The record-union., 1892-03-19

DuI you can nave 0uE little 10ea OF the
cruelty of his naturen
Her face is CHASTITY, and her voice is so
SAD that 1t fills the breast of her listener
with unspeakable rage against the man
who has caused TINS lovely woman such
anguish. Five years before, he and his
cousin Fred Conroy had met Miriam De-
vine at Monterey, and both had been de-
voted to her. Philips worship had been
OF the silent kind, and when he saw that
Fred, with his dash and brillianey, had
made deep impression on The beautiful
girl, he quietly kept aloof, while his heart
almost broke with the knowledge that
she was lost to him.
de felt that Fred was unworthy of her,
but he trusted to the redeeming power of
her love to influence him when she was
his wife.
But after few months in Fools Para
Disc" Miriam had been rudely awakened.
Her husband was gambler, and soon
threw Oft even the thin guise of decency
he had worn, and compelled Miriam to
lend herself TO allure victims to his
tables. lie was intensely jealous as well,
and for the last three years her life had
been one prolonged scene Of abuse,
threats and taunts about the men he
forced into her presence.
Her love for him had helped her to en-
dure it for time. then when love was
dead her dread of the world kept her
she ever complain, and then only when
her torture was too great TO be borne.
This summer her health had failed so
visibIy that even Fred had observed it,
and when his cousin, Mrs. Forbes, and
her brother Philip, insisted upon her
Joining them in camping expedition to
the SierraS and Yosemite, he had re-
luctantly consented.
The trip had been one of almost per-
feet enjoyment, except to Philip. lie,
daily watching her, has learned anew to
read every change of her mobile face,
and the fire which has smoldercd in his
heart for five years threatens to break
forth.
AS for Miriam, freed from the presence
of her husband and the degrading in
duences surrounding a gamblers life,
and TOR the first time since her marriage
allowed perfect liberty, she has regaiued
much OF her old-time beauty and cheer
fulness. Only occasionally the memory
of her chains weigh more heavily than
she can bear.
They have spent a few weeks in the
higher Sierras, and have feasted their
eyes on the wonders of Yosemite, and
now are camped among the Mariposa Big
! Trees. whose hoary heads have for CEN
turles been lifted as witnesses of Gods
greatness.
They have lotered almost as long as
they can remain away from home, for
Mrs. Forbes is beginning to worry about
certain nursery in San Francisco, while
Mr.. Forbes is thinking of numerous
clients whose woes, either real or imag-
mary, have been laid aside until his vaca-
ton is over.
Only Mrs. Conroy and Philip West
bourne, of all the party, would gladly
prolong their stay. To-day they have
been out for a long ride through the
grove, and far down the stage road, COM
ing back up the mountain, till they reach
the lovely pond whose waters turn the
busy mills of that country. They have
left their horses, and are sitting under
| the dense pine shade by the side of the
pond, and it is here that Mrs. Conroy's
eomposure has deserted her, and she has
| unburdened her heart Of part of it's grief
and bitterness.
Philips face is very white as she utters
! her last despairing words: at must end
some day; he will kill lne.''
! Mimi he cried, you cannot mean
| that he ever will, or ever has been brute
| enough to strike you, or that you person
ally fear him. l would kill him if | for
an instant thought he would harm you"
Miriam looks sadly and patiently at
him as she answers:
Fear him? No. I simply know that
he would kill me if he choose to take the
| idea into his wine-maddened brain that
ever fancied anyone else. But / do not
dread it. know that death is my only
chance of relief'
Miriam, Mimi, for Gods sake, leave
! him; come with me. The world is big
| love, worship, adore you, and have
since the hour l saw you first on the
sands five years ago. Fred is a fiend
| Oh +! my love, don't look at me that way.
| Did you never feel that my love for you
| would some day break all bounds?"
Hush ~ Her face is strained and
/, L,
| eyes. WAS not my burden heavy
enough, oh, God, without this last?''
She buries her face against the little boat
which is drawn upon the shore and Phil
kneels beside her.
"Forgive me. forgive" he means, Il
| will never offend again. But you knew
my secret all these years, did you not?
hard and cruel. But you will never fear
me again. Though my heart break, [
| will never again hurt you"
She looks up, all her misery showing
in her white face. You must forget it
all, Philip, and not let my trouble make
you more unhappy than you are, and yet
| / shall miss you so from my life. But,
oh, forget me; forget me. Oh, Phil, can't
| you see; don't you know that 1 shall die
! without
| Her fearless sobs cease for moment,
| and in her anguished eyes Phil reads
something which drives the blood in
| tumultuous torrents through his veins
but before he can speak she begins again.
Don't speak, Phil, l must tell you
now Tomorrow l will take the stage
| for home. Fred has written impatientIy
| lately, and I will go: the rest of you can
| follow as you wish. 1t will be best, be-
| lieve me. l know my wretched secret is
| safe with you. My heart is crushed and
nearly dead, but God forgive me for say
| ing 1.-THE knowledge Of your love will
| help me to bear my burden better.
| have been so nearly happy in these woods
that 1 can better endure my life here
after. Our love for each other may be
sinful, Phil, but it will make me more
| patient. God bless you, Phil, you are
| the one friend left; be loyal one"
| He puts her sadly on her horse, and
| the remainder of the ride to camp is
| passed almost in complete silence.
! For years after the sight of azaIeas and
| tiger lilies awakens sad memories in her
heart, and the signing of the wind among
the pines is sadder than a funeral dirge.
In the morning they escort her to Wa
wona, and no prisoners face on his way
| to execution ever wore a more grief
stricken expression than does hers, when
the stage rounds the point which hides
! beautiful Wawona from her eyes.
| The others of the party break camp in a
| few days, and then Philip WestbOurne
announces that he is going to stay and
rough it while in the big woods, and no
amount of coaxing swerves his purpose
| There is a cabin by the millpond, near
the spot where he and Miriam had held
| their last sad talk, and to it he repairs.
and there he spends many long, dreary
months. Books and papers come to him
| from the outside world and occasionally
| letters. It is well along toward spring.
and the snow lies deep around his cabin,
| when neighbor, passing by on snow
shoes, brings him q letter from his sis
! ter, containing news at once sweet and