The morning call., 1891-03-22

mo need Of thai, ma'am; he's put on his
wooden wrapper and his slippers.
'Ah. and how does he seem, John: like
himself?'
He. ma'am! Hes queer as possible"
"QHeer?"
Yes, ma'am His eyes are flamin' like,
and he don't appear as If he were in his
own right senses"
A portere hung between the two rooms.
Helena stole to it and parted its folds lit
tie. She had a clear.vie OF the sick man
as he sat before his desk, though only his
profile was visible to her. That served to
decide her. however. She went back to
John, and spoke thus:
g Go at once for Doctor Meredith. / think
Mr.. Van Dyke is out of his mind. | think
so because his face is twitchng strangely
and he holds his pen in such an odd way,
besides he is mutterlng to himself all the
while. Go at once. ] will wait here"
John PROMPTLY obliged. Perhaps five
minutes later Helena went again to the por-
tiere Still clad in the wooden wrapper,
Tallmadge had flung himself on the bed.
His eyes were closed and his breathing was
so heavy that she could hear it from where
she Stood and yet she somehow doubted if
he was asleep.
After brief delay of irresoluti0n she
passed into his chamber. Her step was very
light, it did not rouse him. She paused be-
fore the desk. A sheet of paper lay there
with writing upon. AS her eye swept the
page she felt dreadful pang of recognition.
The characters were those of the fatal
anonymous letter which had killed Justine.
They had bitten themselves into her memory
long ago.
With trembling hand she lifted the page
1t was all the precise counterpart of what
she knew so terribly well. Not word was
different This letter was addressed to her
dead husband, just as that other letter had
been Even the date was the same. And
yet 1t was unfOlded; it was cOnvlncingly a
duplicate.
The truth flashed through her mind. For
an instant she turned sick and giddy. Then
she stood quite still. with her lace deathly
white and her eyes fixed on the form OF the
PROSTATE man. Everything was plain to
her lie had done that dastardIY thing
months ago, and now in his deirium or semi
deirium he had automatically repeated the
act.
A great rage possessed her She advanced
toward Tallmadge and shook him roughly
by tine shoulder.
He awoke Of at all he had been asleep
and stared at her, half raising himself In
one hand she held the accusing paper, with
the other she now clutched his arm.
1T was you who wrote to Jnstinl" she
cried. Here is the proof"
While she thus addressed him he was
mentally dazed and unnamed by the fierce
encroacaments of his disease But CLEAN
of despairlng intelligence lighted his flushed
face as he heard her and looked at her.
YES. YES Helena! l wrote the letterw
he gasped. II wrote it-God forgive mel
God may" she answered, while her grasp
on his arm relaxed. God may, Tallmadge
Van Dyke. but | cannot"
Then she passed from the room and soon
afterward from the house. In a few mo re
days they brought the news of his death.
This is the history of Helena Worcester's
strangely unhappy lie. There were times
amid the retirement which followed for her.
there in that old Waverly Place house where
she spent so many secluded years, when she
bitterly reproached herself for having
caused her cousins death by not going to
him and giving him her pardon
But there are certain spirits in this world
that are made all the more miserable by
their own gentlenesS and nobility. On these
an added sorrow is always coldly entailed,
and the very existence OF their power to
forgive injuries would seem to increase by a
new factor of mystery the whole sad prob
lem of human suffering
The story for Sunday, March goth, VIII
be 9. Dorp's Dilemma, the Revenge of
n Lady's Tailor an Easter Story, writ
ten for The Sunday Call by Caroline Al
void johnson.