Custer weekly chronicle. [volume] (Custer City, S.D.) 1890-1931, 1892-11-19

ceiYed and been true 10 me-fnfh way. L
WAS angry. madly angry; but, when l came
70 think OF her, her sweetness and her frank
bright eyes, / saw this must be the answer.
! left her; IL was all j could do. / hated the
Grange and the money, and / hated Garden;
but ! could not hate her. There was no
truth In what HiIda said-that Viola was
marrying me to stop legal action and secure
loved Garden. Tell Hilda from mt that she
was wrong!
Viola, what do you think / could say or
90? i was turned to ice. / could not move.
lie spoke so earnestly, pleading and ex-
planning, and / was dumh. [ saw IL all In a
lightnlng-hash that scOrched and burnt
me. | thought my sin buried and forgotten,
and il shot out in flame before my eyes. /
fancied no EARN had been done. / had been
stopped in time, and was safe; and | forgot
you. Viola, you do not know what II Is To
You Viii Win never Sae Know Z way Il Il You smi' hs SI' perhaps So ag;
you would think | have atOned for the mis-
cry | have caused you.
And at last. after struggling q day and n
night with every kind Of nightmare, fantasy,
snd perplexed delusion, i mateup my mind
10 tell il ali-the whole truth-t0 my hus-
band. / shrank from II like a coward from
the lash. | bad only just learned how noble,
how good and true he Isl; had only Just
learned to owe him, TO value what l had
nearly lost. Lately, too, ] knew there had
been a cloud between us. thought lac was
finding out how unworthy | was. 1t was
only a small cloud, no bigger than a mans
hand: but is had made nee strive doubly TO
win hin. To tell Of this that had been so
carefully hidden, not q breath Of which
had reached his ear, would decide all.
Il had not the slightest hope Of his for
g~iveness, and ii was harder. out here in this
strange country. without you near, than it
would have been at first. But youhad done
more for me. | took him all my letters 10
Crawford Garden, the ones you got back for
me, and l confessed 10 him the whole story,
the beginning 10 the end. Beatrice might
we'll. Viola, thank Heaven Tor a good mans
love! i had done nothing TO deserve IL, yet
il was still mine. He told me then what
caused the little cloud. He had letters from
Mathi!de, the woman 1 trusted as me- senger,
my maid. warning him, speaking OF Garden,
limiting things ten times greater than hat
ever been, and Of letters ] had bought back
for n thousand pounds. He had not credit
ed her lies; hnt -. the POISON had ranked,
and he had quickly seen tue reluctance and
/ re shrinking with which | answered que5-
tons rs 10 Gilbert's. partner. But now he
believed me, since | had told him every
thing unaSked. | said you could bear wit
ness that the letters ! gave him were all;
but he answered that nc would not doubt
my word. There is a weight off my heart.
the full heaS mess Of which | did not know
till IL was gone. | iancied ! wa quite hap
f. ~ NAfl 4 NtuiC bftt WIN aldlAlif bbt AlillS
was a phantom of fear logging my path,
and | have learned that nothing but honest
truth will silence lying whispers.
But you-yOu can never forgive mel
That year in which | and Martin learned To
{ know and trust each other saved me; but
yon have had to bear the burden. When
Gilbert is conscious again, Martin will tel
him how true you are; you shall be CT AIRED
fully and perfectly, Viola; and ! pray Heav-
en- Gilbert may come back 10 tell you 50. IL
he does not, my heart will break, my grief
will be greater than yours. 1t Is Worse TO
bear the effect of ones folly than ones
goodness. He must recover: he mustl
Heaven canno be SO cruel now! | would
not have written % you until the fever had
left him, but il was impossible to wait. |
am sure he will not die, Viola-dear true
little Viola! Try TO forgive me.
"GwENDoLINE."
Winter had come; the leaves had long
since fallen from the ash-tree, and the nov
lay thick upon the ground. | had been ask
ed to stay over the holidays with my pupils,
and | had con. ented, because | did not want
TO interfere with the gaiety at home. and it
seemed that, If | returned, | must. Grace
had written TO tell me of her engagement 10
q young clergyman in Cloisterham, and /
noticed how carefully she wrote, for fear Of
hurting my feelings or opening mp my
wounds. Dear little Grace, IL was very good
of her, and l know that at home they would
all feel the same; | and my willow would
be out OF place. Where | wa none knew
ANYTHING about it, or took any heed of my
| feelings or spirits, so long rs / looked after
my duties and kept the little boys out Of
mischief.
1t was the first Christmas / had spent
away from home, and the season made il by
no means an idle time for me, this excited,
preSent-yiyins, merry-making period, in the
midst of a large family If eager boys and
girls home for the holidays, | had no less
sons TO superintend; but had gasles 10
devise, pursuits to advise, gifts to invent, in
vitations TO address, and endless secrets 10
share-half q dozen children, in 'Cadof two,
to look after. My hands were full.
You must not 10. the children mske q
slave of you, Miss Thorne," said their moth
eySmiabiy.
Bat did not care: l liked TO have plenty
to do.
Gwendoline's letter had filed my heart
with wild hopes and fears; | thought OF her
and of Gilbert all day long. / wondered at
first II he knew yet that | wasinnOcent, that
all his suspicious were based on air. Had
nv ibi-ANflt HlcF anu lHtH lb4AOhCl NllO
terrible shUddering thought, Would he be
taken from me by the cold hands that could
part us for ever on earth, by the decree no
human viii could alter or revoke? No
tongue could tell of the fever In which |
lived after that letter from G~wend0line
reached me, of the JOY and the agony, the
triumph and the terror, the sweetness and
the bitterness that good;d my soul with
turbulent emotion. knew what Gwendo-
line must have suffered before she could
bring her pl loud sensitive nature to confess
how she had stopped TO folly; and | cannot
say how thankful | was that what she had
done for Inc should have brought q blessing
on herself.
Henceforth all was clear between her and
Martin Pomeroy; there could be TO more
concealInent, Tor lie knew and had forgiven
all; there could be no fear, for perfect love
had east 1t out.
But what Of Gilbert.
There came one sentence written In the
Big bod hand | knew and loved, now feeble
and uneertain-only one sentence, and that
from the o n he used 10 sing, the song
which had been waited TO my ears by the
low gray wall
Dear love, I love thee evermore."
'HHe is not well enough to write more"
said Gwendoline. But the worst of tho
danger has passed, Viola. lie says he will
get well now, and the doctor hopes IT,"
Only hoped! 1t seemed very hard that he
was so far from me then, that l could not
hear of him every hour and watch his re-
coyery. | thought l could have cured him
so much more quickly than any doctor; and
now II was days and days before l could
even learn whether he were ont OF danger.
And then one mail came In, and brought no
letter for me.
No letter, no word OF him at this Christ
mas season, when every one was happy and
I cried out against this darkness of doubt
and Loneliness, while already the golden
dawn was at hand.
=
On Christmas Day / walked down alone
TO an early service at the church, to soothe
and comfort me n little by taking my
thoughts higher, above this earthly life; but,
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