The representative. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1893-1901, 1895-02-27


How can i even tell yon. and break your
heart even as mine Is broken now. Mon
Dieu! what shall l do? how can l tell
you? And it must be told l had mace
you your death blow, for that is what my
wretched secret will be, sister, your deatn
blow
The face of the elder girl has grown
white and haggard while her sister IS
speaking, and she can scarcely shape ner
lips to form words, so cold and stiff have
they grown with horror she feels is
about to fall upon her life.
What can you mean, Aleza! TEL me
quick; don't keep in this fearful sus-
pense Surely, it cannot be anything so |
very dreadful. What could you, my own |
little innocent sister, do to break my heart? |
You sick and nervous, mignon, my |
sweet one. Let me brush out your hair |
and battle your flushed face with something |
cooling. l will send Daddy JO' for DIR. |
Robins early tomorrow morning, for | am |
afraid you are going to have run OF |
fever. Your head is so hot and throbs
with pain I know, does it not, ma chere!
And thus Mae tried to delude herself |
into believing that her sister is suffering |
from nervousness and fever but at the |
same time something seems to whisper to
her frightened heart that never again Will
the sunshine of happiness shed it's glorious
flood of light over her pathway
mo, no. Mae, sister, if you will let me
call you by that dear name, do not delude
yourself into thinking that l am crazed
with illness or bodily suffering-though
God knows it may not be long before that
dreadful fate may be mine. Come closer to
me- No, keep away. Don't let the hem
of your garment touch me! You look at
with wonder and fright in your eyes.
but in a short time, after l have told you
what l must, you will shrink from me,
your only sister, with horror and disgust.
You will never wish to look upon my face
again, or hear my name spoken Mon
Dieu! How shall l tell herr" Again the
agonized face is hidden in the bed clothes
and the slight form writhes and trembes,
shaken and torn by the black despair that
fills her young heart and soul. All this
time Mae gazes upon her with eyes filled
with fear and terror that cannot be de-
scribed. At last she goes over to the bed
side, and kneeling by the unhappy girl,
clasps her arms around her and begS her
to explain the trouble and secret grief that
is lying between them like a dark wall of
separation. These two loving sisters, who
have always been everything to each other,
for they have no one else; and she tells
her with many an endearing caress that
she can confess nothing wicked or fool
ish that she, the older one who has been
both mother and sister, will not forgive
and lend her strength and help to undo
whatever she may have committed through
thoughtlessness or a mistaken sense OF
duty.
But you do not know-you cannot imag
inc what l am about to tell you. You
cannot understand what gulf it will for
ever put between us, but it must come
Only give me time to nerve my courage up
to blast my sisters whole life. If l could
only die, but try as l might, l could rot
bring myself to do the fatal deed-that of
taking my own life. l have been almost
upon the verge, but something seems to
hold me back-perhaps my angel mothers
| hands, who knows? But I must tell you,
for there is no time to lose. No, don't put
| your arms around me or touch me. l can
not bear it, knowing how soon you will
| shrink and turn from me, as you would
| Mary Magda len / will turn my face from
| you, for l do not want to see the horror
| and aversion creep into your eyes, or the
! cruel smile of anger, disgust and unfcr-
| giveness change the tender, loving curves
| of your crimson lips into hard, set, rigid
| lines of hate and distrust"
| And as Mae Ashley listens to her sisters
confession the glad happiness and light of
| hope dies out of her face; the fresh girl
| ish expression is exchanged for Woman's
despair deep, terrible and lasting-an ex-
preston that is indeliby stamped upon
| those fair features that nothing but death
| can remove.
You will see that I am righted Mae,
will never call you sister again, and you
will not wait, but go to him today-now,
| for every moment is precious"
| Yes the cold, steady voice of the girl
suddenly transformed into a woman with
an aching heart and grief burdened soul,
| replies. II will see that you are righted,
| if you call it that, or believe there is any
| such thing as righting this thing, l will
| do my best"
| II saw him last night, and told him I
was going to tell you today, SO he knows
and will be waiting for you out in the
| grove somewhere.
Mae passes from the ROOM down stairs
and out among the flowers and trees. The
moonlight flooding everything with it's soft,
mellow light, the dew resting upon the
sleeping flowers. their sweet breath floating
out upon the summer night air like the
breath of angels. But the beauty of the
home that has always been SO dear to
Mae Ashley is passed by without being
seen. She does not know how she reaches
the little summer house standing in the
very heart of the thickest part of the
grove, nor can she explain why her foot
steps are directed toward that particular
spot, but something, an inward intuition,
seemed to lead her there and she found
him, as she knew she would.
| With bowed head he listened to his SEN
tence as a convict might, no words escap-
ing his lips until her cold steady, con-
demning voice paused a moment; she did
not even glance at him-this man who had
long been her promised husband, whose
strong arms had many times EMBODIED her
girlish FORM and upon whose warm
throbbing heart the dark head with its
clustering hair had often rested in perfect
love and confidence.
AS her voice dies away he lifts his head
and in a voice she would never have rec
ognized as that of her lover, he says:
MAY God have mercy upon us both
| Mae, for surely we are the playthings OF
| fate, and l am bound to keep silent and lei
| you believe me false to all the vows
| have ever made. But believe me, there
/ will come a day when you will understand
: and know what have suffered and borne
| for you and yours
He turns without another word, and il
tS Inst 70 xria fhn
After they are gone-her sister ant
5 Mae Ashley takes up the broken thread
| and lives on, she scarcely knows how
| Five years creep by, and she has never
heard one word from them in all tina
l time. At last, one day, letter comes t.
r her, and she knows from the writing upo1
the envelope who it is from. Shall sh
f open it or burn it without looking at it
r contents? Something bids her see wha
!. her sister has to say after the long silenc
J., | that has fallen between them, and sh
/ breaks the seal.
my Dear Sister-If I may call you 70
: the last time on EARTH for I am a dyin
d woman, and have a confession to make
y and great wrong to right. I told 70
that your lover Cyril Farley was tn
s author of my ruin; and never were word
t more false. When you sent me away t
make me learn to forget Robert Greysol
n I told him where I going and he TO
e lowed me there. We met every day, an
6 with his promises of love, truth and faith
r fulness sounding in my deluded ears
y yielded up my virtue, and then, oh, Goo
r he sneered and laughed at my innocef