The Telegraph-courier. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1888-1946, 1890-01-02
CHAPTER XI.
MY ENGAGEMENT BROKEN.

But there was one whom | had not
vet consulted in regard to this
change of plan and purpose. She
was away from home on visit, and
it seemed best not to communicate
the fact to her in writing. She was
naturally quick tempered, and |
wished to tell her my decision rather
than write it. Probably this was a
mistake.
She came home Saturday before |
was to leave for college. 1t was near
sunset when I walked toward her
fathers house. Not finding her
there, [ turned my steps toward the
conservatory, which was kept at a
comfortable temperature during win
ter, and where Mary spent consider
able of her time among the plants
and flowers. I found her in the old
double rustic chair, in which we had
sat many times before. and sat down
beside her. After the usual saluta-
ton and some unimpo' tant CONVEX
sation, [ asked if she knew that |
had left the bank. "No," said she,
'T have had no intimation that you
thought Of leaving. | supposed you
would remain there permanently.
Why do you leave?'
I then explained to her my feel
ings, nv motives, my decision. |
trembled, I feared. I honed that she
would see the case as I had se"0 it.
When I ceased speaking I raised my
eyes to her face; it was pale as
death. She had not spoken. But
soon the blood came rushing back to
the surface and she said angrily her
black eyes flashing: "John, this is
too much! How dare YOU insult me
further When your fathers estate
proved to be insolvent, | did not
complain. When you left your faith
er's elegant ma sion and moved into
a little cottage, [ was the first to visit
you. When the upper class cut
your society I brought myself down
to the level Of your family, for your
sake. When Won could offer me on
~ life of poverty, and proposed to
releas e me on account of the change
of circumstances Of which you had
no control, | scorned to cancel our
engagement. Even when you went
to the revival meetings and got con-
verified I did not complain, though it
seemed to me more than I could en-
dure.
"When you made fool of your
self talking and praying in meetings,
I staid away so that [ might not hear
you. l bore all these without com
planning, supposing that there could
be nothing worse. But / was mis-
taken. You now come to me DELHI
eratelv and say that you are going to
give up your place in the bank, and
prepare yourself for preacher. And
do you expect me to submit to this
new insult? Have you the impudence
to ask me to become a minister's
wife? The very idea of such a thing
is absurd. If you are to be a preach
er our engagement must end; and
the sooner the better. I have borne
enough, and can now give you up
without a single regret. This last in
suit has made me hate and despise
you. l hope We may never meet
again
I replied more calmly than | my
self would have believed possible:
"Mary, you will some day be sorry
for your. severe language"
81 shall never be sorry said she,
~ must either love or hate you.
There can be no doubt now which it
will be- You have gone down, step
by step socially, lower and lower, and
now you voluntarily choose to wallow
in the mire, and expect me to accom-
pany you in your degradation. I de-
spise and detest you
As she rose to leave me I said
calmly: "Mary, let us not part ii an
ger Let US at least be friends. /
shall not trouble you with my com
pany of course; but let us not say