Richmond dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1884-1903, 1890-01-05
CHAPTER III.

After tnat one lrlpnIeHtu iOOh up itto
the face of the man standing neal. her
Pauline closed her eyes and shuddered. A
chill sort of silence fell upon tho group:
In this "masque of the passions called
life" There are moments when silence.
prolonged and unbroken, more expressive
may be than all words ever spoken"
1t was in truth but fraction OF time.
vet who shall say what lines were craven
upon two of the hearts there which burn
ed with a smothered fire. In after years
the recollection of that hour was contlnu-
ally with Beatrice; there was no need TO
rub the magical lamp Of memory" in
order to "summon the genii of the past"
In her soul the cry often arose, "Oh to
live it over, that might act otherwise. u"
Vain cry of an anguished spirit. Resist ye
ternpted, in the hour of temptation. IT'S
vain to cry out afterwards, when the SUI
prone. the irrevocable past has become o
doctrine of despair" to the soul.
Somewhere in the wall death-watch
kept up ghostly ticking, broken in upon
now and then by a shrill squeal from a rat
behind the rotten, worm-eaten panels, or
the faint chirp of q forlorn cricket making
spasmodic attempts at cheerfulness In
some Granny of the crumbling chimney.
Mingling with these sounds was the irregu-
lar, fiuttering breath of the dying woman,
who was fast sinking into that lethargy
that precedes dissolution:
Moving from his place, Fairfax approach
ed the sleerer, and laying his hand heavily
upon hes alder. said, sternly; Have
you forge Z"
Startled, she opened her eyes and
moaned. No. no, have not forgotten.
What is it have to dor To save my child.
dress of her daughter she implored her. if
she would see her last breath pass in pence,
to consent, to promise, only PROMISE
reminding her of the unspeakable
suffering she had endured and pleading
with the energy of despair. Bewildered,
wretched, crushed, Beatrice still refused,
declaring she preferred even death, and
would not, could not, defraud her uncle
knowingly "Spare me, spare me-" she
cried. If you are indeed my mother II
YOU have ever loved me-" But with the
mother clung to the arm Of the unhappy
girl. The touch of those hands, icy with
the chill of death, struck from her the last
yestice of strength and she fell on Der
knees beside the bed and walled, will,
i will o, Douglas, forgive me; what can
/ do?"
Fairfax left the room noiselessly, and in
a moment returned with man IN the garb
of priest, followed by woman bearing
light. Crossing the room to her SIDE he
lifted Beatrice with one strong arm TO her
feet and motloned the priest TO proceed.
Thus supported she went through that
ceremony, which is, alas, so often a
mockery, answering when Fairfax prompt
ed. When it was finished and he
stopped to unclasp the hands that clutched
the soft folds of the brides dress he
found them stiff in death. With some whis-
pered words TO the man he drew Beatrice
away. At the door she paused, seemed TO
arouse herself from nightmare, and look
cd back moment at the rlgid face gieam-
ing white through the gloom; then, break
inc from the OBTAINING arm, went back to
the lowly bed. and, kneeling, looked long
upon the marble features, and, ,clasping
her hands tightly, murmured half aloud,
"Forgiye her, Father, she knew not what
she did," and, bel ding, touched the brow
with lips scarcely less cold. Poor, lost
motherl In tho insane fear OF poverty
and suffering for me you lost every other
thought, and have doomed me forever.
What you mistakenly called destiny was
only the consequence OF your own wiz
acts and unwise receptions"
Rising with difficulty she turned to the
woman. whose troubled countenance indi-
Gated a heart not all bad. and, unclasping
the iewelled bands from her arms, dropped
them in her bony hand. Il have no
money. but take these and do all that Is
possible for ho'. Keep the rest for your
self. Twill come again in the morning."
"God bless you, lady," said the woman.
"No, God will never bless me: have
sinned unpardonably against His law, she
replied quietly, and. needless OF Fairfax,
who had silently watched her movements,
she passed out of the room and down the
crazy stairway. The carriage was waiting,
and the sleepy footman held the door open
awaiting the order.
"Wili YOU risk n return to the ball ?n
her companion asked, looking into her
changed face with the first shade of emo
ton he had yet evinced.
1.-The ball?" she replied. ALI i had
forgotten. No; home, home"
As You like" he said. Il can return
afterwards and excuse your hegira to our
hostess"
The morning sun arose to cast its IA
dance alike upon the happy and the misera-
Bile. the suffering and the gay; but Boa
trice was not able TO fulfil her promise TO
the woman in the old garrett. She had re-
ceived blow too heavy for her sensitive
spirit to bear. For days she lay Like one
more dead than alive. Her suferings,
whatever they were, were borne IN silence,
only in. the troubled, ftful slumber into
which she fell now and chen she uttered
nothing to those around her. In the end
the strong young life conquered in the
struggle with its dark enemy, and once
more she moved about the stately mansion,
but no longer the brilliantly beautiful girl:
A change, marked but indescribable, had
come over her. She submitted TO rather
than aided In. the grand preparations for
her approaching marriage, Only once ia
awhile, when something brought the
coming event more forcibiy before her,
she would shudder and turn away Mr.
and Mrs. Dalmane watched her for awhile
anxiously but silently; then the. latter
came 10 her one day as ske sat by the win
dow straining her eyes. which grew larger
day by day. striving 70 catch. the first
glimpse OF some expected fgureshe seemed
10 watch for constantly along the narrow
road that wound over the hills 70 the fair
green country beyond. laying her hand
lightly upon the dropping shoulder, she
. Beatrice, my child, tell me II l am
wrong IN fancying this proposed marriage