Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-04-04
4 GIRLS MISTAKE
By MRS. G. BIGG-wITHER

| By 4kS E. Bl9G-W1THEk
 "I wish could bear your trouble fo you, child"
 "No, dear" she answered with mor, energy; ''it is time I learned to bea some of lfe's troubles for myself. have been so guarded and cherished tha I have become wicked and heartless il my selfishness."
 May, nay, love! You judge yourself too severely"
 When she was alone with trembling hand she broke open her husbands let ter. It seemed like message from the dead. It was dated July 20, 1S-:
 MY OWN DEAR CARMEN:
 "I am longing for your next dear let ter. The mail is due in about a week though l know l must not expect to heal 1 quite so frequently now that you have left school. How beautiful your new home must be! I can see your dear lit 1 tie boudoir, your flowers in the balcony, l even the canary. Dick. You are just fitted for such surroundings, and it | makes me all the more eager to strain every nerve to make our fortune But do not, ] beseeeh you, forget me in your gay, bright life
 ''The risk is very terrible. But oh! when succeed, how great the reward!
 II have made arrangements for selling my share of the Station at a good profit and pushing up country. really am waiting, with what patience I can command, for your letter. feel sure there is one for me.
 Tell me everything, sweet wife. You can hardly understand what your letters are to me out here-drops of precious water in the desert, the shadow of 8 great rock in weary land. long with a hungry longing to see you, to touch you.
 Lately have been representing my self sternly for something in connection with our marriage which I thought little enough of at the time. You are perfectly blameless, my darling; always remember that. I persuaded you. If I can excuse myself at all, my great love for you must plead for me. And this love is my hope, my life. It is indeed
 'TFue love, tho gift which God has given
 To man alone beneath the heaven;
 It Is the secret sympathy,
 The silver link, the silver tie
 Which heart to heart and mind to mind,
 In body and in soul can bind
 II know, dear, you do not care for poetry; forgive my quotation. My heart is SO full of you that out of that fullness the mouth speaketh; or, perhaps, I should say my pen for me.
 But 1 believe I am gloomy, out of sorts. I am going on short shooting expedition, with rough but kind, hon. est friend of mine, yclept Bill Walsh; letter. God have you in his keeping.
 "Mest dearly loved Carmen,
 "Your loving husband,
 FALLEN FITZCLARE.ns H.
 The tears streamed down her face un- needed, as she read through this letter, 80 touching in its pathetic love, Then her thoughts went back to their last meeting in the old pine wood. She felt his tender clasp, his kisses on her face, and sad in memory, the brilliant sunset that illuminated his beautiful face like an inspiration. And now--he was dead, past all reparation.
 "Oh, Allen, my poor boy! With your pure, white soul, if you can hear me
  give me!'
 Then sadly her eyes fell on parcel of letters. She turned them over. An ex- claraation of great thankfulness escaped from her lips. Thank God! No, he never received my cruel letter."
 It was unopened, just as she had sent it, the date outside, the name of the steamer. It was the .tter he had been longing for. It was indeed balm to her crushed spirit to think that her husband in all his ardent manhood should have been spared this crushing blow of her in difference. The letter had been read dressed by the clumsy though kindly hand of Aliens friend.
 When her father, all hour later, knocked at the door, he found her suffer ing. yes, but chastened and peaceful.
 "Papa, should like you to read my poor Aliens last letter. And I wish what money there is in the Australian bank to be given to the man Walsh, and I shall have a marble cross erected over poor Allen Fitzclaro's grave" said Car men, with tears in her voice.
 II will see to 1t all, dear" Her father then read tho letter.
 ''Poor fellow. An, Carmen! he loved you, there can be no doubt of that"
 "1ndeed he did, but was not worthy of it."
 "And now, my daughter, we know the worst. The dreadful uncertainty is over. Let us try to banish this unhappy past. You sinned in childish ignorance, and the poor lad who is dead was not blame less; indeed he admits it. You both rushed into a dilemma more than seri- ous, and it has brought the reverse of happiness. Now, dear, begin over again. 1fy and be happy for my sake" f'Ah, dad, dear, where shall I find an- other so good or 90 patient as youy' "poes not Shakespeare say, Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares Now, dear, to dinner. We will not keep kind Cousin Adela's good fare waiting" That night, before Col. Massingbird l retired to rest, he wrote 8 long, exhaus- live letter to his kind friend, Marcia Estcourt. He told her everything re- |ating to the sufferings of his daughter, her repentance, their wanderings in Spain, the sad episode in Australia, and 1 III the details. Sir Geoffry. he knew.