The Forrest City times., 1892-05-13

would have done honor to Parisian detective.
 "Well, then" said, "I insist. Go on with your story, and if any pledge of secrecy is in order just say so and I'll hold up my hands"
 "I don't enjoin secrecy" he answer ed slowly. ''The story is not one you would care to repeat"
 "Oh, very well, very well, l banter ed with mighty affectation of flip pancy did not feel. "I can close my mouth as tight as any one you know But to the story. Your wife, you said, died a year ago?"
 "I said nothing of the kind" he re- piled emphatically. "Itold you 1 lost her a year ago" Then he rose and crossing the room emptied the ashes from his pipe into the fireplace and helped himself to another round Of tobacco. As he stood for a moment silhouetted against the flaring coals in the grare, silent, calm, serene, 1t burst upon me suddenly that the si- lence and serenity which in him l had long regarded as most offensive and unpardonablew were enothing other than the dignity of sorrow, and l felt ashamed of myself; not the first time, perhaps, that have had the same feeling, but never mind that now. At last, having lighted the new pipeiul, he turned ana said simply: "You insist?"
 By this time realized that was in for it whatever it might be, and l answered promptly, "Ies.'
 And then, still leaning on the chimneypiece, he began in hesitating way:
 LAS you already know, Gladys and I were married 8 tritle over thirteen months ago. Iloved her madly, and she, poor girl, was all wife should be or could be. We were very happy to- gether; no clouds ever darkened the clear heaven of our mutual love, nor troubles for moment disturbed our peace and happiness. Previous to | departing on our wedding trip l had | leased suite of rooms in a large up town flat-you know the place-and when we returned after short tour | those rooms became our home and paradise. So things ran on for nearly | two months, and then-then came the | end-the end"
 Here he paused, and turning away l from me looked into the hissing, splut- tering little fire a moment. Somehow I did not feel life breaking the silence I realized that he was not thinking oi me then, and to speak would have been obtrusion if not sacrilege. At length raising his head, he turned to ! me with apparent effort and as he did 1 so I coona see here were tears in his eyes.
 "One evening" he went on, after had begged him to be seated and he had taken the big cushioned chair by | the hearth, "one evening last Febru- ary my wife and l spent with her l mother~And returned at a late hour to our apartments. The night was q bad one, and Gladys, poor little gil was weary and exhausted when Vt reached home. Her bright eyes had . dull, leaden look, she was pale, com | plained of a headache and said | strange things as if her mind was wan dering for the moment, and l recon mended that she retire at once and sleep of the i'll effects of her overexer tion. She was very loath to take my | advice for some reason or other, and when Ihad lighted my pipe and drawr my armchair upto the table she came and knelt beside me and took my hand in hers.
 John, said she-ah, how well remember her words, spoken in hel piquant, half-reproachful way
 John, you don't mean to send mt away from you, do you?'
 l" Yes, my dear I replied, rather petulantly. For your own sake do You need sleep and rest. lam perfect ly safe here with my paper.
 "She rose and turned away, but hac taken only a few steps when she re turned and took my hand again.
 You want me toleave you, John?
 Yes, yes, my dear; go to sleep ant get a nights rest; it will do you nor