Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1889-05-26

ment? And you'll Henry Fairchildl What
are YOU doing here? You, Of all men? oh,
this is some frightful trick that has been
played upon me. This old man, with his
innocent face, and his protestations of good
will, has trapped me here. But for what
purpose?H To what end? Well, Mr.. Fair
child, / suppose you come as Roger
Beecham's messenger. Well, speak. What
have you to say to me?"
During the first part of her speech it was
plain that poor Fairchild simply fancied
her to be raving in delirium. But when
she mentioned that name, Roger Beecham,
an expression Of extreme horror, mingled
with blank incomprehension, fell upon his
face; and he stood staring at her, with
knitted brows and parted lips, like man
dumfounded and aghast
"Roger Beecham, he repeated presently,
as if dazed. "What do you know of Roger
Beecham?''
"What do I know of Roger Beecham?
What comedy are you acting? What does
Louise Massarte know of Roger Beecham?"
Fairchild became rigid.
"Louise Massarte," he gasped. what
have you to do with Louise Massarte? Was
for Gods sake, was she related to you? l
noticed long ago a certain remote resem-
blance. But why do you speak to me of
Louise Massarte? What can you know of
her? DR.. Benary, what has happened to
her9 She is delirious. What can be done?"
"I am not delirious," she put in hastily.
"But either you are or you have cleverer
talents as an actor than have ever given
you credit for. cannot, see the point or
purpose of your mummery. Why do you
pretend not to recognize me? Do you want
to make me doubt my own identity?'
''Not recognize you? 1? Not recognize
you, Miriam, my wifel Oh, what dreadful
insanity has come upon herl'
81? Miriam? Your wifef" Then she
laughed. Come, Mr.. Fairchild, truce to
this mystery. What is your business with
me? with what commission has Mr..
Beecham charged you?"
Fairchild sank upon chair and pressed
his brow between his hands.
''She is out Of her senses, but how comes
she to know those names?" he said, as if
speaking to himself Then, turning to me,
Perhaps you, DIR. Benary, can clear this
puzzle up?''
''This is hardly fitting time or place for
attempting to,"I rejoined. "If you had
only respected my desires, there would have
been no such occasion"
"The time and place are certainly not
fitting for recriminatiOn. Will you
answer me this one question: Do you un-
derstand what she means by her references
to Louise Massarte?"
'FYes, will answer that. do.''
"Very we'll; must now request you to
explain that meaning to me"
mot now, Fairchild," protested. SIT
is impossible for me to do so now. But at
the proper time will tell you everything
everything that 1, myself, know"
"But the relation, the connection between
them, between that woman and my wife.
Were they-were they sisters?"
NO, not sisters.
"What then?'
"Fairchild, I implore you to wait"
But got no further.
From the sofa on which Miriam lay came
a low peal of sarcastic laughter, which sud-
denly, however, changed into q moan, and
next instant she threw up her hands, gave q
sharp cry and swooned.
Fairchild was at her side in twinkling,
and knelt there, siezing one of her hands
and gazing with wild eyes into her face.
"She is dead, she is dead, he groaned,
franticallY.
"No, she has only tainted. But the con-
sequences of fainting fit in her condition
may be terrible % / said.
''oh, my darling, my darling" he sobbed,
bending over her till his cheek swept her
breast.
u
She never regained consciousness.
I have not the heart to dwell upon what
followed.
This paragraph cut from Galignani'S
Messenger of February tells its own story:
"Fairchild-On Wednesday morning,
January 80, at the Hotel de la Bourbon
mage, of phrenitis, Miriam Benary, wife of
Henry Fairchild, of New York.
The END.
Copyright, 1889, by Henry Harland.
All rights reserved.
NEXT SUNDAY
A Complete Romantic Historic Novel by
JOAQUIN MILLER,
Entitled
"FOR FORTY-EIGHT DAYs.n