The Sunday herald and weekly national intelligencer., 1890-07-13

there came knock at his door, and his landlady
entered with a note from Isabel. With trem-
bling fingers he tore it open, and acquainted
himself with its contents They comprised
few hasty lines from his fianc6, desiring him to
call upon her at once. With great mental per-
turbation the Reverend Wilfrid prepared to
obey the summons.
The house where Isabel and her father lived
was scarcely quarter of mile distant from
the Curate's lodgings, so it did not take him
many minutes to reach it, But when he had
rung the bell his courage deserted him, and he
felt disposed to run away. Indeed, he would
probably have done so had not the footman de-
parted for once from the habit of his class and
answered the bell with prompttude. The man
evidently expected him, for he showed him
straight into the small room which Miss Har-
dinge reserved for her private use. On entering
it the Curate saw that his worst forebodings
were realized. There, in an armchair by the
fire, looking very pale and agitated, sat Isabel,
while upon the hearthrug, close to her, an ex-
preston of malicious triumph resting on her re-
pulsve face, stood Amy Shook 1t is no won
der that he turned white, even to his lips, and
had to grasp the back of chair in order to
steady himself. In Isabel's lap lay the fatal
pASnSu
addressing him.
"Wilfrid," she began, in strained voice,
''you see this woman, and you see these letters !!
She has brought them to me to read and have
read them. L am afraid the handwriting tells
its tale too plainly. But give you a chance Of
clearing yourself. Can you deny that the let
ters are yours ?"
"No, he cannot you see he cannot - cried
my chn oIu ~
toward the Curate and stared with malicious
triumph into his blanched face
This movement caused her to turn her back
upon Miss Hardinge, who, without Amy's being
aware of it, quickly dropped the six letters into
the blazing fire. Then she rose from her chair,
and, with tender light of pardon in her, said
gently to her wondering lover:
"Do not look so troubled, Wilfrid. Every
doubt in my heart is as effectually annihilated
| as the letters themselves !"
Amy Shook turned sharply round at the
words. The disappearance of the letters from
1sabel's lap and the blackened scraps floating
lightly up the chimney told her what had oc
CURED.
''What have you done?" she exclaimed
angrly. "The letters were mine, my own prop
erty, and wished to keep them ~
|
coldly. ''And for that very reason l have
burned them. 1 had no intention that they
should remain in your possession to be future
source of annoyance ~
Seeing that she had been outwitted in the
most simple manner, Amy Shook evinced hel
vexaton by stamping on the floor and dartne
vicious glances at the other two.
CAT any rate,'' she hissed out spitefully
f,,rp ela 20 7
"the letters have already done this much-the,
have shown you up in your true character tc
your intended bride And if she possesses
grain of self-respect she will certainly now hav
no more to say to youn'
son the contrary, woman" retorted Mis-
Hardinge, her eyes flashing with scorn, 81 am no
quite so contemptibly weak that my allegiance t.
my betrothed can be shaken by the exposure O
mere boyish folly-a folly, moreover, which
is long past and gone, for''-going up to thu
Curate and drawing her hand gently through
his arm-"I have no cause to be jealous O
her now, have I, Wilfrid ?"
She turned, as she spoke, meaning glanc,
toward Amy Snook's haggard face, now doubl,
forbidding from its expression of impoten
rage. The latters lips moved and she seemed
about to speak, probably to pour out torren
of Venomous abuse but the Curate interposed
"Your game is played out" he said, $50 yor
had better depart quietly. Remember that tn,
law concerns itself with conspraces, as you
friend, Mr.. Charles Deverill, will inform you.
Conscious that it was all up, Amy Snook
skunk out CT the room, darting glances of baf
fled wrath upon Miss Hardinge and her lover
When she was gone the Curate folded his be
trothed in his arms and pressed her warmly Il
him.
''lsabel, my darling ~ he murmured, ''yo,
are an angel"
''Nay, " she answered, laughing, as she freet
herself from his embrace, 81 am certainly no
that. But l flatter myself that am somethin.
which is much more useful and perhaps equal,
rare; namely, young woman of-con,n,o,
sense" !"