Waterbury evening Democrat., 1891-04-08

among the powers of evil where they belong, I-1 shall never willingly speak to you or notice you again"
 Gerald measured his brothers frame with kindled and contemptuous eyes. "Then we separate from this hour," he said. "I will not give the papers back. ''I despise in you the spirit that makes you seek to burn them, and l gladly agree that we shall henceforth be strangers"
 Furious, he dashed himself out of Sylvan's house. Doubtless at any pre- vious period of his life he would have remembered with pity that illness had perhaps lain at the root of his brothers arrogant claim. But now he quickly forgot even the fact of their quarrel. It was so easy for his infatuated mind and heart to forget every thing except the new devotion which now mastered both.
 A month, two months, passed for him like the lapse of a week. He received three or four kind letters from Thorn. dyke, telling of the frightfu1 fire and his own extraordinary financial escape from disaster which had beggered not few of his fellow-citizens. Two of the letters inclosed drafts, which Gerald cashed in New York, scarcely having g grateful thought, as he did so, with re- gard to the kindly motive that prompted their conveyance. At another time he would have written his protector pages of thankful response. But now he wrote only brief if cordial notes, all sense of duty being vailed for him iR vapors of needless egoism. He inces sanity saw the woman he loved, and in. cessantly told himself that she grew dearer to him after each fresh inter view. He had become jealous of the possibility that she would ever regain her memory. He preferred her just as she was, and had no realization of the reckless outlook on his own future which he betrayed when declaring to Clyde: "Even if she had really beer some other mans wife my marriage ! with her would now seem to me wholly sacred. Death took her, and in dying | all the worldly bonds that she had formed were nullified. Death gave hel 1 back to me, newborn, second and 1 perhaps finer self. If she had sinned some dark sin during her former life, should never dream of not pardoning it l I feel that she will soon consent tc 1 marry me. Almost immediately, then, we shall be made one. Her health Is frail, and will take her into the West, where Dr. Thorndyke, ever kind to me- will welcome us."
 Clyde expostulated, but vainly. Here was madness indeed, but of sort witt which his whole pharmacopoeia of drugs had no power to deal. He had seen the men who had brought "Perdita's" body to Gerald's rooms and had tried to wiring from them a confession of that sort o1 robbery in which the rope of a wedding ring might be included. But the mer were rough fellows and yet keen-witteG ones. They seemed clearly to under stand that when hiring them as he haC done, Clyde had laid himself open, ir his character of a physician connected with Bellevue and consequently with its adjacent morgue, to chances of the gravest and most injurious charges "Good heavens" thought the young physician, one night, after a stealthJ conference that had teemed for hin with humiliating rebuff. "I feel like some compromised person in Bowery melodrama. And this comes of mol keeping the wheels of ones existence well within the ruts of the ordinary An, imagination, what traps you car set for the unwary scientistw Dread ing the ridicule of his co-workers, ht refrained from breathing a syllable about the elixir. There were times when he doubted absolutely that it hat revitalized her whom Gerald now st adored. Again he would keenly regre the accident which had caused him tt overturn that flask of the fluid, anC VOW to himself that he would soon Dor row his young friends formula ant turn alchemist with sturdy zeal Mean while he greatly regretted the absence of Thorndylze, and at last wrote hin another letter, far more copious tha1 the first, in which he described Geral' as bent upon a perilous and reckless union with a woman whose brain a,n' body were both disordered and wh'
 might bring upon herself and her suito
 calamity almost worse than death.