The Dupuyer acantha. [volume] (Dupuyer, Mont.) 1894-1904, 1896-03-26

would go back to her carriage, she
said. But he coaxed her. And because
she loved him, because it was a delight
to her to be with him once more, even
if their interview was as full of pain as
of pleasure, she stayed.
At last, though she would not yield to
| his %entreaties, she gave a h~alf-consent
| to his proposal that she should take
| lodgings for the ensuing week in the
house where he was going to stay.
This seemed a very good suggestion, as
the town to which they were going was
notorious for the badness of it's lodg-
ings, and the poor Scotch inn where
Cyril and the manager were going to
stay, offered a prospect of comparative
luxury.
But Constance, when she again sat
back in her corner of the railway car
rage, found herself dwelling with so
much eagerness on the pleasure she
would have in being for a week in the
society Of the man she loved, that she
recognized with fear that the joy was,
in fact, a temptation. When, therefore,
Cyril came to the door of the compart-
ment, at their journeys end, he found
that her mood and her manner had
changed.
Come" said he, gently, as he took
her bag and offered her his hand. 1--WE
shall have to walk but it isn't far to
the hotel"
She looked steadily before her with a
white face.
THANK you. But I've changed my
mind. / am going to stay with Mrs.
Browning"
And chn vyo1lya1 n,ria1y1r ouvou with
out giving him time for protest or re-
ply.
There was no reward of virtue for
poor Constance. All that week Cyril
| devoted himself to Miss F%airbrother,
and Constance, although she managed
to hide the misery she felt, could not
| stifie it. She felt that she loved this
man so deeply that her powers of re-
sistance were growing unequal to the
strain. After all, was there not truth
IN what she urged, that she owed no
duty to the man who had so neglected
her? This nominal husband, that must
indeed, be dead. For three years she
had heard nothing of him. Was she
not free, in law as well as morally, to
contract a fresh marriage?
So she had tortured herself, and
| lICdu" Willie hCIl aIOol Go bltSll 40 pOSSl-
BILE from all intercourse with Cyril ex-
cept on the stage. But the parts they
played were those of lovers, and the
harassed woman felt that they be-
trayed their feelings in every word, in
every look, that they were forced to ex-
change in the business Of the stage.
At the end of the week. as she left
the theater after her nights work, the
h%allkeeper told her that there was a
ma outside waiting for her.
He wanted to come in and wait here,
miss, but he was too drunk to stand,
and l wouldn't let him in. There he is,
by the doorway. If you go the other
way you'll miss him"
But Constance was looking at the hui
man wreck the man pointed out with
wide eyes, full of fear. She knew him,
changed though he was.
He was in rags; a dirty, haggard, APP
palling spectacle. She answered the
hall keeper by a gesture rather than
by words, and made a step in the di-
rection of the doorway within the shell
ter of which her husband was stand
ing.
He staggered forward and clutched
! her arm. AS she stopped Cyril Ard
ener came out by the stage door on his
way homeward. He uttered an excla-
nation of disgust and darted forward
to send the wretch about his business.
With one quick movement he released
her, and supporting her trembling fig.
ure In his arms, said quickly:
my poor darling! Don't be fright
ened. I'll see you home"
The other man uttered a hoarse
sound meant for a laugh. He was
sinking away without a word, when
Constance recovered herself.
LET me go. Let me go, Cyril" she
whispered. at is-my husband"
Cyril was so much shocked that he
was speeches.. Before he could re
cover from his disgust and amazement
Miss Fairbrother, pretty, bright, brim
ming over as usual with provocative
coquetry, ran out and stopped at the
strange group. She had caught Con
stances words and her face was a pic
! ture of amusement, horror and mali
ciOus satisfaction by turns.
Constance gave Cyril inc eloquent
look, full of pathetic sadness, of rigi(
determination. Then she glanced a
the young girl, who seemed unable t.
pass the group.
"Take her home" she said in a low
voice.
And she turned to her husband.
"Tom." she said, "are you coming
home with meY'
Eyes, if you'll have me-" he an
swered in a hoarse voice.
He was less grateful than sullen
spiritless. Perhaps he was hardly so
ber; but his lettering footsteps wer,
the result of illness rather than intoX
iao tior Sha LODI hin, fo hop ln1rino c
got him some clothes, gave him foo,
and placed him in a chair by the fire
In all that she did there was no pre-