The weekly Union times. [volume] (Union C.H., South Carolina) 1871-1894, 1889-04-05
POOR LITTLE EMILY,
10 History of a Prudent
Marriage. !.
BY MISS MIULoCK.
CHAPTER VI

Lady Bowerbank was, as she said. DIVING:
that is, the, seeds of death were firmly
sown in her constitution, but thew were
very slow of developing themselves. Per
Eaps the exceeding peace in which, ex-
:ernally, her daily life was passed partly
caused this; but chiefly it was because, if
she had seen On end to happiness SO che
had to all its bitterest elements, it's tur-
moll, trial, restlessnessness, and pain.
She was not strong enough to suffer- and
now she had ceased to suffer any more
She even seemed for n while to rally, and
to take an interest in things about her-the
tender farewell interest Of one soon de-
parting. She was especially sedulous in
all duties to her husband-at least those
which she was able to perform. But she
had long sunk into thorough invalid
wife, most KINDLY watched and tended,
though moro by his orders than by his per.
sonal care, while he vert his own ways,
ana iell back gradually into much Of lis
oid bachelor life, as it had been spent in
The long interregnum between his first mar
riaGe and his union with poor Emily
Kendall
"Sir John is quito comfortable; he will
not miss me very much" Mrs. Knowle
once heard her say, moro medita,ively than
complainingly. But that lady, who had 80
keen sense of wifely duty, even without
love, never took any notice of the remark
And when, according to promise, she
had learnt all attainablo facts about tho
Stenhouses-ho that they lived in Lon
don on MIR. Stenhouse's not too large sul-
ary IN merchants Office and he was re-
ported to be most kind husband to the
widow, and careful father to tho three
fatherless children-after this tho prudent
maiden said as little as possible to Lady
Bowerbank on the subject of her old lover.
Only once, when, after as long an in
terval as it was possible for civility to adj
gratnations he had receivsd iSSdfFea 81 ihs H., cor. con-
rage In letter to Mrs. Knowle, contain
Ing the brief message-"his own and his
wifes compliments, and thanks to Sir John
and Lady Bowerbank" eyes filed
with tears.
she said. "But he does not know, and he
cannot forgive. He never will forgive me
till die."
And meantime HE two, once lovers. lived
on, and did their duty to the husband and
the wife unto whom Fate had united them
Whether bitter thoughts ever came
whether in the dead of night either woke
up and remembered the past, their young,
bright, innocent mutual love, and the
cruelty that snatched it from them and
turned it into curse; whether their hearts
ever burned within them against man, or
alas! against Providence, because in this
short, short mortal life they were not made
happy--they whose happiness would have
Injured no one, aud who needed nothing
in the world to make them happy except
little love--thcse were mysteries which
must remain forever undiscloscd.
But month by month there was disclosed
the plain sad fact that Sir John Bower
banks second marriage was not likely to
be of much longer duration than his first
one, which most people had altogether
forgotten; and much was the sympathy cX-
cited both for him and for tho sweet,
fragile creature who was fading away,
nen nafully and contentedly, it was evident.
but still fading. no one quite knew how or
why. All the Liverpool doctors, and more
than one London physician, were brought
10 his wife by Sir John in undemonstrat-
i've but evident anxiety; but they could not
euro her--they could not even find out what
was the matter with her. Hereditary woak-
ness, want of stamina, deficiency of vital
force--they called her disease, or no dis
ease, by oil these fine names; but no human
being guessed the root OF it except Mrs.
Knowle.
She, honest woman, as she sat knitting
beside her "Edward"-who was getting an
old man now, stout, and n littlo infrm with
rheumatism, and sometimes little cross
TOO with the weight of business, but still
ut heart the same hearty, kindly good
man" rs ever-would often say with n
sigh, "Ah, poor Emily! if those two had
only been left to fight the battle out To-
Rether as we did, my dear, how much bot
ter it would have been!"
At which Mr.. Knowle, who never senti-
mentalized in his life, just nssented.
smiled at his "old woman" and perhaps n
little weary of the subject, generally, went
to sleep.
How tho Stenhouses struggled on, for il
must have been n struggle at best, with
their small income and the three children,
Mrs. Knowle could not easily learn; John
Stenhouso seemed determined to drop en-
lirely out of the range of his Old Liverpool
friends. To any letters ard Mrs. knowle
wrote him sevoral-he always returned
polite, but long delayed and satisfactory
answers, tolling her nothing that she wish
ed to know, and inquiring of nothing
which, she hardly knew why, she woulC
have liked him to inquire about
"And there is that poor thing dying, ant
he does not even know it," lamcntcd sh,
sometimes. TO which her husband onl,
answered with the common sense ques
ton:
"And what would be the good of it if HI
did know"
Not on her sido was Emily aware-an,
Mrs. Knowle took care to keep it from her
lest IL might disturb her peaceful dying
that his struggle was tho equally hnr
struggle of living. grinding poverty; q del
icate, nervous, broken spirited wife; thrc
hungry children to be fed, from duty
without the natural fathery love to sweetr
it; and above all, tho daily blank in the lii
of strong, faithful, single hearted MAJ
who, having once taken il into his head, c
heart, to love one woman, never can lear
to unlovo her to tire end of his days. Sue
men there are, bnt they are very, vel
rare, and John Stenhouso happened to
one of them.
so he locked his secret up in his brcas
and, whether or not his marriage was
happy one, went on working steadily an
patiently for his wife and for tho childrel