Connecticut western news., 1892-04-14


 ness, a happiness that will last forever" 1"
 The months pass by. She is in their new city home, in the midst of the fash ionable world. Several of its audacious frequenters pay court to her. Now be- fore Helen passes the face of Bessie, and the words she spoke resound strangely in her tired brain:
 Do you believe that woman who has been deeply loved can live without lover'
 It seems to Helen many long days since yesterday, and even that her sur roundings have undergone change. To escape from her illusion and return to reality, she whispers: "Arthur-Arthur"--
 "Well?" But that voice that used to reassure her only augments her uneasiness, for she no longer recognizes it. Again she takes refuge in her thoughts. Why does he not wish her to consult the clairvoy- ant? Why? Why?
 Her heart beats violently and sharp pang assails it; doubt is entering therein. If Arthur were false? If he were like Bessie's husband2 If all that seemed impossible were possible, the whole world infamous? How she suffersl It must be jealousy that she feels. It is q terrible malady, and she knows it will hereafter torture her every hour. Who can have stolen Arthur from herr She is trying to think. Can it be Ethel Goddard, or is it that little Mrs. Warburton? She is suffocating, her throat tightens, her lips are dry and burning. The light of the lamp vacil- lates. The old tapestries are of a sudden clearly shown, then fall again into shadow. The chairs, frightened here and there by gleams that fall on the gliding of their frames, seem to move queerly around Helen, whose brain is reeling. She is frightened at herself, for while thinking of a rival she feels herself no longer responsible being, capable even of a crime.
 It is thus, then, that one becomes criminal through excessive suffering. But is she crazy2 What proves that Arthur is false? She cannot live with such doubt. She must know and will know. Why not consult the clairvoy- | ant2 |.
 She rises, supports herself by the fur niture to keep from falling and looks earnestly at Arthur, who, plunged in a brown study, does not see her, Of whom is he thinking? Of that other woman. She walks softly over the thick carpet and looks for her scissors in her workbox. Now she draws nearer to the young man, her gaze riveted on 8 lock of his hair. She could so quickly cut that lock were it not for the loud beating of her heart. It makes more noise than the clock. Arthur will hear it and turn quickly around. No; he re- mains motionless-still thinking. Suddenly he starts and utters cry. Helen runs off, the lock of hair between her fingers. Her eyes look defiant, but she tries to laugh. He does not laugh; his face has grown pale; fear and rage beset him.
 Il order you immediately to return me that hair," says he.
 "No; will not obey"
 "Then will use force."
 He strives to grasp Helen; she escapes him, running around chairs and tables. Then she takes jewel casket, locks the hair within, and flinging the key far away tries to fly to her bedroom. But an iron hand falls upon her and frightful face approaches her. The wrists of the young wife are pressed as in wise; the pain is intolerable there | just the place where Arthur had always put his lips.
 Then the casket slips to the floor; the husband seizes it, breaks it open with a kick of his boot, takes out the stolen lock I of hair and throws it into the fire.
 Helen, half senseless, sees it burn. "What does it matter, now," she sadly murmurs; "the clairvoyant has spoken" " Adapted for Argonaut from the French | of B. de Riviere.