The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1889-01-23

credulous of women could not forget if she
would. | made the immense, the irrevocable
mistake OF putting my heart into my relations
J with you. The one who does so is always the
one who suffers in any relation OF that sort.
| The mistake is rarely mutual"
He felt a sense of pOwerlessness which was
] the acutest pain his life had ever known; now,
l in the face of his Abandonment could he ever
persuade her to believe that ne had loved, and
| did now love, hermore than any other woman
| he had ever known?
I'VE were so happy oneeI" he said, with a
! timidity almost bOyish.
1t seemed to her an insult to recall to her
memory joys which had been insufficient to
sustain and retain his fidelity.
A profound indignation flushed in the depths
of her luminous eyes.
"Spare me that at least!' she said with scorn
and passion
She rose from her seat and moved onward.
But he stopped her.
agitation. as 1t true what they say, that you
will accept the hand OF the grand duke|
You have not the smallest hgment OF title to
ask me such a question" she replied with
some anger "YOu have nothing to do with
my life in any way. do not however, mind
telling you that my experiences OF marriage
have not been such as 10 make me inclined TO
risk another What could any man give to me
that I have not? And I wholly agree with
Balzac that marriage is la plus grande sottise a
laquelle iahumanite est sacrifice" accepted
your marriage without reproach. received
and visited your wife. know nothing more
that you could possibly expect from me. You
have certainly lost all possible title TO inter
rOgate me on any subject. You have never
seemed to understand that you passed on me
the deepest atiront that any man can pass on
any woman"
'But if you fOrgave that2'
"Who said that forgave? Not /. II is your
own assumption. / neither chastised nor re-
buked it, because to do either would have been
beneath me. We leave theatrical scenes to
and pardon there are leagues to traverse; i
have never passed them. Probably never
shall"
With that she left him and approached a
group Of acquaintances who were playing a
round game OF cards in the midday sunshine
under one Of the great pines.
CHAPTER XII.
The essay on Friendship which Aubrey had
read one year before, chanced to catch his eve
where it lay on one OF the library tables at Bal
irons, few days after he had left Ladysro0d; (;
and the sight OF il suggested to him a course
which would have its drawback and its dangers,
but which offered 10 him some chance OF being
OF service 10 life which was constantly grow
ing more dear to him, but which as il did so
awakened all that self-denial which was the
strongest quality in his nature.
"If | love thee what is that to thee" he
unused. "Or to anyoneY
1t Itwould be forever secret locked in his own
breast, for his self-control was a force which
had never yet failed him.
1t was difficult for him to leave England at
that moment, for he was in office, and the
drudgery of high places seldom relaxes much
even in the months OF comparative liberty. But
1t was possible to get away tor few days with
out awaking too much comment in that Argus
eyed public which is forever seeing which does
aviSf and the -Vaalx after he had hapn
at Ladysr0Od found him in Paris. There he
learned that his cousin had ended his visits TO
the French chateaux and had gone to his own
palace in Venice. Although as a rule he con-
demned all interference of the kind, and did not
even now expect much from u, 10 still seemed
to him that some one should endeavor to recall
GIilderoy to his duties, and he saw no Que
who could do so with any possibility OF success
unless il was himself. After long and anxious
reflection he decided to attempt it.
When he reached Venice the November day
was full OF warm and limpid sunshine, spark
ling green water, shining marbles aud
muddy canvas. 1t was toward evening, and
Guilderoy was at home. He received his
cousin with cordiality, which was more ap-
parent than real for he felt an uneasy con-
seiousness that Aubrey had come thither
without some especial reason. and some appre-
hensiOn of its nature moved him.
Aubrey stated. indeed. that he was only
there for few hours and was going to Vienna
by way OF Udinc
"I am leaving myself very soon," said Guide
roy. Il an going southwark or would ac-
company you"
"Southward?' said Aubrey, and looked him
full in the face.
''Yes," replied the other in the tone of man
who Is prepared to resent any comment on his
statement and resist any interrogation.
'Not homeward?' asked Aubrey.
Not at present"
Aubrey made no further remarks and they
dined together, conversing on the political
situation in England. and other topics OF the
hour. After dinner they sat on the balcony
which Overhung the water above the Rialto.
The night cold but the skies were brilliant
with Innumerable stars, and full moon,
golden and glorious, shOne down on Venice.
What is life p thought Aubrey. To
dream here under the stars in all this amorous
stiffness, or to have every hour of the day
filled as mine is with the pressure OF public
business and the conflict of mems tongues %
But he did not say this: he said instead;-
You have. never asked me if have seen
your wife"
81 am sure that you have, without asking, "
said Guilderoy, almost insolently, for he was
extremely angered at what he foresaw that he
was about TO hear. Aubrey passed over the
tone and the words.
81 was reading again your essay on Friend
ship, at Balfrons, the other day." he said in
stead. "It is very clever and entirely true.
But one thing seemed 70 me very odd as l read
it."
"That should have written it at all should
think, !" said Guilderoy.
"NO; but that all your admirable remarks
lead to so little observance of your own rules in
your own relationships. One cannot but see
that with your wife"
"What OF my wifeg" said Guilderoy very
angrily. ''She is perpetualy making me scenes
of upbraiding. / cannot live in them"
"But you do not even write to herP
81 do not write because she offended me very
gravely."
"Did she offend you without warrantY
81 do not say that, but she began reproaches
which would be interminable if one stayed to
hear them. She must have complained of me
to you, or what would you know
"Be thankful if she complain TO no one but
me, my dear Evelyn. And complaint is not the
correct word. / asked about you, of course,
and she confessed that you had left her in an
ger and that you did not write TO her-and that
she could only hear where you we're through
Brunton or Ward"
GuilderOy was silent.
well, said Aubrey, with some hesitation,
edo you consider that you render her happy2'
Il do not admit that any person has the right
to ask me such question" be said with In
creasing anger.
81 told you | had left my good manners out
side the door, as one leaves ones slippers in
Persia" said Aubrey. "As | have intruded so
far without them, will come a step farther.
am conscious OF my rashness, but we were chill
dren together, and will risk offending you.
| Do you consider that you have done what you
1 could have done keen the uromises Won