The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1895-03-20
THE CRAVE,
The Secret Of DunfaVen
Castle.
BY ANNIE ASHMORE,
Author Of Faithful Margaret" ETC.. Etc
CHAPTER IX.HContinued.)

CHAPTER X.D-Continued.)
He retired from that presence a dis
Eraced man. A great trust had been
confided to him, and he had betrayed it.
He had been powerful-his power was
overthrown; his had been a busy life
and q useful-solitude and shame were
to be his portion henceforward.
Fresh from this blow my lord wrote
me; he pronounced my doom. We must
part; never again should he take into
bis daily life the wife whose heart had
strayed to such as Richard Accrington.
He would not divorce me, because ne
deemed me guiltless in deed though not
In heart. l should still bear his name II
] chose, and reside in one OF his do
mains, but never again should he look
upon my face. This was your fat, my
lord, and l submitted. You never had
to complain of rebellion in poor Enge-
1onde, had you? And though you put
me away from you, you cannot prevent
me from loving you still, loving you for
ever.
chose the place of my exile myself;
my lord offered me other homes, tairer
and more cheerful. But repudiated
wife could find no room for critical COM
parison in her crushed heart, when her
young, sweet life lay in ruins around
her.
. A lonely islet in the Hebirdean Seas,
far from sterile coast-a fitting retreat
Tor the bruised spirit that has no more
zest for life. You grieved, they say, my
lord, at poor Engelonde's choice, con-
demning her to worse than death you;
still could spare little pity for the
trivial discomforts of her situation.
Perhaps you read my motive wrong, and
deemed it the self ortifcation Of the;
remorseful. All, no, my lord, l am gull.
ty Of nothing in the eyes Of God save OF
loving you too well
! One precious boon you gave me, which
proved that, say what you will, your in.
stinct bSde you trust me despite your.
cruel jealousy. !
{ In my third year of exile, hearing that
the starved life forces were running low.
and that Engelonde might die, you sent
my sweet Ulva to be my consolation, my
treasure, my dear savior from madness,
OF that other inmate you placed in my
home disdain to complain; you judged
it best for me, no doubt, that the director
of my household should be that devoted
friend who had clung to you so long, and
who already knew something of our
painful secret: but John Sircombe is no
counselor or friend OF mine-no Shiny
reptile is more Stunned or loathed by
me than he, the wretch whose paseness
ruined me.
j My Lord 1nchcape has brought home
his heir to him, distant cousin who was
still at college when married. He is a
noble youth, I hear, and my lord is
warmly attached to him. do not
grudge Edgar Arden his splendid pros
poets. yet often the heart-piercing re-
Election comes to me that it might have.
been my son that Lord Inchcape loved
and took pride in, but for the treachery.
of Richard Accrington and the falsehood
of John Sircombe.
When these two confess the truth, my
love will take me back to his heart and
into his life. All, who will wiring the
truth from them? who will break my
chain and set me free? who will wipe the
imputed dishonor from Lord Inchcape's
name? Oh, for deliverance, deliverance.