Phillipsburg herald. [volume] (Phillipsburg, Kan.) 1882-1905, 1894-12-20

CHAPTER XXIX-Continued.
Lord Clanyarde and his daughter
left at the end of the week There
were fever cases talked OF already ana
ell the American tourists had fed,
Lord Clanyarde felt he was not get
ting away an hour too soon. They
dawdled about among Swiss noun
tains, living life of rustic simplicity
that was wondrously beneficial to Com
stance, but somewhat painful to Lord
Clanyarde. At the beginning OF July
they had established themselves at a
little lonely village in the shadow Of
white, solemn mountains, and here
Constance felt as If she had passed be-
yond the region of actual life into a
State of repose, a kind OF painless pur-
gatory. She had done with the world
and worldly interests and affections,
Even the little strangers heart must
have been weaned from her by this
time,
Lord Clanyarde saw the gradual de-
cav of his daughters strength, and
trembled for the issue. She had grown
dearer to him in this time of close
compansonship than she had ever been
since the far-otf days when she was
little Connie, the youngest and lowell
est o. his daughters. He told hi nself
that unless something occurred to
rouse her from this dull apathy, this
placid calm, which looked like the
forerunner of deaths frozen stiffness,
there was every reason for fear and
but little ground for hope.
Lord Clanyarde prayed more ear
nestly than he had ever done before in
his sell-indulgent life, and it seemed
to him that Providence heard his cry
for help.
One morning there came letter
from Rome which startled father and
daughter alike. 1t was from Mrs.
Walsingham, written in a tremulous
hand, and addressed to Lord Clan
yarde.
"They tell me am dying, and the
near approach OF death has melted the
ice about my he ,rt. I have been a
very wicked woman, and now con-
science urges me to make you what
poor reparation | can for the most
cruel and treacherous revenge-not
upon the man who wronged me, but
upon the innocent girl for whose sake
| was deserted.
81 have deeply injured your daugh-
ter, Lord Clanyarde, and | meant to
carry the secret of that wrong to the
grave to leave her desolate and child
less to the end. But the long lonely
nights, the pain and WEAKNESS OF de-
cav, the dreary seclusion from the
dreary outer world these have done
their work. Conscience, which had
been deadened by anger and revenge,
slowly awakened, and there came a
longing for atonement. | can never
undo what have done. [ can never
give your daughter back the years that
have been darkened by sorrow her
wasted tears, her vain regre S. But l
may do something. Let her come to
me--let her stand beside my deathbed,
and l will viii per tho story Of my
crime into her ear will not write it,.
She must come quickly if she wishes to
hear what | have to tell, for death
stares me in the face, and this letter
may be long reaching you. Every day
drifts M further down the dark river.
How swiftly it rushes sometimes in the
dreary night-watche5. | can fancy l
hear the ripple OF the ii lie and the hol-
low moan of the great ocean that lies
before me--the unknown sea of death
and eternity"
Here camea broken sentence, which
Lord Clanyacde could not decipher,
and it seemed to him that the writer $
mind had Wande ed toward the close
of the letter. There was no signature,
but he knew the handwriting, and
Mrs. Walsingham's address was en-
graved at the top.
The letter had been more than a
week on the road, and was readdressed
from the hotel where Lord Clanyarde
and his daughter had stayed at the be-
ginning their tour.
Its curious business" said Lord
Clanyarde, doubtfully, after he had
given Consta ce the letter. 81 believe
her mind is affected, poor soul; and L
really don't think you ougnt to go,
Who can tell what she may do in her
rawlings, ami not vestige of truth in
it, perhaps"
He thought Mrs. Walsingham's
death-bed confession might concern
her relations with Gilbert Sinclair,
and that it would be better for Con-
stance to hear nothing the unhappy
lady could tell.
"This letter bears the stamp of
truth, sa d Constance, firmly. 81 shall
e., papa. Pray get carriage and let
us start as quickly as possible.
But, my 10 ., consider the unhealth-
mess of Rome at this time of year. We
might as we'll go and live in a fe er
hospital The Pontine Marshes, you
know, steaning with malaria. We
should be dig ing our own graves.
"You need not go there unless you
like, pa a, but shall not lose an hour.
she has something to CONFESS me
, wrong done me something about
Christabel perhaps" cried Constance.
He saw that the only wise course
was to yield to his daughters wishes,
and lost no time in making arrange
ments for the Quincy back to Rome.
They entered ONE in the summer
sunset, the city looking beautiful as a
dream. The atmosphere was cool and
balmy, but ord Clanyarde looked with
shudder at the silvery lists floating
over the valleys and fancied he aw
the malaria fend grinning ut him lie
hind that diaphanous veil Constance
thought OF nothing hut the purpose
J for which she had come.
X "Tell the man 10 drive straight 10