The Van Buren press., 1895-03-02
FORGOTTEN.
How Paul Weguelin'e Great Sor.
row Was Drowned.


row Was Drowned.
Theirs was q love match II ever
marriage wasl The engagement had
lasted more than Ave years, and had
been entered into when matrimony
looked as unattainable prospect as o
house In Lancaster Gate, q carriage
and pair, and 6 retinue Of servants.
Not that they ever did reside In Lam
caster Gate. It was humble little
wedding enough when the cventful
day did dawn, and they took up their
abode in tiny house In Highgate,
where, as matter OF fact, they were
as happy as the day is long.
The day was long-the phrase Is not
commonplace-for the young hus-
band went to his clerks stool In the
city directly after breakfast, and 1t
was not till seven O'Clock in the even
ing that Ethel saw him again. Both
declared that the hours of their separa.
tion appeared interminable.
But they had their hopes, 1t should
be understood. Paul was not made to be
clerk oil his life-a young man named
Paul could not bel There was some-
thing incongruous about q paul" tot
ting up columns In q ledger and saying
''sir" to an employer-"Paul" suggests
art or literature, o calling In Bohemia,
and Paul Weguelin intended to be q
playwright.
He had o couple Of dramas which
Ethel vowed were beautiful declined
by every manager In London already,
and undeterred by the nonsuccess OF
these he was meditating third. In
the evening, after supper, when Ethel
sat beside the fire working, he would
light his pipe and proceed to weave,
for their encouragement, fancy pictures
of the night when he should be called
before the curtain by frantic cries Of
Author, Author" and drive homo
with his little wife's hand In his-a
made man. Ethel would nod her head
approvingly, and II such conversations
did not do much to advance his ambi-
tions, they were certainly amusing.
Some months before their child was
to be born, however, scenario was
definitely laid down. They had gone
to work in professional manner, these
two young people, and chosen the
theater they would favor, and then
Paul had mapped out plot TO suit the
company.
"That is what is always done, dear
est" he declared; "I've gathered as
much as that from the papers. You
see, with the other two plays made
the mistake OF writing to please my
self instead Of studying the require
ments Of q particular management.
Now we'n go in and win."
A clerks life is not conducive to the
pursuit OF literature, and Paul Vogue
lin frequently felt disinclined to go
from one desk to another, but he perse-
vered In his self-appointed task nobly.
When Ethel had gone to bed he would
sit up writing until he was compelled
to lay down the pen from sheer ex-
haustion. And after o fair start was
made, too, his interest in the thing
grew. His characters appeared to gain
life-to be more real-and Ethel
spurred him on by her appreciation
and prophecies Of success.
She did not complain that her even
ings were now as lonely as her days.
they were entirely one, she and her
husband. She felt that the play was
as much hers as his, and she would
read 1t and criticise, and suggest, every
bit as enthralled in its development as
he was.
It was finished at last, and they
posted 1t together with little note
begging for its consideration; and every
evening for the next few weeks listened
with tense nerves each time the post
mans knock sounded in the street.
| No communication about It came,
however, and then Paul was given q
son, and for awhile even the thought
of his play was banished from his mind
by reason of Ethel's illness.
She was very Ill, indeed, poor girl
but It was not often absent from he,
ecollection-the drama from which
they hoped so much-nnd she talked Of
it In her delirium, and repeated lines
from 1t until Paul thought his heart
would break with pain and terror.
In the terrible time that followed he
had but cne small consolation; she was
conscious before she died. He will al.
ways be able to recall every incident Of
their "Good-by," down to the smallest
details. He sat on the edge Of the bed,
holding her hands, and praying dumb
futile prayers while he endeavored to
reassure her and choke down his sobs.
The lamp on the mantel-piece had gone
out, and the flame Of the candles on
the toilet table was the only light In
the room. Her eyes were drendfully
big, and the whiteness Of her face
shocked him. Her voice quivered pa
thetically, and vaguely He wished in
moments that she would not speak; II
was her voice, the pathos of the poor
weak voice, that endangered his self
control, and twisted his throat In
knots.
II shall never see the play, Paul,
she murmured. II did want to see the
play so. Don't cry. Poor boy, you
mustn't cryl Darling-darlingl''
Somebody said something to him
the doctor, or the nurse he did moi
know. He sat staring ut the dying
girl blindly through his tears, and O
few minutes later he realized that she
would never speak to him again. The
mysterious borderland was passed.
And she was buried. He sat amid
the unfamiliarity Of the familiar room
dazed and stupefed. There was the
chair where she always sat at this hour
there her workbasket or her book
should have been lying; there were the
| nlanfa narishinp for Watar-hOW YeXed