Mexico weekly ledger., 1890-08-07
ALL DOUBTS D|SPELLEO,

ALL DOUBTS D|SPELLED,
Come to me. Robert, if You ever loved me
in the old days, when we were SO happy to-
Rether In the quiet home that ] shall never see
| again! Alb, If ] had never left it-or you! You
loved me best, after all; but. then l did not be
"And the child. Robert. He bears your
name. and he has your eyes. your smilei For
the sake of the child. ut least, come to me. for
! am dying, and ! must leave him i'll your care.
Your unhappy
This was the note. written in a faint
and faltering hand-a woman's hand,
mind you!-the note that pretty little
Mrs. Robert Strong picked up off the
carpet of her drawing-room, where it
had been dropped by her husband. in
his hasty passage toward the hall and
from. door.
She picked it up, carelessly enough,
at first. She was an honorable little
lady, and would never have dreamed
of ransacking her husbands private
papers, or desk. or diary, as SO many
women would not scruple to do. if the
occasion offered. Even this letter
would have been laid aside till her hus-
bands return, unread, had it not
CHANGED to open in her hand, as she
lifted it from the floor.
Her eyes fell upon the first line, and
the red blood rushed instantly to her
face. What woman was this, who
asked Robert Strong to come to her,
by the love he had once borne her
years before, in the happy home she
had. left forever with another?
Little Mrs. Strong had a long, hard
/ t,,ttI, ,r;&t I,r-DJf Infnra ~ n1,tl
make up her mind to read that note.
But she did read it at last, and hav-
ing eaten of the apple" like her gold
en-haired ancestress in the garden of
Eden, she instantly became as unhappy
as she deserved to be.
She had been Il g~overness in a family
where MIR. Strong visited. Rich, in
huential, and still wondrously hand
some, though he confessed to fifty
eve years of age, the stately bachelor.
| The great "catch" of the season passed
by all the fashionable bellies of his ac-
| 4uaintance, and actually offered his
hand, his heart. and his fortune, forthe
acceptance of the little grey-eyed gov
erness whom he had seen now and then
at odd moments only, as she passed
with her pupils up and down the grand
staircase. or through the hall of his
friends house in - street.
Of course she took him, and became
Mrs. Robert Strong as soon as possible.
Yes, Mrs. Grundy was right there.
Within a month of the millionaire's
offer came his wedding-day; and then,
| after a short trip to the continent, the
happy pair established themselves in
Belgravia under the full glare of Mrs.
Grundv's sharp and stony eye.
But one thing Mrs. Grundy never
knew, and would lever have believed,
had you told her till you were gray.
Of course the bridegroom was desper-
ately in love with the pretty little
bride. That Mrs. Grundy was quite
willing to allow.
But it also happened that the bride
was even more desperately in love with
the bridegroom, strange Is it may
seem. She was twenty, and he was
ffty-seven; and every one would have
it that she had married him for his
money and his luxurious home. In
reality, she thought him the hand
soonest. stateliest, and most agreeable
man ON earth. But the severely classic
style of his really beautiful face; his
stately form; his digni6ed manner;
| ven the calm firm glance of his deep
| blue eyes, frightened and awed her,
she knew not why. She dared not
| show her love for him. even when she
was his wife. And so he fancied, at
times that Mrs. Grundy was in the
right. That his money had purchased
for him a graceful and lovely woman
to sit at the head of his table, and to
take his arm in all places of public
amusement; a woman in whose care his
honor was safe; but in whose heart he
| had no share.
1t was a sad and terrible mistake, and
but for the coming of this mysterious
bIiet-dou1 it might have lasted during
both their lives.
Mrs. Strong, hiding that tell-tale
note away, sat rocking to and fro in
her own easy-chair, crying as if her
heart would break.
This woman. this wretched woman!
Her husband had gone to her, was with
her even then. How dared he leave
his wife like that. And the child! What
childp whose childp
Again the red blood dyed her lovely
face. They had no child. Perhaps
he might have loved her better-well.
come what would. she would follow
him now and know the worst. Mrs.
Grundy." since their marriage, had
often whispered tales to her husbands
discredit, which she had refused to
hear: now she would see and judge for
herself.
Going up into her own room, she
summoned her maid, and contided a
part of the miserable story to her, not
duplicating her husband in any way;
but inducing the girl to provide for her
the disguise of a servants dress, and to
accompany her in a cab. to the address
named in the note.
Leaving the girl at the foot of the
stairs the unhappy little wife stole up
one flight, and listened.
A tall, bony-looking woman came
out of a opposite. with her apron
to her eyes. 1t was the landlady of
the house, who had been bidding her
dying lodger a last farewell. and who
failed to see the intruder as she passed.
weeping to her W room.
The door of the sick-room being left
aiar. Mrs. Strong saw and heard with
out any difficulty.
On the bed lay a wasted yet beauti-
ANA "othou Jung AZ otiii dttihCtlNc.
but ~dying-dying fast. Beside the bed
sat her husband. holding the sufferer
N his arms. wiping the cold drops from
her forehead with a gentle hand, and
talking to her in a low tone.
''Eloise. be al rest, be at peace!' he
was saying. For u dead mothers
sake l forgive YOU. W. as she would
have forgiven you, if she had lived"
"You swore that You would not,
Robert!' gasped the dying woman, with
. look of pain.
Hush. dear! Forget it, as I do. 1
was hard. and cold, and proud in those
days. and l thought I could never see
you as You are o without forgiving
you. But. Eloise. since then. /, too
have learned to love. and l know better
how to pity you. The man you mar
ried was unworthy of you. but you
loved him. and for al you have
suffered for his sake. honor you fol
1t now, Eloisa ~ much - / blamed