she wanted to improve his mind, and to