The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, 1891-09-12

lucky remark on that occasion We
know 90 well, and which SO many
others know likewise, thanks to tale
beat ers."
On this representation he conceded
little space Tor the sake OF her good
name. But the destined da.. of their
marriage at Inst arrived, and it was
gay time for the villagers
and all concerned. and the
bells in the parish church rang
from noon till night. Thus mt last
she was united to the man who had
loved her the most tenderly oil them
all, who but Tor his reticence might
perhaps have been the first to win
her. Often did lie say to himself.
"How wondrous that her words
should have been iulfilledl Many q
truth hath been spoken in jest, but
never d more remarkable one." The
noble lady herself preferred not to
dwell on the coincidence, a certain shy
ness, II not shame, crossing her fair
face ut any allusion thereto.
But people will have their say. sem
sitive souls or none, and their say
ings on this third occasion took q
singular shape. "Surely," they whis-
pered, there is something more than
chance in this. The. death
of the first was possibly natural; but
what OF the death OF the second, who
i'll used her, and whom, loving the
third so desperately, she must have
wished out of the wny?"
Then they pieced together sun
dry trivial incidents of Sir Johns
illness, and dwelt upon the indubi-
table truth that he had grown worse
after her lovers unexpected visit,
till n very sinister theory was built
up MS to the hand she may have had
in Sir Johns premature demise. But
nothing of this suspicion was said
openly, for she was u lady of noble
birth-nobler, indeed, than either of
her husbands-and what people sus-
pected they feared to express in form.
al accusation.
The mansion that she occupied
had been left to her for so long n
time as she should choose to reside
in it, and having regard for the
spot, she had coaxed Sir William to
remain there. But in the end it was
unfortunate; for one day, when in
the full tide of his happiness, he was
walking among the willows near the
gardens, where he overheard con-
versation between some basketmak-
ers who were cutting the osiers for
their use. In the fatal dialogue the
suspicious of the neighboring towns
folks were revealed to him for the
first time. On his return home he
seemed to have aged years.
But he said nothing; indeed, it was
n thing impossible. And from that
hour an estrangement began. She
could not understand it, and simply
waited. One day he said, however.
II must go abroad"
But why?" said she. civilian,
have / offended your"
"No," said he; ''but must co."
She could coax little more out Of
him, and in itself there was nothing
unna tural in his departure, for he
had been n wanderer from his youth.
In a few days he started of; appar-
emily quite another man than he who
had rushed to her side 30 devotedly
a few months before.
1t is not known when, or how, the
rumors, which were thick in the at
mosphere around her, actually
reached the Lady Penelope's ears,
but that they did reach her there is
no doubt. Then reason for her
departure occurred to her
appalled, mind, and q loss of health
became quickly apparent, She
dwindled thin in the face, and the
veins in her temples could all be dis
tinctly traced. An inner fire seemed
to be whitening her away. Her rings
fell off her fingers, and her arms hung
like the fails ofthe thrashers, though
they had till lately been so round and
beautiful. She wroteto her husband
repeatedly, begging him to return
to her; but he, being in extreme and
wretched doubt-moreover, knowing
nothing OF her i'll health. and never
that tho rumors had
her nlso-deemed absence
best. and postponed his return
awhile, giving various good reasons
for his delay.
At length, however. when the Lady
had given birth to n still
born child, her mother, the Countess,
addressed letter to Sir William,
requesting him to come back to her
il lie wished to see her alive, since
she was wasting away OF some mys-
terious disease, which seemed to be
rather mental than physical. 1t
was evident that his mother-in-law
knew nothing of the secret, for she
lived at distance; but Sir William
promptly FASTENED home, and stood
beside the bed OF his now dying wife.
believe me, William" she said
when they were alone. II am inno-
cent-innocent."
cot what?" said he. "Heaven for
bid that should accuse you of any
thingp'
'But you do accuse me-silentlyp
she gnsped. ~ could not write
ask you to hear me.
1t was too much, too degrading.
But would that / had been less
proud They suspect me of poison
ing him, William! But | am inno-
cent of that wicked crime. He died