Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-01-21

most earnest wish is that you may be happy, ns happiness is to you. The mistake was mine; that is, it would have been mine were we free agents, which, perhaps, we are not. I should have loved my husband, or rather the man whom I thought my husband, for with all his faults he was of different clay to you, Edwardn
 He looked up, but said nothing.
 II know," she went on, pointing to the pic ture over the nlantelpiece, 'sthat your mind is still set upon her, and that I am nothing, and less than nothing, to you. When I am gone you will scarcely give me a thought. l do not know if you will succeed in your end, and think that the methods you are adopting are wicked and shameful. But whether you succeed or not, your fate also will be what my fate is-to love a person who is not only indifferent to you, but who positively dislikes you, and reserves all her secret heart for another man, and know no greater penalty than is to be fonnd in that daily misery.n
 'tYou are very consoling," he said, sulkily.
 'I only tell you the truth" she answered. ''What sort of life do you suppose mine has been when am so utterly broken, so entirely robbed of hope that I have determined to leave the world and hide myself and ray misery in sisterhood? And now, Edward, she went on after pause, II have something to tell you, for will pot go away, if, indeed, you allow me to go away at all after you have heard it, until I have confessedn-and she leaned forward and looked him full in the face-"I shot you on purpose, Edward"
 "Whatw he said. springing from his chair, 'you tried to murder meg
 "Yes, yes; but don't think too hardly of me. l am only flesh and blood, and you drove me mad with jealousy-you taunted with ha vino hoay, ct,. was not fit to associate with tho lady whom you were going to marry. It made me mad, and the opportunity offered-the gun was there, and 1 shot you. God forgive me- I think that I have suffered more than you did. Oh! when day after day saw you lying there and did not know if you would live or die, thought should have gone mad with remorse and agony!'
 He listened so far, and then suddenly walked across the room toward the bell. She placed herself between him and it.
 What are you going to do?'
 "Going to dos I am going to send for policeman and give you into custody for at tempted murder, that is all"
 She caught his arm and looked him ill the face, In another second she had loosed it.
 "Of course" she said, ''you have a right to do that. Ring and send for the policeman, only remember that the whole truth will come out at the trial"
 This checked him, and he stood thinking.
 "Well," she said, ''why don't you ring?'
 "I do not ring" he answered, 'because, on the whole, l think had better let you go. 1 do not wish to be mixed up with you any more. You have done me mischief enough; you have finished by attempting to murder me. Go; l think that the convent is the best place for you; you are too bad and too dangerous to be left at large D
 "Oh!," she said, like one in pain. "Ohl and you are the man for whom I have come to this! Oh, God! it is a cruel world" And she pressed her hands to her heart and stumbled rather than walked to the door
 Reaching it, she turned, and her hands still pressing the coarse blue gown against her heart, she leaned Her back against the door.
 Edward, " she said, in strained whisper, for her breath came thick, "Edward-I am going forever-have you no kind word to say to meg
 He looked at her, scowl upon his hand some face, and then by way of answer he A,,n, l.. L.