Waterbury evening Democrat., 1893-09-26

1t seems cruel. He loved to be alive and he didn't expect it." was the next re. mark. She fetched long sigh. II would have spared his life"
 Would you have him alive again:" l demanded.
 How can tcll:" she returned. Tt is doner
 Those words, 1t is done!" had sad- ness and solemnity in them that pierced through my resentment and stcrnncss and made me feel, as had not done be fore, that the horror was not only hor- TOT, but that 1t was irrcvocable forever. I.could not speak. Iturned and walked down the room. Life is all possibility. There are few riddles that time cannot answer, few wrongs that years will not remedy, but death has no cure. Every thing must stop there and begin afresh. The life that has gone out is no longer an element in the problem. The Cor dian knot is cut, and the severed strands .,.> intractahlr and meaningless. Then we see, wiI..+ --,u invisible till then, how much might have bop saved by the strong magic of patience. But i; is done it is no dream or imagination it is done!
 turned again. She had stepped near CT to the body. and stepping forward took something from the breast of her riding habit and laid it on the dead mans heart. As I came toward her saw that 1t was a gold ring set with an opal.
 What does that mean:" l asked.
 1t is his" she replied. Let it be taried with him. have no more to do with it."
 How came you by it."
 Gall it bcqucst. l always meant to return it to him" was her answer. Ut meant great deal once, but now that he is gone il means nothing. It is his"
 Il have no curiosity to Eratify, Sin fire, l said after a pause. Il have al- ways accepted you and everything con Ccrning you on your own representation and cared for nothing more. If you were compelled to an 'wcr any questions put to you, l would ak none. Nothing that is past is any concern of mine or of ours. and this is no :ilnc to think of the future. Let that, too, take care of itself. But I may ask you why and how you came here. It seems strange to me and might seem stranger still to others if they knew"
 "Oh, there's no mystery about it, Cous- in Frank" replied she, looking at me with half smile and speaking in much lighter tones than she had used before. You know l asked to be allowed to stay, and though, please your mother, I agreed to go to the lake made up my mind from the first that l would come back. So when they were all asleep I saddled my horse and came. l was ready to do my part" she concluded, fnr,y1l,iy,,r +1,,A A. Si,1
 You rode 10 miles through the woods alonc:'
 Il feel at homo in the woods. l can find my way anywhere"
 How long have you been hcre:'
 Il don't know; not long. left my horse a mile from hero in the old barn and walked the rest of the way. A lit tie while ago some one passed mel think if was John-riding back. thought something must have happened. and 1 saw a light here and found the door ajar, so l came in"
 Il wish you had come at any other time said l, for l could not help per ceiving that her presence in the neigh borhOol SO near the hour of the murder might prove an awkward circumstance hereafter. 1t would be best that no one should know of 1t. Are you afraid to go back to where you left your horse /"
 That is what am going to do," siio replied. 1t Is almost sunrise"
 1t will probably be at least two hours before the others are here" 1 went on. ''1 advise you to stay near the barn un- til you hear them coming. Then r1de to meet them and give them to understand that you lost your way in the woods. They will be too much preoccupied to take any special notice. and the whole thing will probably be forgotten"
 Why should there be any conceal ment:" she demanded, drawing her brows together.
 Because" said l, "there has been a murder, and murders are followed by inQuests. Everybody who can be sup posed capable of giving any information will be examined. If you were put on the stand, you might be asked questions that you would not wish to answer There are things which you have not told me, Sinfirc. Would you wish to tell them to the world:"
 Nobody could make me say anything did not wish to-" replied she, but after a little thought she added: Il suppose your advice is good. I won't be impru- dent. But nothing seems of much con sequence compared with this" The last words were spoken in a lower voice and with a sort of momentary dropping of her whole figure. But she pulled her self together promptly and faced me with a smile. 'Goodby," she said. hold | ing out her hand.
 took her hand in mine. I'm not myself now, Sinfire," said. Il can't be l for some time to come. There are hard things to be done yet, and must keep myself hard so as to do them. But when it is all over 1 shall have something to say. Meanwhile goodby." 1 She went out, with her light, vigorous step, and was alone again. It was now 1 daylight. put out my lamp and threw l open the shutters. I went into the la | boratory and drew aside the curtain of | Saprani's cage. I tapped on the glass and called to her. She came out from beneath her blanket, glided forwG-d and reared herself up. She knows me well | now and will allow me to take any ! respectful liberties with her. For my 1 part feel an affection for the beautiful, | deadly creature that would seem absurd l to any one else.
 1 This world is the heaven of animals ! There is no past or future to them, no memory or hope, nothing but the full ness of the present. They are born into their sphere of life, and they fill it com pletely, whether it be mischievous or