Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1889-10-16

they were all unbroken, and, before
the relief party arrived, Mr.. Harry
Edwardes-for such was the true
name OF the man known among his
chums by the nicknames OF Teddy"
and "Gilpin"-had orawled out from
the ruins of his compartment, bruised
and shaken, but without any serious
hurt.
Drizzlin9 rain fell from leaden
sky upon the scene of the disaster.
Signals misunderstood, and the UNI
expected shunting of coal truck
across the line-such were the theories
advanced afterwards as the cause of
the accident.
But this Harry Edwardes did not
learn until many hours were passed.
The results were what he now real
lied; n confused blockade of window
less carriages, flung of the line or
hurled one on top of the other. pyra-
.midwise, across the rails; shrieks and
means OF injured or terrified passen-
gers; he himself standing upright and
unlnirt, and at his feet the body of
dead man.
Sick and giddy with the horror of
the scene, he knelt beside the pros
trate figure, and, christening his coat.
placed his hand above the still heart.
1t was his fellow-traveler, with whom
he had been wrangling, Us it seemed.
only few short minutes ago. His
back had been broken by the collapse
of the carriage, and the purpose of his
journey, good or bad, had been frus-
trated.
A folded letter rustled beneath
Harry Edwardes' hand upon the dead
mans breast. Tears rushed to his
eyes at the sound. 1t was probably
from some woman who loved him, and
to whom the tidings Of his CHASTITY
death must be communicated.
'Is he deadP" asked man, stopping
before the two figures notebook in
hand.
Eyes. He was in the same COM
partment with me. It's an awful
sight"
"a friend of yoursP What is his
nameP"
81 don't know. But here is a letter
that may tell u.s."
Even while Edwardes drew out the
letter his questioner had been called
away. Harry would have followed
him, when his eyes fell on the hand
writing.
oil 20
he the victim of some delusion acting
on his overweight brainP
He looked at the letter again. 1t
was the distracted appeal of a married
woman, tempted, but striving to re-
sist temptation, to the honor and chiv-
airy Of man she had grown to love.
And the writer was his wife-Isabel
Edwardes.
81 have been wrong, terribly wrong"
she wrote. II know it now. These
flying visits to London, and the friend
ship that has grown up between us
during the past few months, so natu-
rally, from your relationship to my sis
ter's husband, and constant presence
at her house, have all been mistake.
Your letter proves it. All, Gerald.
pity me and forgive me, if l have
given you pain; have been so dull,
so unhappy, for so long, that your
sympathy, and your thoughtfulness
and kindness made me forget the dan
gers of my position. If you knew the
life l lead at home; if you could tell
what it is to q girl, brought up in
Paris and London, among surround
ings that were bright and beautiful, to
be transplanted to q dreary manu-
featuring town, with q household OF
minded old maids, who have hardly
ever been outside their native town,
and who think the bliss of being mar
ried to their brother ought to keep
any woman happy. OF course, should
have protested long ago; but when !
married, / was eighteen and he thirty
three. He had been single too long,
and had been taught to think of
women as Of two kinds only
drudges or toys. And as l was
neither one nor the other, was fail
ure. And they have obeyed him so
long at home that his manner at once
puts me in the wrong. Besides all
that, Gerald, ! loved him. / have
never complained of him before. You
know it. But my heart has been
dying In me for four years. And any
man who treats me as q woman with a
heart and head has power to raise
more tenderness in me than the
thought Of my husband can ever do
again, am afraid.
You have often told me how you
honor and reverence me. You must
prove it by keeping away from me
now. You have your work, your life,
before you. Gerald. Let me go back
home with feelings Of gratitude, as
we'll as friendship, toward you. Don't
try to see me again; for my sake ask
it. Don't even write. / can hear
about you from my sister And when,
later on, you marry some good woman,
as l hope and pray you may, remember
all i have told you, and that women
natures as husbands too often think.
Good night, / am crying so much l
can't see what / write-and good
byew
Harry Edwardes read this letter
twice through and then destroyed it.
AS soon as he arrived in London he
drove to his sister-in-law's house and
asked for his wife; and when Isabel
Edwardes-pale and fragile-looking,
with startled dark eyes, and shrink
ing constraint in her manner-made
her appearance, she was lifted in her
husbands arms and embraced with the
tenderness OF man who RECEIVERS
what he has nearly lost.
They live in London now, and the
next time Harry Edwardes goes abroad
Iaahal ie oninn with him Ha hnG