The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1889-03-20

You have nothing to thank me for"
she said coldly. "You have asked me TO
return TO you for the worlds sake, and for
the worlds sake / have accepted.
'Only for that?" he said, with hesita-
ton, perplexed and troubled.
For that, and for my promise to my
father. l said that | would never bring
evil repute upon his name and yours, and
1 will not"
"But have you no other feeling? None
for me?" The words escaped him almost
unconsciously, and there was an accent of
emotion, almost of entreaty in them.
mo; none now"
The answer was sad and immutable as
death.
His face flushed as he heard it.
"Had you ever any?" he asked her.
''0h, yes" she sighed as she spoke, and
her eyes softened and darkened with many
memories. 81 loved you greatly; 1 have
suffered greatly; but l do not love you
now, nor have YOU power to pain me.
was child when 1 loved you; am
woman now. l will be honest with YOU
do not care-I shall never care; but
will be TO you what you wish; and the
world-the world of which YOU think so
much-shall never know that it is so, and
your honor shall be as dear to me as
though you were dear"
He heard her with profound humilia-
tion, with unspeakable pain. He had be-
lieved her cold, but he had thought that,
so far as she had loved at all, her heart
had been always with him. He had come
to her in repentance, in wistful desire for
peace, in vague hope of he knew not
what new kind of happiness, and he found
the chambers of her soul closed to him,
and occupied possibly by another.
He had nerved himself to bend to what
was an oct of humiliation and supplica-
ton; and, unknown to himself, he had
looked in return for the tenderness and
sweetness OF reconciliation, even of well
come
II know" he murmered wearily, that
my ofenses against you have been many
and great"
'It is not that. | have learned to know
that they were natural enough. l was
nothing to you; others were much. In
the beginning / did not understand you !;
l did not know anything of mems natures
or of their passions. l must have fatigued
you, been insufficient for you; that 1 can
understand. My father always told me
was to blame, that l had not indulgence"
"Your father was merciful as a god,
always and to all. He would tell you to
be indulgent now"
Eyes; l know that he would I know
that he would condemn me more than he
would you"
He gazed at her in silence: she was still
so young that even suffering had had no
power to mar her great personal beauty.
Her face was colorless and calm, her eyes
full of unspeakable sadness, her attitude
unconsciously one of dignity and rebuke.
Noounlrr no falt fhaf N1-oE roSsIhla ha
should some day love this woman hope
lessly since she no more loved him.
''If you have ceased to care for me" he
said almost inaudibly, II can not COM
plain; l have only caused YOU suffering
and modification. 1 have told you that l
will endeavor to atone in the future;
but there is no reason why you should be-
heve me-"
81 believe that you mean it now"
'But you have no faith in my constancy
of purpose? Why should you have any?
Yet am sincere"
Her eyes rested on him musingly, and
softened as they gazed.
Il do believe you, but I can not give
you the welcome YOU wished" she said
YEARLY. Il can not-I can not lie. If
YOU had come back to me year ago 1
should have rejoiced; loved you then
an! WIN can 1 not now? Where is it
all gone? Why did you leave me alone ?"
"You were not aloneI You had Aubrey!
And what you deny 10 me you give to
himw
She shrank from the name as if he had
stabbed her with it.
''That is ungenerous, she murmured.
Gle has been loyalty itself to you; only a
day ago he pleaded for you with all his
might and blamed me; neither my life nor
yours is worth one hour of his"
Violent words rose to Guilderoy's lips,
but he repressed them with great effort
the business and the generosity which were
in his nature beneath all the egotism oflOng
self-indulgence conquered the passion of
jealousy and of offense which stirred his
life to its very center. After all, W hat right
had he to blame or to Judge? What title
had he left to speak of his right to her afiec-
tions?
"The fault of all is mine," he said with
great emotion. 81 left you in aposition of
the greatest peril: If YOU had injured me
In any way l should but have had what |
merIted. Forgive me, dear. l led you
into the captivity of marriage when you
were too young to know what you did
with your life; and / was too careless and
too selfish to be your guar dian in it. 1t is
the cruelest folly of all on earth-that
binding of two lives together like two
corpses from which the life has fed. We
are not the first victims to it by many
tens of thousands and in all ages every
greater and higher soul has poured forth
It's eternal protest against it. Ii you love
me no more, how dare I blame you ?-I,
who so soon ceased to love you? My
poor child, believe me at least in this
from my heart 1 beseech you to pardon
me the mad capice in which bound your
fate to mine. l thought that you would
be content, like so many women, with all
the material pleasures of the world, of
rank and of wealth | forgot that you
were your fathers daughter, and that
those could have no power to console you
when your heart was scared and your
pride was wounded. Forgive me, dearl"
He knelt at her feet as he spoke, and he
kissed the hem of her skirts. She passed
her hand over his hair with the same
gesture, half of tenderness half of pity,
which Beatrice Soria had used.
A sigh which came from her souls
depths breathed over him where he knelt.
81 forgive you, ! hope, and you must
forgive me-" she said gently. ''Do not
ask more of me yet"
''I will ask you nothing" be answered,
touched TO the heart. ''For l have long
ceased to deserve anything"
few months later the country learned
that Lord Aubrey, his party having re-
l j