Iuka reporter. (Iuka, Miss.) 1888-1894, 1890-07-03

iwell upon him as safe and happy in
heaven, and yet her thoughts would fly, |
back and back, like gloomy birds Of evil
omen, and settle in that chedrless, misty |
cemetery at kensal Green-where, Sir John |
Bowerbank had said, some handsome mem
orlal must Immediately be erected to dis. |
tinguih it from the throng of graves; aud |
ne lefN IL wife behind in London for day.
IN orTst Aat she might leisurely examine
her zig a papers, and find out whether
the L%therd-it was melancholy to heat
they |barrister, the social diner out.
aRf notfpoken OF "a merely "the deceased
7S{ll. amy particular wish regarding his
OWE monument; for Emily's husband was
very kindly. very considerate: and in this
last sad conjuneture she had been more
drawn to him than for many months be-
fore.
She had hidden him good-by an hour
ago, he starting by the night mail for Livl
erpool, and had settled herself alone IN
the large, desolate dining room, making
sort of encampment by the fire, that she
might feel less dreary. Then she began
looking over drawer by drawer, and paper
after paper the large desk which had been
the awe Of her childhood and the per-
plexlty Of her youth. She could hardly
believe that it was really herself then peer
ing into with unhallowed eyes. and turn
ing over with unforbidden hands, those
secrets of which We all have some, and
which we think are safe from everybody,
till death comes and teaches differently.
What Mr.. Kendall could have been think
ing OF when he left all thes6 matters
many of which he certainly would not
have liked even his daughter to be ac-
quainted with-to such chance as now
befell them, is impossible to say. Prob
ably the truth, unseen and disbelieved,
though it stares at us in church yard and
street, and whispers to us in every book
or newspaper, that Sin the midst of life we
are in DEATH" had been wholly unrecog-
nized by this man of the world, or else he
might have had superstiticus dread of
setting his house in order, and contem-
plating, in any way, his own dissolution
Certain it was he left no will, and his
most private papers were found in the ut
most confusion, everything being exactly
as he had quilted his home on the morning
of his death, to return thither alive no
more.
With solemn tenderness BETTING such
an office, his daughter turned over scrap
after scrap, opened, and looked at letter
after letter, just reading as much as SEEM
ed necessary, and then burning it, or lay
ing it aside to be burnt. A good many
papers she destroyed at once; she did not
like even her husband to see them-these
relics of purely selfish life-not abso-
lutely wicked life, bat one self-absorbed
and self enjoying nothing but self
worship from the beginning to the end.
Lady Bowerbank was growing weary;
the hall clock had just struck eleven, re-
with thrill that almost made her start off
her chair-she was very feeble and nerv-
Gus still, though her health had been of
late months little improving. Sick at
heart, forlorn and lonely, she put aside
heap after heap of letters in unfamiliar
hand writing, to be examined by and by,
when she suddenly came across one that
was not unfamiliar.
No wonder at its being there; her father
and Mr.. Stenhouse had had sharp cor
respondence; probably this was one of the
letters. None of them had ever been
shown to her; she had only found out &C
cidentally that such had been sent and re-
ceived. Eagerly she took up this one,
then hesitated- Emily's perpetual hesita-
ton-as to whether it would be breach
OF confidence or of duty to read it, when,
looking at the envelope, she saw it was not
addressed, as the rest of Mr.. Stenhouses
letters had been, to Mr.. Knowles house in
Liverpool, but to Queen Anne street, Lon
don. And the postmark bore date long
''lbsequent to that unhappy time; a date
whl>N. az Emily Bowerbank gazed on,
cold 81. 'ars of fear ran through her, for it
was week fter her twenty first birthday.
HE did wrilc, then. l must read it!
must and will" BE said to herself; and
for once that firm . the want of
which had been the gree. lach Of her life
as it is one of the greateet and most fatal
deficiencies in any human life or character
came to her aid, and she carrie,- nut her
purpose. Was it for good or for i'll? y 'as
the teller of this simple tale-and mayp,
many a reader cannot possibly decide
except that, as general rule, to have met
open-eyed the most binding truth is better,
ay, and easier in the end. than to live un-
der tbs blighting shadow of permanent
lie.
The letter addressed to Mr.. Kendall by
John Stenhouse ran thus:
SIR: Though we did not part amicably two
years ago, beg now to appeal to you as to a
gentleman and man of honor, and the father
of the lady whom / then, and ever since,
steadily determined to make my wife,
At your desire, / abstained from all commu-
nlcatlon with her until she became of age,
which was a week ago. On that day, and
again for six days following, called at your
house, to see her and you, and to beg permis-
sion to renew our engagement-or rather to
complete it; for it has, as regards myself,
never been broken; but was not admitted /
cannot learn anything about her. l have
written to her; l have watched--as far as a
gentleman could presume to watch lady-in
the hope of seeing her; and all in vain. ]
now take the straightforward course of writ
ing direct to you sir You may not like me,
but you can know nothing against me. Also,
you are father. entreat you for her sake
she did love me once-not to stand in
the way of our happiness. That she is true
to me have not the slightest doubt Tell
me whore she is, and when l may see her.
Yours faithfully, JOHN STENHoUsE.
Inclosed with this was small note,
scarcely more than scrap, apparently
written in haste, and was blotted as it was
folded:
SIR: ! accept your explicit and complete ex-
PLANTATION, and wish your daughter every hap
piness that circumstances may afford her.
Neither she nor you will ever beagain in
truded upon by your obedient servant,
JOHN STENHoUsE
Emily B owerbank read, and sat petri-
fed. The whole world seemed fading
from her in sort of dark-gray mist. The
roaring of waters was in her ears, and
dull, knocking pain at her heart. Then all
ceased, and she passed into temporary un-
consciousness.
When she came to herself, she was lying
forward with her head on the desk, the let