The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1896-08-02

chief. The others. who were summoned
hastily TO the spot. went off in different
directions TO obtain help and fetch the doc
tor and a stretcher. and he was left alone
with lie Marchant.
The dying man opened his eyes at last
and recognized him.. He began TO speak
I'm this pocket he said. there is a
letter her letter . She want
ed II back and / refused. Take it,"
Without understanding in the least what
pocket indicated and drew out a well-worn
leather case.
yes. in there. i suppose it is all
IN with me now. . . Tell her"
Avoncourt drew forth from the case a
thing oddly familiar about the handwriting
arrested his attention Yes. it was hers.
was simply directed to Eric lie Marchant
at some club in Pail Mall: the crest upon
IL. a lion PEASANT. with the motto. For
liter ct ~recte.' belonged 10 the Fairfax
family.
He hesitated a moment. then thrust it
into his own pocket. Eric lie Marchant
was still staring at him, but the eyes were
ceased to come in short. quick gasps.
Lord Avoncourt felt his pulse. listened for
answering .throb. The doctor, arriving on
the scene shortly afterward, pronounced
lie Marchant to be dead.
Lord Avoncourt walked homeward with
his brain in a whirl. He was thinking less
of the terrible accident that day than of
the letter which was lying in his coat
of his wife in her cleaning white. satin
dress at Lady Tadcaster's ball rose before
accompanied by his own words. SO care,
lessly spoken. "A p~ink-and-white POSSIBLE
ity."
A cold feeling of fear clutched his heart.
Was that calm indifference of hers. that
icy exterior only a mask? Were all her
possibilities of love awakened before his
MI Hv eL~ hAnI -A-n l.
voice?
He was sitting with his wife late that
evening in the study at Greylands. They
preferred that room when they were alone.
Dorothy wore a white tea gown and looked
very young and ,girlish. They had been
talking in hushed tones of the accident.
Presently he pulled an envelope out of his
pocket and thrust il carelessly toward her.
lie Marchant gave me this before he
died" he said. carefully ironing his voice
of every trace of expression. land j thought
as it was yours, l had better give it back
TO you."
Her heart beat: the superscription danced
before her eyes. dazzling her. By the thick
ness of the envelope she guessed that the
letter was still inside it. She knew he had
not read it. At that moment he was the
star, she the worm. She was unworthy of
him, of his kiss: of his touch, more than
all. of his love. She crept toward him and
put il back in his hand.
My husband" she said, II ought have
told you long ago, Read it now.
He looked into her face. There was an
guish u~nspeakable. The mask was gone,
leaving only a beautiful. suffering woman.
He arose, letter in hand, and went TO the
fireplace.
The next moment a flash of flame and n
thin blue wreath of smoke leaped up from
the heart of the fre-then a few charred
scraps of paper fell forward upon the tiles.
One atom only had escaped destruction.
Lord Avoncourt stopped and picked 1t up.
The printed words. "Fortiter ct recte' were
visible upon it. With a smile which had
lost nothing of devotion or confidence, he
handed 1t to his wife.
London Truth.