Iuka reporter. (Iuka, Miss.) 1888-1894, 1890-07-17
Poor LITTLE EMILY,
The History Of a Prudent
Marriage.
By MISS MULocK.
CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VI
Lady Bowerbank was, as she said. diving:
that is, the seeds of death were firmly
sown in her constitution, but they were
very slow Of developing themselves. Per
haps the exceeding peace in which, ex-
ternally. her daily life was passed partly
caused this; but chiefly it was because, il
she had seen an end to happiness, so she
had to all its bitterest elements, its tur-
moil, trial, restlessnessness, and pain
She was not strong enough to suffer, and
now she had ceased to suffer any more
She even seemed for while TO rally, and
to take an interest in things about her-the
tender farewell interest of one soon de-
parting. She was especially sedulous in
all duties to her husband-at least those
which she was able to perform. But she
had long sunk into thorough invalid
wife, most kindly watched and tended
though more by his orders than by his per.
sonal care, while he went his own ways,
and fell back gradually into much Of hia
old bachelor" life, as it had been spent in
the long interregnum between his first mar.
rage and his union with poor Emily
Kendall.
Sir John is quite comfortable; he will
not miss me very much" Mrs. Knowle
once heard her say, more meditalively than
complainingly. But that lady, who had 50
keen sense of wifely duty, even without
love, never took any notice Of the remark,
And when, according to promise, she
had learnt all attainable facts about tn ]
Stenhouses-how that they lived in Lon
don on MIR. Stenhouses not too large sal.
airy in merchants office, and he was re.
ported to be most kind husband to the
widow, and careful father to the three
fatherless children-after this the prudent
maiden said as little as possible to Lady
Bowerbank on the subject Of her old lover.
Only once, when, after as long an in
terval as it was possible for civility to adj
NIT OF, Mr.. Stenhouse answered the con-
gratulations he had received on his mar
riage in letter to Mrs. Knowle. contain
ing the brief message-"his own and his
wife's compliments, and thanks to Sir John
and Lady Bowerbank"-E milys eyes filled
with tears.
he might have been little kinder,
she said. But he does not know, and he
cannot forgive. He never will forgive me
till die.
And meantime the two. once lovers. lived
on, and did their duty to the husband and
the wife unto whom Fate had united them.
Whether bitter thoughts ever came
whether in the dead of night either woke
up and remembered the past, their young,
bright, innocent mutual love, and the
cruelty that snatched it from them and
turned 1t into curse; whether their hearts
ever burned within them against man. or
alas! against Providence, because in this
short, short mortal life they were not made
I happy--they whose happiness would have
injured no one, and who needed nothing
in the world to make them happy except q
little love--these were mysteries which
must remain forever undisclosed.
But month by month there was disclosed
the plain sad fact that Sir John Bower
banks second marriage was not likely to
be Of much longer duration than his first
one, which most people had altogether
forgotten; and much was the sympathy ex-
cited both for him and for the sweet,
fragile creature who was fading away,
peacefnsis and contentedly. it was evident
but still fading. no one quite knew how OF
why. All the Liverpool doctors, and more
than one London physician, were brought
to his wife by Sir John in undemonstrat-
i've but evident anxiety; but they could not
cure her-they could not even find out what
! was the matter with her. Hereditary weak.
ness, want of stamina, deficiency Of vital
force-they called her disease, or no dis
ease, by all these fine names; butn human
being guessed the root OF it except Mrs.
y Knowle.
She, honest woman, as she sat knitting
beside her "Edward"-wh was getting an
old man now, stout, and q little in1irm with
rheumatism, and sometimes little cross
too with the weight OF business, but still
at heart the same hearty, kindly @good-
man as ever-would often say with o
Sigh, "Ah, poor Emily If those two had
only been left to fight the battle out to-
gether as we did, nv dear, how much bet
ter it would have beenl"
At which Mr.. Knowle, who never senti-
mentalized in his life, Just assented,
smiled at his -old woman, and perhaps
little weary OF the subject, generally, went
to sleep.
How the Stenhouses struggled on. for il
must have been . struggle at best, with
their small income and tho three children,
Mrs. Knowlescould not easily learn; John
Stenhouse seemed determined to drop en-
tirely out of the range Of his old Liverpool
friends. To any letters ard Mrs. Knowle
wrote him several he always returned
polite, but long delayed and unsatis factory
answers, telling her nothing that she wish
ed to know, and iuquiring of nothing
which, she hardly knew why, she would
have liked him to inquire about
And there is that poor thing dying, and
be does not even know it!r lamented she
sometimes. To which her husband only
answered with the common sense ques-
hon:
-And what would be the good of it If be
did know2"
Not on her side was Emily aware and
Mrs. Know!e took care to keep ii from her,
lest It might disturb her peaceful dying
that his struggle was the equally hard
struggle Of living, grinding poverty; q, del
icate nervous. broken -spirited Wifa: {hrea