Reporter and farmer. [volume] (Webster, Day County, Dakota [S.D.]) 188?-1946, 1893-07-20

ness was there, but well masked. A
sinister triumph in her heart gave her
strength to simulate.
Il pity you" she said, softly. II
would be glad to tell you all, but it Is
| useless
"Useless?'
Yes. She had left the seminary.
| IIopedale, her friends, forever. She
has gone to her relatives under a VOW
never to reveal her true identity. Hap
by in her new life, with golden prom
Uses of wealth, you must not blame her
impetuous nature If she finds new
friends who make her forget the old"
How well the shaft went home! The
blank despair, the settled conviction OK
faithlessness in the mans face was
pitiable TO witness.
she left no word for me?' he forced
himself TO ask.
mo. She wrote a letter to Mr.. Bar
ton Brinsley, but IL is unmanly for you
to have me betray my friend.
Speak ordered Marshall, fiercely.
DO you not see that this suspense Is
killing me?'
Then know the worst answered
/ Beatrice, puiking all her fancied power
on a ina venture. Sac wrote To Bar
ton Brinsley. This morning he left
Hopedale. Miss Chandler says he has
gone away on business. / think IL is
TO see Edna's new relatives and press
his suit there. Mr.. Marshall, oh, why
will you force NE to tell these bitter
truthsI Forget her-she is unworthy
of you. Sne never knew her mind.
There are truer hearts, hearts longing
for n love they would cherish and never
betray."
His head had sunk on his breast. He
believed now, and his heart was bro
ken
Beatrice had drawn nearer 10 him.
Her eyes aglow, her cheeks throbbing,
her hand upon his arm, heart and soul
breathed forth the secret that had
made her life n great void Of mysery
since she had first seen his handsome,
earnest face.
With a shock he looked. Wonder
ment, intelligence in his glance, ii drove
her back abashed.
Her face betrayed her secret. h
loved him. His face told unmistaka-
bly, that he read that secret Alright.
'Oh. how could /? But / pity you sol
Think me unwomanly, but IL your
heart is breaking, SO is mine. Go, Mr..
acknowledgements! and leave me
W liz MItktlttlltNS VI tAlt S1NlGi lOuA
suffering has wrung from my lips"
She was sobbing, shrinking now. In
CONSERVATION her companion regarded
her. She loved him. This had been
the secret Of her hayward moods,
Despite himself a great wave of pity
sept his chivalrous heart.
Il am sorry he said b~rokenly. "A
true woman's regard is better h q
false friends t%reachery. Miss Mercer,
when i leave you Ii is never to know
happiness again, but / may know the
peace of having done my full duty II 7
trace this affair down to the last. L
must see Edna-she shall tell me from
her own lips what / already know!
Then / am content to cherish my mis-
cry in silence. Speak! Win my graf
itude az least, by telling me whittier
she has gone"
There was no reply. Only the sub
dued sobs broke the waiting silence.
You know where Edna Isl" persisted
Marshall.
Yes, / know!' cried Beatrice, lifting
her face, flashing with jealousy inc
emotion; but do you think | will tell
you--send you to beg at the feet of a
woman unworthy Of you? Leave met
If you are suffering, L I'M tortured.
Oh! cruel. cruel! cruel!"
Her frantic hands swept the open
portfolio across the desk as she shrank
from him, hiding her humiliation, her
jealousy, her love in hot, burning tears.
About to speak reassuringly to her,
to plead with her anew for the hnowl
edge he so craved, Raymond Marshall
started as if dealt a sudden blow.
His eyes happened to fall TO the open
portfolio. He recoiled. stared closer.
and then sprang to his feet with a
wild, intelligent, hopeful cry.
For unon a sheet of paper. written
had just so shame-facedly confessed
her love, was the record of hatred and
treachery that had SO nearly blighted
his life.
There were the first experiments of
the clever forger to simulate Edna
Deane's handwriting. There was a
copy Of the missive he had received
that morning. There, too, was the
draft of the more masculine epistle
that had accompanied il.
Beatrice Mercer had looked up at
his strange cry. Her eyes met his,
following their glance to the portfolio,
and then, shrinking back, her guilty
face told the truth.
You wrote that-you wrote those
letters!' fairly shouted Marshall. "Oh,
blind, wicked that / was, to doubt my
true-hearted darling! 1t was q cruel
forgery-a plot. Speak, Beatrice Mer-
GER! All you have told me, all those
letters told, was a falsehood.'
ITO no C~ontinuedl