The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936, 1896-03-13

my mother was distracted. The
shock threw her into a fever, and La her
delirious rawlings my father learned the
whole story. Nothing was kept back.
He knew that she had loved Rudolph
that she had deceived him every day
since their marriage, and that this IN
~scrupulous man had visited her several
times since their residence at Auvergne.
He was a proud and painfully sensitive
man, and his whole soul was outraged.
He fancied himself the most bitterly
wronged of all the human race. He
grew cruel and relentless toward the
woman he had SO loved. When at last
she returned to consciousness, she
found herself deserted by her husband.
He had gone to the east, he said in a
brief epistle which he left behind him;
he knew everything. He never wished
to ,ook upon her face again. He had
left ample provision for her, and begged
her to bring up her children in the paths
Of virtue and honor.
"This was a terrible blow to my
mother, but her affection for her chill
dren, and the care she was obliged to
bestow on them, kept her up. She
made every effort in her power to as
certain the fate of her lost Evangeline,
but Vainly. She lever heard from or
saw John Rudolph for ten years. She
wrote to her husband, putting aside all
her pride for her child's ~sake-wrote to
nnfrnof hin, m frt- n nd EpJ fhn Loot nsrl Z.
but if the letter EVER reached him he
gave it no heed. 1t was never replied to.
Then she applied to her father in Eng
land. But he was a stern old man, and
he fancied his pride injured and his
house ~dishonored by the fact that his
daughter had been deserted by her hus-
band, and he refused to take any step
in the matter. So my poor mother was
left desolate. Nothing, I think, but her
strong love for Genie and myself kept
her alive.
"Ten years after Eva was stolen, late
ore evening there came to our house a
tall, dark man, whom l now know was
John Rudolph. He was closeted a long
time with my mother, and when she
came out her face was paler that its
wont, and her eyes were red with weep
ing. Then l did not know wherefore.
but now l know that he had come to tell
her that Eva still lived; that she was in
America, and that if she would raise
him a certain sum he would reveal the
child's exact whereabouts. This condi-
ton she could not comply with, and he
left her in a rage.
Il think the constant worry about
this missing child wore out my mothers
life. Her days were shortened by it.
Two years ago she received a letter
from my father. He was lying on his
death-bed, in an obscure Russian vii
lage. He confessed how much he had
Wronged her, expressed a sincere re-
p%entance, and begged her to come to
him. He longed SO ineXpressibly for a
sight of her face. She was not really
able to undertake the journey, but could
not be dissuaded from attempting it. I
went with her. We found my father
just on the borders of the mystic river,
but waiting to see her ere he crossed
1T was a solemn scene. He lay on a
great bed. heavily cu%rtained, in a lofty
room, gloomy with shadows; his face
as white as marble, but for the hectic
f1ushes in his cheeks. His great. eager
eyes were fastened upon the door by
we entered-he was watching for
her to come. He started up at the
sound of her footstep, and extended his
feeble arms.
go Regina! o Reginar he cried, pitt
fully, you have come at last!'
"She went forward, and lifted his
head to her bosom, and put her face
against his. She did not weep, but
shook like an aspen, and grew so very
white that l feared it would be too much
for her.
"'Will you forgive me?" he cried. o,
[ have wronged you so deeply! If you
had only told me all that at the very
CT know, Pierre, I sinned then; but
they persuaded me it would be best.
And afterward, I feared to lose your
love. We have both erred; let us mu-
,ually forgive