San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1891-01-19


donable, reallyl 1t was in that portfolio
BURST"
Latour took the letter carelessiy. But
as his eye caught the well known signet
the color left his face, and the Others
chance words of that noon echoed ia his
brain and numbed his heart.
In hard RHnr4fnl vaica ha haaan
II meant to ask if, while in Paris. you
saw much Of But / will not detain
you now"
Though stunned by sudden doubt of
her his chivalrouS sense dominated him.
He refused to arraign, even in his own
mind, the helpless, suffering woman
there, who had yielded SO much for love
of him.
Lord Martindale stared, then left the
room without reply. Latour stood per-
fectly still, looking closely at the seal.
Then he turned the letter over and read
the address, For Col. Adrien Latour-
Bey, Army of the Khedive, Cairo, Egypt"
and, in the corner, Courtesy of Lady
Martindale.'' ..
There could be no error. The letter
was for him; directed in the clear, firm
writing of Dale Everett!
A gasping breath escaped his lips.
Through his mind flashed the fact that
she had been two weeks in Egypt-ten
days Of them constantly with him. Over
his face doubt, wonderment and pain
sounded clear her words at Sultan Ber-
cooks tomb, mo: he never mentioned
your namer
And ever as their echo came her hus-
bands words at noon, after one of our
opera suppers with Gen. Everett"
Then he turned the letter over. The
seal-their class ring at West Point
was not broken, as the other man had
said. 1t was perfect, every line of the
signet clear, even the edges of the wax
unsplintered.
But the letter was opened! Some
sharpest instrument had passed beneath
the seal! And again the mans eyes
contempt struggling with wonderment
in them-sought the doorway of the
next room. Yet again his nobler nature,
his lifelong trust that good blood cam
not lie" besides his tenderness for the
woman who loved him so sinfully but SO
well, pleaded for her.
''Pshaw! l am weak boyl" he NUT
tered. THE letter itself will explain
this and its detention by her. Some
cant, warrant, to explain his cowardly
wrong to the girl he swore he lovedr'
With half smile still in his eyes he
slipped the letter from the envelope and
began TO read. 1t was long and closely
written, but from first line 10 last il held
him spellbound. Eagerly he read those
pages to the very last word. Then he
began and read them more slowly; this
time but one expression ON his face, the
reflection of a joy tender, deep and calm.
And long after they ceased reading that
light still shone on the page from eyes
that rested on the long loved signature
in deepest reverie.
So deep was it that he did not hear
the heavy breathing of the English serv-
ing maid in the other room, still less the
low voice that called her name twice.
Living over the long dead past. full resur-
rsctsd now, he did not note the light
rustling of q womans garments, the fluff
Of the curtain softly pushed aside, the
slender, white clad form that showed
beneath it, swept by glorious masses Of
long, loosened hair.
For one brief instant Edith Martiadale
gazed on the motionles form before her,
with the soft, warm flush creeping be-
meath her pallid skin, and eyes filed
with tender light. Suddenly that light
died in them, replaced BY tho dnll. cold
sleam Of horror; tho saive face grew
ghastly white, and 3 gnspins sob shiv-
cred from her heaving bosom to her lips.
Then the man started up. His eyes
met hers In their cold, hard glitter
not flashing in anger, not e~m heightened
with scorn, but calm and relentless-ths
woman read her doom!
Adrien Latour rose to his feet quietly,
on his face the same evil look il had
worn under the orange trees of the old
Spanish garden. But now it scared not
only her who felt it through the awful
stiffness, but it blistered equally his own
soul-black, unjust, hideous in his sight
For seconds the two stood thus, word
less, motionless-he with the past of
generations shamed upon his face, hers
with the ghost Of dead hope making
its olive ashen.
Then she stretched forta those CLEAN
ing, rounded arms, with pitiful, despair
ing dissertation, her voice q wall for that |
hope her own hands had slain.
"Adrien, all my sin-God kmows.-
was through my mad love!"
There was no passion in the mans |
voice; it went to her soul. inexnrable, |