Arizona republican., 1895-02-14
FORGOTTEN.
How Paul Weguelin's Great Sor-
row Was Drowned.

Theirs was love match If ever
marriage was! The engagement had
tasted more than five years. and had
been entered into when matrimony
looked as unattainable prospect as a
house in Lancaster Gate, carriage
and pair, and a retinue of servants.
Not that they ever did reside in Ian
easter Gate It was humble little
wedding enough when the eventful
day did dawn, and they took Up their
abode in a tiny house in Highgate,
where, as a matt. of fact, they Wee
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 it
was not till seven o'clock in the even
ing that Ethel saw him again. Both
declared that the hours of their Oepara
ton appeared interminable.
But they had their hope, it should
be understood. Paul was not made to be
q clerk all his life-a young man named
Paul could not bel There was some
thing homogeneous about a paul" tot
ting up columns in a ledger and saying
''sT" to an employer-''Paul' suggests
art or literature, calling in Bohemia,
and Paul Weguelin intended to be a
playwright.
He had a 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
tight 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 home
with his little wife's hand in his-a
made man. Ethel would nod her head
approvingly, and if suck conversations
did not do much to advance his ambi-
tons, they were certainly amusing.
Some months before their child was
TO be born, however, a 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.
S'That is what is always done, dear
est" he declared; give gathered as
much as that from the papers. You
see, with the other two plays 1 made
the mistake of writing to please my
self instead of studying the require
ments of a particular management.
Now we'll 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
yered 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 fair start was
made. too, his interest in the thing
grew. His characters appeared to gain
Gfe-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
RS much hers as his, and she would
read it and criticise, and suggest, every
bit as enthralled in it's development as
Re was
It was finished at last and they
posted it 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 a
son, and for awhile even the thought
of his play was banished from his mind
by reason of Ethels illness.
She was very Ill, indeed, poor girl
ont it was not often absent from her
recollection-the drama from which
they hoped so much-a25 she talked of
it in her deliriun, and Il gea5ed lines
from it until Paul thought his heart
would break with pain and terror.
In the terrible time that followed he
had but one 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
ont, and the flame Of the candles on
The toilet table was the only light in
the room. Her eyes were dreadfully
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; it
WAS her. uninn the rathnS Of the moor