Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-01-05

self in the glass over the mantalpiece-the room was full of mirrors-and laughed bit. terly at the incongruity of his gentleman like, respectable and even refined appear ance, in that vulgar, gaudy, vicious looking room
 Suddenly he bethought him of the letter in his wlfes handwriting which he had stolen from the pocket of Edward Cossey's coat. He drew it out, and throwing the tea gown and the interminable glove off the sofa, sat down and commenced to read it. It was, as he had expected, a love letter, wildly pas sionate love letter, breathing language which i'll places almost touched the beauty of poetry, VOWS of undying affection that were through out redeemed from vulgarity and even from stiffness by their utter earnestness and self abandonment. Had the letter been one writ ten under happy circumstances and innocent of offense against morality, it would have been a beautiful letter, for passion at its highest has always beauty of its owp
 He read it through, and then carefully folded it and restored it to his pocket. s'The woman has a heart,' he said to himself; mo one can doubt it. And yet I could never touch it, though God knows, however much l wronged her, I loved her-yes, and love her now. We'll, it is good bit of evidence if ever 1dare to use it. It is game of bluff be- tween me and her, and I expect that in the end the boldest player will win"
 He rose from the sofa-the atmosphere of the place stifed him-and going to the win dow he threw it open and stepped out on to the balcony. It was a lovely moonlight night, though chilly, and for London the street was quiet one.
 Taking chair, he sat down there upon the balcony and began to think. His heart was softened by misery, and his mind fell into a tender groove. He thought of his long dead mother, whom he had dearly loved, and of how he used to say his prayers to her, and of how she sung hymns to him on Sunday even ings. Her death had seemed to choke all the beauty out of his being at the time, and yet now he thanked God that she was dead. And then he thought of the accursed woman who had been his ruin, and of how she had en- tered into his life and corrupted and de- stroyed him. Next there rose up before him a vision of Belle, Belle as he had first seen her, maid of IT, the only child of that drunken old village doctor, now also long since dead, and how the sight of her had for awhile stayed the corruption of his heart be- cause he grew to love her. And then he married Belle by foul means, and the woman rose up ill his path again, and he learned that his wife hated him with all the energy of her passionate heart Then came degradation after degradation and the abandonment of principle after principle, replaced only by a fierce craving for responsibility and rest-a long, long struggle, which ever ended in new lapses from the right till at length he saw himself a hardened schemer, remorselessly pursued by fury from whom there was no escape And yet he knew that under other circumstances he might have been good and happy manufacturing an honorable life But now all hope had gone; that which he was he must be till the end. He leaned his head upon the stone railing in front of him and wept, yes, wept in the anguish of h1s soul, praying to God for deliverance from the burden of his sins and yet we'll knowing that he had none to hope for. For his chance was gone and his fate fixed