The Mason County journal. [volume] (Shelton, W.T.) 1886-1927, 1890-07-18
CHAPTER XVII.

OuZaIlIlo sprung lOrWafQ, ner CheekS III q
glow. her eyes ablaze and her beauty So daz-
cling that the poor young man stood as if
rooted to the spot, incapable of speech or
movement.
II see you! you cannot hide from mer'
And then suddenly, from some indefnable
presentiment of trouble, her cheeks grew
pale, her smile faded and her lovely violet
eyes saddened. He had to show himself, to
try to smile, but she remained serious
Raymond" said she, something has hap
pened. What is itr'
81 assure you, you are mistaken" said he,
taking her hands and pressing them to his
lips
Raymond" she continued gravely, 81
have something to tell you, which will, I
hope, be the means of consolidating our hap
piness."
Their happiness! Raymond sighed
"You see" she continued, my father has
also been searching for the real criminal, and
he thinks, with much reason, that he has dis
covered the wretch. If that proves true,
Raymond, we are free to avow our love.
Come with me to see father before you go
home. He will be so glad to see YOU Come,
let us hurry. Then afterward we will go and
tell the good news to your mother, who will
Uc 81 uOppJ, CoO. INuy IilOHu-SOuT II,
whom love so well already"
His mother! He withdrew his arm from
the light constraint of her hand. and then
Suzanne saw what she had not noticed before,
that he was deathlv pale and wan, and that
he could not look her in the eyes.
''In heavens name what has happened to
render you like this?' said she, breathless with
fear.
Nothing"
"IIl,sh, do rot say that It is not true. l
am afraid some new misery awaits us. l
pray you tell me-"
II cannot go to your house now, Suzanne.
must go home first"
81 will go with you and we can talk on the
way, and can tell you all that has happened
and all that we hope"
"No, Suzanne, shall be with my mother
oil day, and at night l must go back to Paris.
Believe me, my dear Suzanne, dearer than
life. that am not deceiving you"
"Tell nle the truth and | will, even il il
costs my life"
'iSuzanne, pray you do not question me.
can only say our happiness is destroyed.
Our marriage can never take place. 1t would
be the greatest misery that ever fell upon two
people,"
that y5a pr pretenied to think It great happi.
ness have been told that men are tickle.
know it now"
''But oh! best beloved Of women, 1 am not
changed l shall never change, but q new
sorrow has ovelshadowed us, and it is one
which can never lift. l pray you do not ask
me to say more; my heart is broken"
81 believe you. &c. then, it is secret be-
tween us which you will not tell me, or can
not.'
He lowered his head.
''And this secret" she continued, 'is
yours, as mine was not mine. There must be,
then, something of that sort that forces you
to keep up before me a like silence, and that
stains the honor of some one of your family.
see you cannot lswer. and that from pale
you now blush red. Have 1 divinedr'
He joined his hands in agony and held
them out to her in mute supplication.
Very we'll, Raymond Now it is my time
to say, whatever the shame, whatever the
dishonor, love you, and shall still be proud
to hear your name. You did net cast me of
when you learned the full measure Of my
woes. Tell me, then, Raymond, tell me
your secret You are too noble and too
proud, so that this dishonor cannot be your
own, but must hear, Raymond, just as you
heard me, so that / may consent or refuse.
Do you think would refuse?'
"Do not ask. Do not wish to know, and If
you did | should be the most unhappy of
men. 1t is, alas! useless"
Raymond, are you tired of me, and is this
a subterfuge! Please say so, if it is, though l
am willing. God knows, to suffer anything
for you and with you. I do not wish you to
feel that l am of the kind that urges their
love upon another"
''This is more than cruel My life, my
love and my souls idolatry are given to you,
and you only do l or shall ever love-"
'Then since you love me, do not plunge my
whole life in one perpetual mourning. Leave
me little hope if you do not wish me to
dieh
"Adieu, Suzanne, my precious Lowell"
! Raymond, l pray you reconsider Keep
your secret locked in your heart; will
never ask It. never, I swear. / will never
think of it. Our happiness will be possible
again. Oh, Raymond, do not refuse. If
| you knew how many tears have wept in
my lonely life since my childhood, and how
| much I want to know what peace and happi-
ness are"
The poor child had Raymonds hand and
she lifted it to her lips and kissed the fingers
one by one. Her sweet words came to his
ears like distant music, and his whole being
thrilled at that tender cares; but the sweet
er it was the more was it his duty to leave
her and fy And his happiness and hers
could be secured so very easily He had but
to keep his awful secret and open his arms
to become the husband Of the woman he
loved. He had but to say one word, and be
made no sound or gesture, for at that mo-
ment be seemed to sec In one fash Of light
that whole terrible drama. And his soul re-
VOTED at the thought OF his wife, II b con-
scented. bsjpg tbe dspgbteg ef hio Weth1g'D