Iuka reporter. (Iuka, Miss.) 1888-1894, 1890-07-10

Still, occasionally he was heard Of, ID |
lrs. Knowles great satisfaction. though
eeing that Emily made no inquiries, hef
aformation was carefully kept to herself,
int she took romantic interest, most un}
'orthy Of such very practical and sensis
lie old matrun, IL the young man and HID
ortuhes; Tor she never ceased TO believe,
md Asserted repeatedly to her husband,
nat so true lover and so honest man a
ohm Stenhouse could never have forsaken
. woman in this mean way; and, though
he real truth OF the matter might never
% discovered. she was as certain o. she
vas OF her existence that there had been
wrong somewhere.
And It may Come right yet, who
knowsf / hope I'm not wicked-and III
u waiting barefoot for dead mems shoes,
but Sir John is over sixty, and he will havo
had . very fair enjoyment OF life II he
lives to eighty; and poor Emily will not be
aiuch over fOrty.ihree even then. Folks
10 sometimes take tho wrong person = boz
some widows and widowers = and thsn
meet their old love and get married, and
md their days happily together, after all"
Mr.. Knowles shook his gray head.
1t won't be the case here, wife. so you
aeed not think it.
He gave no more explanation, for he was
not laxative man, but his wife noticed
hat he often rode round two miles out of
his way to business in order TO INQUIRE
how Lady .Bowerbank was that morning.
And Mrs. Knowle, from paying formal
visit once in three months, got slowly into
The habit Of driving to Summer Lodge at
least twice week and spending the morn
ing with Emily. And by degrees she re-
turned to the old tender fashion, and called
her not Lady Bowerbank." but Emily"
One morning the two ladies we're sitting
together, one working for Mrs. Knowles
fingers were never empty of work--and the
other reading, or attempting to read, the
newspaper. Newspapers were terribly in
teresting now in all houses, for It was lust
about the time of the Indian revolt, and,
as this generation will long remember, far
and near, there was scarcely family who
had not to mourn their dead. Lady Bow
eroank. without giving any reasons for
land indeed none were required, for the
sympathy was too universal-had taken a
deep interest in the tidings brought mail
alter mail, and, horrible as they often
were, they were not forbidden her. for
they seemed to rouse her out of herself to
leel for Affections compared to which her
own we're nothing. She also began to ex-
ert herself and her small strength in way
that surprised both her husband and the
doctors, gathering and making contribu-
uons IN aid of the sufferers, and trying In
feeble way to organize schemes for their
relief, and find out cases Of exceeding
need, which, by means of the large Indian
connections of the house Of Bowerbank q
Co.. was not difficult to accomplish.
j should like to do little good before
l Co., she said one day, when Mrs.
Knowle was urging her not to exert her
self. II have done so little good in nv
life, you know"
And 80 they let her do it; and she spent
money, and time, and thought, upon these
melancholy charities, her husband prudo-
Ing nothing; he never did. He was a very
good man. Many a letter he wrote. in
vestigating difficult cases, and many time
he drove out to lunch in the middle of the
day--he that used never to take even a
from buslness-in order to
Eell his wife some piece OF news, or ask how
she was, or bring her some little delicacy
from market or dollhouse, if she CHANGED
o be especially fanciful or feeble that day;
.or she was very fanciful, as sickly people
'ften are; but she strove against il In q
pathetic way; and Mrs. Knowle noticed
low invariably she tried to look grateful
md pleased at Sir Johns little attentions,
md to smile steadily as long as he remained
n the room.
Il have really got piece of news for
ou to-day, my dear," said he, sitting
Town beside her, Enough it is not for you
much as for Mrs. Knowle-at least half |
or one and half tor the other. You shall
ear the pleasure between you. Guess"
The two ladies tried in all politeness,
ut failed signally, both Of them.
We'll, then, first, Lady Bowerbank, it |
oncerns you. That widow with three
hildren-Mrs. Hamilton. you know, whose
usband was shot at Bareilly, and who
,rote you such pretty letter Of thanks
be is coming home by next mail"
With all her children. hope! Poor
lingl"
3You need not say poor thing for it is,
- only with her children-she brings a
usband too"
Then he was not shot. after all?"
Yes, he was, said Sir John. "But you
omen are curious creatures. This is her
econd husband. She has married the
entleman who saved her life and that of
or three children, and brought her hun
reds OF miles across country and through
ldescribable perils. As she has not
alfpenny, and he is pretty we'll off, per-
APPS, poor woman. she might have done
orse. You will think so, Mrs. Knowle,
" you know the person-our old clerk,
ohn Stenhouse."
John Stenhouse! Married." exclaimed
RS. Kno~le; as, with an agitation she
'uld hardly conceal, she glanced toward
o sofa where Lady Bowerbank lay. But
is tidingss, which had powerfully affected
% good lady herself, seemed to have
used quite harmlessly over Emily. She
0rCelv turnad abowa1 O.. - ~rn~