Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-07-27

Southern trip with happy anticipations. MT. Falconer had written to Mrs. Stanford explaining their reasons for the change in their plans, and had received from her hearty congratulations and commendation of the proposed visit The time was LOW near at hand, and the preparations nearly completed for the trip, when Mir. Faaconer came home with deeply flushed face, and with wild, restless look in his eyes, very unusual with him; for some days past Isa- bel had noticed that he did not seem in his usual spirits, but had attributed the fact to some slight indisposition.
 "Are you sick, MT. Falconer," she said, in alarm, as he sat looking moodily into the fire; it was now November.
 "I do not know,'' he replied, passing his hand over hls forehead wearily. 'I have had headache for several days, and 1t feels so strange to-day; as if there were humble bee in it."
 "Let me bathe it for you,' she said, bring ing a bottle of cologne.
 She stood by hls side and bathed his head in the refreshing liquid until he fell into restless slumber, and she noted that his breathing was hurried and uneven.
 ''It is @ severe cold he has taken" she whispered to herself, endeavoring to quiet her own uneaslness; his entrance into his home was always so genial and kindly that she was the moro alar med by this strange, moody arrival.
 He awoke with a start. "Where am Ir' he cried, wildly.
 "Here,my husband, ,::at home," she replied, gently.
 "Ohl yes, at home home is where love Is. Isabel" he cried, more wildly than he had yet spoken, "do you love mel have loved you with all the strength of my strong man. hood, and waited patiently for your love-" In her terror and excitement 1sabePs ln- | herent truthfulness was still predominant, | and she answered him gently: "You wish me to tell you the truth, do you nots" "Yes, yes, the truth,'' he said, fretfully.
 "Then will say that do not know," she answered, still smoothln z his hair and brow with her white hand; 'my feelings are SO | mingled with gratitude and respect that l l actually can not tell whether love has tered into my heart or not. honor and re- | spect you above all men, my husband" "Yes, always honor and respect" he muttered, irritably, in a tone so foreign to l any that he had ever used toward her that her alarm increased every moment; Gre | spect and gratitude but no love-" and even | as he spoke he settled back into doze. | Isabel flew to the hall, and calling Mrs. l Montford, begged her to send Tom for Dr. l Conroy at once
 l My dear," she said, soothingly, placing her hand on his arm he again awoke | with a nervous start, "you had better go to bed and rest, and you will feel better in l the morning.
 l He brushed her hand from his arm with gesture of repulsion. ssDon't call me dear |; I want no hypocrisy he said, harshly. | "But you are dear; the dearest friend have in the world,' and the tears almost l choked her as she spoke. 1 'Oh, friend, eh!' He spoke sneeringly, with a bitter laugh, the terrible laugh of a man who is not himself.
 "Won't you go to beda' she asked him, p1eadingly.
 ''To bed!' He looked at her with his heavy | eyes, from which the light of reason was | fast departing. "What should I go to bed | for? A business man has no time for day snoozing. Where's my hata" and he strug- gled to get away from her detaining grasp.
 Happily, Dr. Conroy was near at hand, and with Mrs. Montford now appeared in the door, to Isabers intense relief.
 The doctors experience taught him how l to deal with the sick man, and he soon suc- ceeded in getting him into bed and under the influence of powerful remedies.
 'What do you think of him?" said Isabel.
 as she followed Dr. Conroy into the hall, her
 eyes moist with tears, and heart sinking
 with apprehension.
 "He is very sick man, Mrs. Falconer,' ''
 he replied, gravely; Git would be a useless
 kindness to pretend any thing else He
 shows every indication of having entered a
 fierce struggle for life, and all we can do is
 to hope and pray tor the best" and pressing g
 her hand in his with unspoken sympathy,
 he turned and left her, the hot tears stream
 ing from her eyes and her heart lifted in
 prayer as it never had been before for helI
 in thls her hour of urgent need.
 l CHAPTER x.
 In the following weeks Is abel had need o1
 all her firmness and presence of mind, for
 as Dr. Conroy had said, there was pro
 longed struggle for life in the sick room
 the first week had been one of delirious
 raving, and her heart sank within her as
 she repeatedly heard hlDa muttering: "She
 does not love me; she does not love me, | in such sad tones that it pierced her very