The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1889-07-19

ana Sacflnc3; ana 10 MIN care not, dare
| not confess my love-"
Again she seized my hand, and in lt OF
uncomfortable agitation pressed it to her
bosom, to her lips. And then it was that
noticed, for the first time, that she was but
loosely attired in her dressing gown, which
she must have hastily thrown on, 1 supposed,
when she saw mo from her bedroom window
and fastened out to make her confession.
| AS she held my hand to her lips she was
| seized with sudden faintness, and would have
fallen to the ground had not supported her
in my arms.
| What was it that glided past us2 A shadow,
or the form of n man, who, with his eyes
turned upon us for ono brief moment, sped
swiftly on, and was gone?
What was that2' asked Mdlle. Rosale in
4 whisper, clinging closer to me in alright.
Il DO not KNOW" answered, in the same
key; and truly did not 1t was like q spir-
itual beguilement.
| 1t must have been fancy" said MdIle. Ro-
sale. "a shadow-an apparition. Yes, yes
-scer'
| slight wind had risen, and the branches
of the trees, gently swayins, cast shadows
around, which heated imagination could
easily have Transformed into the shapes and
| forms OF living creatures. l breathed more
freely; what 1 had seen could have been
nothing but a freak OF fancy.
st is time that we should part, mademoi-
sello," ] snid, coldly. "It would have been
better had you spoken to me in daylight"
Il should not have had the courage" she
said. "You must not leave me till you hear
who this man is who is falsely represented as
my lover. l tecl that you are not alone in
this belief; feel that another shares It,"
"Yes,"I SAID, thinking of Samuel Fleet.
wood. "my belief is shared by another"
"Will you tell me who that other is?"
"No; do not think have the right"
"At least, sir" she pleaded, mournfully,
''you will tell me whether it is man or
a woman who traduces mc?"
Ibid not wish her to believe that it was my
wife or Eunice, and therefore 1 replied, 81
will tell you SO much, and no more; 1t was a
man."
"Will you see this man again, sir2
'Ishall see him, almost to a certainty, to-
morrow"
"Tell him'then, sir, from me, that the per-
son he suspects Is my lover, and whom you
saw mo embracing this afternoon, is my
brother"
''Your brotherl 1t is u simple, natural OK
PLANTATION; but what reason was there for
secrecy, for concealmcnt?"
Il was fearful of giving you grounds to
suppose that had deceived you, sir. did
deceive you, but it was an unconscious, an
innocent deceit. When you first received
me in your house l said was an orphan,
without q relative in the world. Indeed, in
deed, sir, 1 believed that to be the unhappy
truth. My parents were dead, and the only
brother had was killed on tho ramparts
when the Germans besieged Paris. He was
but lad at the time, and when they told me
he was dead had no reason to doubt them
But instead Of having been killed, he was
only wounded and taken prisoner; and,
when he was released he went to America,
intending TO make his fortune there, and
return and throw it in my lap. He wrote to
me, but l did not receive his lotters. In
America he was unfortunate. Trustful by
nature, he was robbed and deceived; and
|
way to England, little dreaming that l was
in this country. His sad wanderings, di-
rected by fate, brought him here-here, where
had the happiness OF finding a homo and
sympathizing friends. We met by accident ;
my ustonishment was great: 1t was as if he
had risen from his grave. What was to
do? had solemnly assured your good wife
and daughter that 1 was utterly, entirely
friendless, and, through them, you believed
this to be so. II now informed you to the
contrary l might be proclaiming my own
death warrant. You might havo said,
'Mademoiselle Rosalie has practised treach-
cry towards us; she presented horselt to us
in n false light, and therefore she is unworthy
of our confidence; she shall be dismissed.
was so narrowed by the fear of losing this
happy home, In which, after all my troubles
had found peace and rest, that had not
the courage TO undeceive you; but after what
you witnessed, sir, this afternoon, could no
longer remain silent. My honor, my good
fame, was at stake, and it must be vndicated
for what else have left TO nerve and sup
Port me in the trials l may yet have to en-
durc? l could not wait Till tomorrow.
About to seek my couch, l saw you from my
bedroom window, and, blessing tho chance
hurried down TO make my confession.
Forgive me, sir, forgive ME and assure me
hat l have reGained my place in your es-
teem. Tell me you do not despse mo-"
"Ifyour story is true" said aud would
have proceeded had she not interrupted me
"If, sir, il! Is it possible that you can
doubt me still? l swear, upon my knees I
swear, that have spoken truly"
"YOu are to be pltied." l said, "not de-
spised." l saw no reason to oubt her fur
ther. Two angels, my wife and daughter,
had full faith in her; why should not 1?
In what she had related there was not n flaw.
there was nothing contrary to reason or op-
posed to the ordinary course of human
motives.
"Say that you pardon me, sir, " she pleaded,
land give me your hand as n token of for
giveness." l gave her my hand and she
murmured, Il am happy. l am happy"
The window of my wife's bedroom was
thrown up, and, by the aid of the light within
the chamber, saw the figure OF my wife,
clad in white, looking out upon the grounds
had been absent longer than she expected
and she was anxious about me. "Richard p
she softly called; her voice was low and
sweet, and fell distinctly upon my cars.
"HushP whispered Mdlle. Rosalie, crouch
ing behind me. "Do not speak-do not
novel She must not sac mel'
1t WAS perhaps foolish on my part to obey