Bennington semi-weekly banner. (Bennington, Vt.) 1894-1902, 1895-10-29

trollop, and not be content to do that
without turning up all the disgraceful par
ticularsP'
81 fancy not"
There's no possibility of squaring the
reporters, is thereP"
None, 1 should think. The murder of
lord is much too valuable for CODY"
"Then there's nothing further to be said
about the cursed business, except this
that not a farthing more of my money
Shall go to his brood. l shall not even
continue the allowance made him to his
widow"
And why not, uncleP"
"And why not, Ted? Why, because
I've got better things to do with my mon
ey than to employ it in keeping out of beg
gary the spawn of vulgar libertine No,
Ted, not one word on their behalf. beg
you. The young woman l pity, but she
has made her bed, and she must lie on it. .
You must forgive me, uncle, when !
say that | think you have come to a too
hasty conclusion and that, when you have
heard further particulars, you will think
so too"
Il beg you to explain yourself Ted"
II will do so, uncle, rs clearly as can
Oh, God help mep' suddenly exclaimed
the young man, burying his face in his
hands and startling Lord Stonehouse By
the sudden change from the unnatural
calm which had possessed him hitherto.
I "Oh God help mel God help mel" And
his whole frame shook as only does n
strong mans in mortal agony.
Tied, Ted, my boy" cried the old man.
whose pride only had been touched up till
now, but who found his heart mt the sight
I of the young mans overwhelming grief
"Ted, Ted, my boy my poor fellow! It's
of course, as bad as bad can be for YOU |
| forgot, Ted, you loved him So"
"Loved him, uncle, loved him! Yes l
loved him. and I've killed himr"
"Ted, my poor lad, you don't know
what you sayp'
"You don't think l know what am
saying, uncle? Yes, yes, uncle, do. It's
burned so deep into my brain that l seem
unable To say anything else but I've killed
him, killed himn"
Ted, you're i'll; you're overweight,
my hoy, by the calamity. Ring the bell
A brandy and soda will put you right"
GAS you will, uncle, but it'll take more
than that, fear
And Lord Edward got up and stood
leaning on the mantelpicre perriny into
the fire until the butlur Lad come and
gone. He then strobe to the table, poured
out and swallowed IA stiff glass of spirits
and faced his uncle with resolve at his
mouth.
"Thc fact is, uncle" he said, standing
with his back to the fire and speaking
calmly and deliberately; "the fact is,
uncle that Julie Panton never knew
Charlie ut all. She mistook him for me
You know that no stranger could tell us
apart l was meant to be her victim.
That is all and that is what will have to
be told at the trial. It's even worse than
you had expected, I'm afraid" And when
the one man stopped speaking, the other,
too, kept silent Indeed not another word
was said by either.
How long he stood there waiting Edward
did not know. Finally, he took his hat
and left the old man looking straight into
vacancy.
Such was the story rs near as 1 could
gather it from Lord Stonehouse and from
my friend Edward Summers himself. Lord
Charles 1 had never been intimate with,
but am sure that no one could have been
more astonished at his falling Wvictim to
the jealousy of dissolute woman than l
was to learn that Edward had got entan-
glcd in the foul meshes Of such one as
Julie Panton. 1t was only the old story
Let us be open az the day,
Each one doth to the other say
When he would better hide himself.
would have gone bail for Edwards
pureness of living to any amount, and
here he was, another Ulysses, who had
proclaimed to me hundred times the
practicahility Of virtue, forgetting his
glory in the foul pleasures of Hra. With
the horrible trial that followed and the de-
tails of the vulgar intrigue my faith in
goodness took wings, and with Edwards
disgrace and sudden and complete disap-
pearance thereafter began my own loss Of
self respect, my own rapid Generalization.
Not that appear very different probably
to the world than did for have learned
to patch up tho gaps in my modosty with
hypocrisy, which matches it well. In
speaking of which am reminded that the
last of poor Edwards Canting lectures was
called forth by my remarking that hypoc-
risy is one Of the healthiest signs in a
community, for it shows that virtue is the
lhSllOllitJl6 Tlllti bLItTh lSb lntTO NOulu w
no object in aping it.
Ten years have gone. Lord Stonehouse
died soon after the trial, and all his for
| tune passed to Lady Charles Summers and
her children. Not word was said in the
will of Edward and l know that he had
practically nothing to live on. Attempts
from time to time to trace him have been
made but to no purpose Wherever he
went he evidently assumed successfully
some evasive name After all, he was
rather a fool to give himself away. I'm
inclined to think should find him u trifle
too virtuous for mo and something of a
bore If he turned up now, SO perhaps it's
better as it is.
"Oh. it's you, Brown, Is it? Why, l de-
clare you quite startled me- l was so en-
crossed in writing that didn't hear the
door open. A letter, is it? Thanks"
An envelope with South African post
mark addressed in a strange hand. Inside
letter-by all that's extraordinary Ia
letter in Edward Summers handwriting.
But what's thisH Dated two years ago
MY DEAR GILBERT-Death as l remember
you once saying in the dear, good old days
will one day reduce us all to a common de-
nominator. This write with a request at
tached-that when l have gone adj majores IL
shall be forwarded to you. Since l last saw
you have OBSERVATION-DISCLOSURES l have,