Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-01-01
COLONEL QuARITCH,V
By II. RIDER HAGGARD.

l all this, why did you marry himF'
 "Why did I marry himH' she answered,
 with passion. "Because 1 was forced into it, l bullied into it, starved into it. What would | Aou do if you were defenseleSs, motherless | girl of 1S with drunken father who beat | you-yes, beat you with stick-apologized | in the most gentleman-like way next morn | ing, and then went and got drunk agains | And what would you do if that father were | in the hands of man like my husband, body and soul in his hands, and if between them pressure was brought to bear and brought to bear until at last There, what is the good of going on with it; you can guess the rest" "Well, and what did he marry you for | your pretty facef"
 II don't know; he said so; it may have | had something to do with it. l think it was | my 91O, ,OOO, for once 1 had a whole 1000 of my own My poor mother left it me, and it was tied up so that my father could not touch it. We'll, of course, when I mar | ried my husband would not have any settle ments, and so he took it, every farthing" "And what did he do with its"
 "Spent it upon some other woman in Lon- don-most of it. I found him out; he gave | her thousands of pounds at once"
 Well, I should not have thought that of | him." said he, with a laugh.
 | She paused moment and covered her face with her hand, and then went on: "If you only knew, Edward; if you had the faintest | idea what my life was till a year and q half ago, when l first saw you, you would pity me and understand why am bad and passion ate, and jealous, and everything that l ought not to be- never had any happiness q girl; how could in such home as ours? And then almost before 1 was woman I was handed over to that man. Oh, how l hated him, and what enduredi"
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 "Pleasant-but there, we have done with each other now-we don't even speak much except in public; that's my price for holding my tongue about the lady in London and one or two other little things-so what is the use of talking of it7 It Q horrible nightmare, but it has gone. And then," she went on, fixing her beautiful eyes upon his face, "then l you, Edward, and for the first time in my life 1 learned what love was, and think that no woman ever loved like tnsft before. Other women have had some
 thing to care for in their ives never had
 anything till saw you. lu .n-c.y be wicked, | but it's trus,"
 He turned slightly away and said nothing.
 And yet, dear," she went on, in low
 voice, "I think it has been one of the hardest | things of all-my love for you For, Ed | ward, and she rose and took his hand md 1 looked into his face with her soft eyes full of tears, 1T should have liked to be blessing to | you and not curse, and-and-a cause of 1 sin. Oh, Edward, l should have made you | such good wife. no man could have had a better, and would have helped you, too, for l am not such a fool as l seem, and now shall do nothing but bring trouble upon you; |; l know l shall. And it was my fault, too | at least, most of it. Don't ever think that | deceive myself for don't; led you on, I | know did, meant to-therel Think mo as | shameless as you like, I meant to from the | first. And no good can come of it, 1 know that, although 1 would not have it undone.
 No good can ever come of what is wrong. I may be very wicked, but I know that"-and she began to cry outright.
 | i. This was too much for Edward Cossey, who, as any man must, had been much touched by this unexpected outburst. Look here, Belle," he blurted out on the impulse of | tho moment, II am sick and tired of all this sort of thing. For more than q year my life has been nothing but living lie. and can't | stand it, and that's fact I tell you what it is think we had better just take the train to Paris and go off at once, or else give 1t all up. It is impossible to go on living in l this atmosphere of continual falsehood." | She stopped crying. Do you really care for me enough for that, EdwardT' she said. "Yes, yes," he said, somewhat impatiently;
 
 offer. Say the word and I'll do it.n | She thought for moment, and then looked up again. "No," she said, mo, Edward" "Whyr' he asked Are you afraidp' "Afraidw she answered, with gesture of contempt, ''what have l to be afraid off Do you suppose that such woman as I am has any care for consequencesa We have got beyond that-that is for ourselves. But we can still feel 0 little for others. It would ruin you to do such a thing, socially and in | every other way. You know that you have often said that your father would cut you out of his will if you compromised yourself and him like that"
 "Oh, yes, he would do that. am sure of | it. He would never forgive the scandal; he has hatred of that sort of thing. But I could get few thousands ready money, and we could change our names and go off to some colony or something"
 "1t is very good of you to say so," she said, humbly. II don't deserve 1t, and will not take advantage of you. You will be sorry that you made the offer by tomorrow. An, yes, know it is only because I cried, No, we must go on as we are until the end comes, and then you can discard me; for all the blame will follow me, and shall deserve it, too, for l am older than you, you know, and woman; and my husband will make eoAAAo A'oLSJ ooo oA Jou, eau0 1ucu lo W III dl1 | be forgotten, and l shall have had my day and go my own way to oblivion, like thou sands of other unfortunate women before me, and it will be all the same hundred years hence, don'tyou sect But Edward, remember one thing Don't play me any tricks, for | am not of the sort to bear it. Have patience and wait for the end for these things cannot last very long, and shall never be O burden on you. Don't desert me or make me jealous, for l cannot bear it, I cannot, indeed and
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