Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1890-10-08

been such perfect days since-do you
remember them?f
'sToo WE'LL"
How the blood surged around my
heart. Why could / not be calm?
"Not too well; we can never remem-
Der happiness too wildly"
"But when one buries past one does
not care to recall it. To me it is dead
forever"
~ do not WONDER" she answered
slowly.
Then, after long pause she resumed
in a faint, uncertain voice, as if it cost
her much effort:
81 came here to tell you of a mistake,
or, if you will, crime, and sitting by this
fire, SO like to many past nights, think
it will be more easily told now than to-
morrow. 1t had the sanction of one
who rests in his grave quietly, peace
fully. My duties to him were all per-
formed in the fear of God, and with his
dying breath he said it would be right
if-and whatever the end may be [
shall feel better content"
Her voice almost failed her then; it's
choking sound woke my pity, but, as
essayed to speak, she interrupted me
with:
"Not now; when 1 have finished you
shall say what you like. If it is best for
us to part, remember [ shall not con-
blame me uniustly. [ obeyed womanly
pride once: since then my heart has
been sore and humble enough"
[ knew now what she was going to
saw. She had come to offer me her
love-perhaps it had been mine when
she chose a weather. sutton. [ ought
to have spared her the revelation, but
the latter rushed back to my mind
the agony, the despair / had suffered;
the pure, truthful love she had cast
away for gold Now / would meet her
requirements as to position and income
full of bitterness and price. | deter
mined to let her go on, and take my
triumph. 1t was cruel-it was unmanly.
think some demon possessed me.
THAT loved you twelve years ago."
she went on, pausing between the sem
fences, "even you cannot doubt. /
hood in my life, and one reason why
trusted you so implicitly was because I
felt so confident of my own truth and
consistency. [ lived ages in those brief
weeks. [ have never known such joy
since, and that last morning, when only
three years stood between me and per-
feet happiness, in fancy | bridged it
over, and said [ was just as much your
wife as if the priest of God had united
us.
II ought to have told you that No
vember about my aunt's brother, who
had loved me for years-the man | aft
erwards married. / thought it Of so lit
tie account beside yours. He had spoken
of his fondness for me so often that it
did not alarm me. 1t began to be whis
ft>o% 6A {<@I
More than once | thought of writing to
you, lest you should hear the rumor;
but [ felt so certain you would seek me
during your vacation, and | could talk
the matter over with a much better
grace.
"One day I received letter from
you. l did not know your handwriting,
and | might have thought it forgery
but for incidents it mentioned"
ga letter?''
The tidings stunned me.
| forgot that | was to be married on
the morrow; with one step was beside
her, crying out, with strange anguish:
'Irene-Irene, there has been some
treachery. l never wrote to you; and
l, too, had letter-one that crushed
But / need not ask God help us
both! p
eyes, there was treachery. Don't
doubt me now when | say the bitterest
trial of my life was giving you up
learning to believe you unworthy. This
missive began with reference to your
promise of seeing me during that sum-
mer; then it went over the past. and
blamed me, where / could least bear
blame, for encouraging boyish fancy
on your part, and you offered this as an
excuse for what seemed like fckleness
on your part. [ think [ might have for
given this, loved you so entirely; but
the rest-you had met a young lady,
daughter of solicitor, wealthy and
talented; she was willing to marry you
Immediately, and her father would be
of the utmost assistance to you in your
career. In fact, you had determined on
your course and hoped / should see the
childishness of the little episode that
had passed between us. There was
much good reasoning in it. I felt the
force of many of your arguments and I
knew you bad ceased to love me-"
us it weak to say, after all, that /
hoped to see you? L waited with
sick, impatient longing, and then-Mr.
Leighton asked my fathers consent to
his marriage. with me, which
s was freely given a;ni+o My .s aunt mt per
oudQOu. MI h0lSuGO1 Was kIuU duu
tender, / was weak ard miserable, and
at last / summoned all my woman's
pride. I told Mr. Leighton all, and
showed him your letter; it panied me
to hear him condemn you, yet / knew
it was just. Then, when L felt that he
loved me more devoutly than ever, &C
copied him, and we were married.
eve spent nearly year in Paris, and
came home at my fathers death [
heard nothing concerning you'll did
not wish to hear. We began house
keeping, and my aunt came to live with
us. She loved my husband dearly, and
had before this exercised a great infu-
ence over him. She tried to regain it
now, and at last her officiousness led to
a desperate quarrel, and she left us. [
thought her absence affected my hus-
bands spirits. He was taken i'll, and
then / insisted upon it"
She covered her face with her hands
for moment. | knew | ought to have
stopped her, but my intense interest
amounted almost to agony, and in an in
slant she resumed
''He told me a story almost beyond