Los Angeles herald., 1892-04-17
thought save hers. adoring her Youthful

thought save hers, adoring her youthful
ignorances and her belief in goodness.
"It is you," he says. "who are right,
and my past life seems to me now an
evil dream, but you will make me bet
ter, and together we shall find happi-
ness, a happiness that will last forever"
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
love?"
1t 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 a sharp
pang assails it; doubts entering therein.
If Arthur were false? If he were like
Bessies husband? If all that seemed
impossible were possible, the whole
world infamous? How she suffers! 1t
must be jealousy that she feels. 1t is a
terrible malady, and she knows it will
hereafter torture her every hour.
Who can have stolen Arthur from
her? 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 CLEANS 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 rival she feels
herself no longer a responsible being,
CdpdDle even Oh u CTlIue.
1t is thus, then, that one becomes
criminal through excessive suffering.
But is she crazy? What proves that
Arthur is false? She cannot live with
such doubt. She must know and will
know. Why not consult the clairvoy-
ant?
She rises. supports herself by the fur
fn 1na,, from, fa11ino and 1nnyc
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 workbo1. Now she draws nearer
to the young man, her gaze riveted on a
lock OF his hair. She could so quickly
cut that lock We're it not for the loud
beating Of her heart, 1t 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 a cry.
Helen runs OF, 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.
mo; I will not obey"
Then l will use force
He strives to grasp Helen; she escapes
him, running around chairs and tables.
Then she takes a jewel casket, locks the
hair within, and fiinging the key far
away tries to fly to her bedroom.
But an iron hand falls upon her and
a frightful face approaches her. The
wrists of the young wife are pressed as
in a 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
of hair and throws it into the fire.
Helen, half senseless, sees it burn.
What does it matter now," she sadly
murmurs; 1.-The clairvoyant has spoken" +"
Adapted for Argonaut from the French
of B. de Riviere.