San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1893-03-15

angel kept tally of the method she took
to murder his peace that he might know
1t Was murdered, dead, dead, dead, and
not exaSprrate her with his patient hope
that it might recover:
Her fortune gave her one weapon.
savage one in those vulgar hands. She
used this power nsoiently. as baser
spirits NAV. She would have been happy
to believe, what she pretended, that her
husband married her for money. Often
she told MIN SO. Often she reproached
him with her own disappointment.
Did marry you, she would say,
Ito he inefficient and obscure, Il mere
nobody in the world? You were to be a
great man, that was your part of the
bargain. You knew was ambitious.
had right to be. You have had
everything to give you success-every-
thing"
Not quite everything" he said sadly.
Not love-"
All, miserable woman! AS she grew
practiced in deceit and wrong she hated
her husband more and more
She maddened herself against him.
She blamed him as the cause Of her evil
choices.
1T is his fault, not mine" she said to
herself. He ought to have controlled
me, and then / should not have done
what makes me ashamed to face his
puny face He ought to have said,
You shall and you shall not instead of
his feeble, Is this wise, Jane? Is this
delicate? Is this according to your
nobler nature? don't like to be pleaded
with A despot is what needed. If he
was half a man he would take whip
to me-yes, beat me, and kick all my
friends out of doors and be master in the
house That could understand"
She maddened herself against him
more and more. She so yielded to an
insoent hate, that she was no better
than a mad woman while he was by to
enrage her with his patient, crushed,
and yet always courteous demeanor-
a sorrowful shadow of the ardent,
chivalric Edwin Brothertoft of yore.
why not kill the craven spirited
wretch" she thought, "or have him
killed? He would be better dead than
living and scorned. Once rid of him,
and | could take my beauty and my
wealth to England, and be grand lady
after all. Lady BrotheItoft, of Brother
loft Hall! that was what had a right
to expect. He could have given it to
me. The fool was capable enough
Everybody said he might be what he
pleased. Why could he not love real
things-a splendid house, plenty of
slaves, a name, title, instead of this
ridiculous dream of liberty? Liberty! if
he and his weak minded friends only
dared strike blow--if they only would
rebel-he might be got rid of Then
should be free. All, | Will have my
triumphs yet! Kings have loved women
not half so Handsome
And with red, unblushing cheeks she
looked at herself in the mirror, and
hated that obstruction, her husband.
more and more.
A mad hate which she would gladly
have gratified with murder. The air
often seemed to her full of furies
scOurging her on to do the deed. Furies
fitted before her proffering palpable
weapons-weapons always of strange
and antique fashion, such as she had seen
and handled in old museums in England.
She remembered now with what pleasure
she used to play with them, while she
listened quietly to some sinister legend
and knew how the stain came on the
blade.
Kill him" the furies cried to her.
1t was sound like the faint, distant
cry one hears in a benighted forest and
wonders whether the creature be beast
or man.
Not yet" she answered aloud to this
hail in the far background of her pur-
poses.
The postponefnent seemed to imply a
promise, and she perceived the circle of
shadowy furies draw little step nearer
and shout to each other in triumph,
:" Not yet, she says, Not yet"
So her hate grew more and more akin
to madness, as every cruel or base pas
sion, even the silliest and most trifing,
will, if fondled.
She found by and by that the cruelest
stab she could give to the man she had
wronged was through his daughter.
Lucy is all Brothertoft and no Bill
Top" Julia Peartree Smith often said.
Its all wrong; she ought to take after
her strong parent, not her weak one"
There was kind of strength incom-
prehensible to the old tabby. Nor did
she know the law of the transmission of
spiritual traits-with what fine subtlety
they get themselves propagated and pre-.
vail over coarser and cruder forces.
Lucy was all Brothertoft. In her early