The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1895-02-08
A FATAL STEP.

They drove up the road in silence. Will
son had reiapsed into his usual absent
mindedness, and Selma played with the /
silver handle of her parasol.
When the silence had lasted for good I
while, Wilson broke it abruptly:
What do you mean to do, then?' he I
asked. go back to town."
81 don't know /
''But you must know" he said in his |
peremptory way, with his pleasant smile.
Don't you think, - he went on, ''don't
you think, my dear, tL45 you are just
little unreasonable? You have come here
to spend a few days with my uncle and |
aunt. You like the country. You like
everything until my cousin happens to
come out to speak to me- Suddenly you
conclude not to remain. Now, what would
any ordinary person call that?"
Jealousy, - said Selma calmly. '.Jeal
ousy, suppose. But it isn't that. 1 can
be jealous of you in town if l wish. 1t
isn't jealousy; it's intuition. 1 can't help
it. 1t was just look that flashed across
her face-just look"
Wilson laughed softly.
women are queer things,'' he said.
Half an hour later they were back at the
vicarage. Miss Susan Fielding who was
not plain-beyond the fact that she had
not the Dresden china delicacy of Selma
Rogers-was sitting in the porch.
did you have a pleasant driver" she
inquired of Wilson.
ASK Miss Rogers" he said good hui
moredly. Railways enjoy driving, espe
cially here in the country
Selma did not speak. She looked for
chair in the porch and made her way to
it, trembling a little in the knees. Miss
Susan and Willie Wilson stood talking by
the carriage. She could not hear what
they were saying. She was trying to rea-
son with housekeeping to control and
compel herself with a tremendous effort.
After a long time he came and sat be-
side her and spoke to her Then she opened
her eyes and smiled at him.
''All right now?' he asked in a tone of
gentle raillery. "No more jealousy?'
81 think the sun must have affected
me. 1t was terribly hot driving. I must
go to my room and lie down."
She did not go down to dinner, but beg
ged for cup of tea to be sent up to her.
And as dusk came on sho still lay with
her face in the pillow.
1t was rambling old house, with bal
comics on each story-and vines and rose
bushes everywhere-an ideal place for low
ers. Yet she did not wish to see Wilson
again that evening, nor did he send ask
ing if she would come down.
1t was cool and quiet. The only sub
dued noise was the water of the sound
nearly a mile away, washing softly on the
pebbles-the only sound.
1t might have been midnight when she
heard voices. And one was the voice OF
| her lover.
She stepped through the window to tho
upper balcony. The night was cloudy.
No ono could see her in the shadow of tho
deep green trees. And then, listening, she
heard her own name spoken by Susan
| Fielding.
She listened intently. There was no
| dishonor in her intention. Now she should
know the truth and know what to do.
Sometimes, - said Wilson slowly,
sometimes we cannot help ourselves, Su-
san. We would like to do one thing and
we drift through circumstances into a di-
rectly opposite direction. Men love one
woman and marry another. They have to
make the best of it,
Then Susan's voice, thick with re-
proachful tears, slightly tremulous, yet
with an effort at defiance:
1t was her money, suppose. Money
| always attracts men,
Some men. The people have loved
most in my life have not had penny, >
he answered. 'Susie, don't make life
harder for me. 1t is hard enough to SET
your tears and feel that
He broke off suddenly. He must have
heard the sob of anguish, the dry sob witt
which the heart of Selma Rogers broke il
that instant in the balcony above.
Whats the matter?' whispered Susa1
Fielding, clinging to him.
Hush! Nothing. Go into the hous;
quickly"
He remained out little longer, walked
away from the house and gazed up a
where he supposed Selina's window to be
The hours crept on. 1t was not ye
dawn. Selma Rogers had lighted a candle
and sat writing. When she had finished
the note was brief. 1t was addressed &
William Wilson.
My dear friend, 1 am feeling very il
and think that the sun has given me
slight stroke. / shall rise early-ver.
early-and walk to the sound, hoping tn
salt air will do me good. If anythin,
should happen to me, / must tell you tina
1 long since made a will in your favor
having no near relatives or truer frieni
than yourself
Then the candle went out, and Selin
Rogers crept quietly from the house an
down the silent road toward the water.
1t was not Susan Fielding, but serv
ant, who wens up and found the letter i
the mirror frame 1t was O'Clock, an
she had not returned
Wilson, when he had read the note
stood like a stone image. Then he SAL
the stableman coming round from tn
stable.
Put saddle on my horseI'' he erie
huskily. Quick, for goodness sakeF'
Half way to the beach he met some me
bringing up her body on a stretcher. II
got off his horse and fell fainting on tn
! road.
He did not marry Susan Fielding or an
other woman, but died himself a year {
. two later. Susan had married another ST
months after Selina's death.
, Death is a great Fighter of wrongs.
, Pearson's Weekly.
Ethyl Frances Baker. in her illustrate
lecture. Ober Ammergau and its Pa