The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1889-03-20

/ best in public quarrel which would have
| disgraced US both. That is what you call
| sincerity-affectionl God de-
( liver me from them and send me sinners
J sinners of every sin under Heaven, but
/ with sympathy in them, and generosity
! and mercyp
She was silent for a moment. She had
never seen him so fully reused, so reck-
| less in denuncIatiOn; she loved him
| greatly, and she felt in every word the
! severance, one by one, of the ties OF con-
sanguinity and habit which had bound
! them together.
But she was woman who was pitiless
| in pursuit of her purpose, Interchangeable
/ in her opinions and her conduct, unre-
| lenting in her tyranny and curiosity and
meddlesome inquisition into the lives and
thoughts of others.
'I pass over your insults and your in
| gratitude" she said, with difficulty con-
| trolling the rage she felt Il wish only
/ to ask you one question. l have come
| from England to ask it. l heard by chance
/ that you were in Paris. Is it true that
/ you intend TO effect a reconciliation with
| your wife?'
''Who told YOU that do sc?
'No one told me. But heard its pos
sibility discussed, vaguely, in society"
"Well, what then?"
"You cannot mean it! You could not
drag your name in the dust! Your sever
| ance from her was bad enough; but your
reconciliation to her would be worse-ten
million times worse. 1t is not to be
thought of; not to be dreamed OF for one
instant! You owe it to your whole
familyw
"What do I owe to my family?'
He had grown quite calm. His voice
had spent itself, but she, who had known
him from his earliest years, knew that his
tranquility had more real menace and
sterner meaning in it.
But she had never quailed before the
fury of any OF the men related to her
whom she had tortured, fatigued and in
jured for their gOod-as their good was
seen by her.
''You owe it to your family" she re-
piled, "to your family and to yourself, not
to take into your life before the world a
woman who has lived as your wife has
done in your absence"
GLOW has she lived ?"
GLOW? AS no woman in her senses
could have lived. Withdrawn from every
one; herself mark for the most Odious
suspicious; receiving no visits save from
one man whose name already had often
been connected with hers. You used to
be proud, you used to care beyond all
things for your name-what will the
whole world say of YOU if, after more than
a year and a half of such a life as that,
Lady Guilderoy is once more admitted
into your house and your hearth"
Guilderoy looked at her, and, bold
woman though she was, she was afraid Of
the effects of her words.
He smiled slightly. His smile was very
bitter and very cOntemptuous.
"lf YOU only came here to say this" he
said, 'it was pity you did not remain In
England. / should then at least have
been able to forget all that you wrote to
me in Italy. You are a virtuOus woman,
but you are a cruel woman. If you had
any mercy in you, you would have been
stirred to compassion FOR Gladys; you
would have gone to her, you would have
eeunselled her. you would have set the
shield of your unblemished position be-
tween the world and her. Even if you
had hated her, still you should have done
so for my sake. Aubrey alone did what
he could. / am grateful 10 him. Who
ever hints a word against him is my
enemy. The mistake made by Gladys was
the mistake of an imaginative, unwOrldly,
and Over-sensitive nature; but it was a
noble mistake-one which none but an
ignobe nature could possibly misjudge.
/ am blamable in much, but l am not ut
terlv vile. 1 offended her and, if life per-
mits it to me. l will atone 10 her. 1t
never occurred TO me as possible that the
world could blame her for my fault. Pos
sibly it never would have dared to do so
had not you been the first to cast a stone
at her"
care you the dupe of your wife, as you
have been of others?"
81 am no ones dupe, except my own
sometimes. And now you viii pardon
me if leave YOU. The house, of course,
is yours TO stay in if you choose. But
am about to leave for England, and you
Will pardon me ii l say that l wish to 90
alone. Short as the Journey is, it would
be too long for me to make in the society
of one who is the unkindest enemy of
myself and of those who are dear to me-"
What? Does the devotion of a life
time count for nothing? Are those dear
to you whom you forsook, and by whom
you have been betrayed? Do you utter
ly forget all my affection, all my forgive
ness, all my defense of your errors in the
world for sake of a woman whom you are
tired of one day and idolize the next, only
because she no longer cares what you
do?"
"My good sister," said Guilderoy, with
something of his old manner, 81 told you
long ago that you were equally discon-
tented with me whether | took the paths
of vice or the paths of virtue, to use the
jargon of the worlds very arbitrary and
rather senseless classifcations. You were
indignant when left my wife. You are
indignant now that it is possible may
return to her. l do not see that in either
case you have any title to be my Judge,
and regret to feel that you have for
feited the power TO be my friend"
With that he left her; and she, morti-
fed, worsted, and made impotent as an
arbiter of fac, broke down into a fit OF
womanlike and heartbroken weeping
She recalled the voice of John Vernon
saying in the summer stiffness of his gar
den, "Be kind to her" She knew that
she had been more than not kind; that
she had been cruel, that she had deserted
her, and been the first to lead the world
to see harm and disgrace in the solitude
OF that simple life at Christlea. Fool that
she had been to let her prejudice and
jealousy warp her judgment so utterly.
Fool that she had been not to have had
sense and penetration enough to foresee
that the time would come when her
brother would resent as dishonor done
to himself all slur and suspicion cast
through her upon the innocence OF his
wife!