Phillipsburg herald. [volume] (Phillipsburg, Kan.) 1882-1905, 1896-08-13


me? Why had not kept my vow Of
killing him when his dream Of Joy was
at its height? Simply because / knew
not where to look for him. He and his
no less guilty companion had left no
trace behind them--no clew that might
be followed until 1t brought me face to
face with them. had made inquiries,
and inquiries were still being made on
my behalf; but as yet had not dscoy-
cred Grants hiding place. He seemed
to be man with, so far as | could as
certain, no friends or connections. Miss
Rossiter, with whom he or Viola might
have correspondent, died two days after
the elopement. Her brother foAnd,
but he could give me no intelligence.
Mr.. Monok, the solicitor, acting, he said,
on instructions, refused to give me any
So could do nothing but grind my
teeth, and long for the hour when my
path might once more cross Eustace
Grants. / was fatalist enough tc be-
lieve that, sooner or later, this must
happen.
lived on in the dreary solitude of
Herstal Abbey. Each day found me
more cynical and misanthropical; but
each day l renewed my VOW of ven
geance. Its accomplishment was the
only thing in life to which | could look
forward. When Grant lay dead Mt my
feet life for me would be at an end. So
the months passed. If the original Jul
liam Lorraine could have seen me, as l
sat hour after hour brooding in his
chair, he would have thought the son Of
his adoption well worthy of his choice.
SO the long months passed. Spring,
summer, autumn, winter came and
went, making little difference to me.
Once or twice forced myself to quit
my seclusion, and pay visit to Lon
don or Paris, in hope of finding distrac-
ton and forgetfulness. My efforts
awaited nothing, and l returned to my
home more moody and miserable than
when left it.
l had, for the sake OF occupation,
performed task until now postponed.
l went through my reputed fathers
letters and private papers. l found
nothing that in any way bore upon my
self, except a written account of the
shipwreck, and my birth on the barren
rock. 1t was signed by the narrator.
Although the existence of this paper
made no difference to me, put 1t away
under lock and key. Yet, for all cared,
the whole world might know that Ju-
liam Lorraine was not my father Such
trivial things as accidents of birth were
now matters of indifference to me.
The other papers burned. l did not
read one-half of them. They clearly
showed what manner of man was
Julian Lorraine before he bought Herstal
Abbey and settled down to the life of a
recluse. My life, I told myself, was
spoiled-spoiled by woman's treach-
cry! And yet I could not bring myself
to hate her. No--let the truth be known
i loved her even now-loved her, al
though she was living in shame with
my enemy. I hungered, craved for a
sight of her face. The touch of her
hand would have thrilled me as Of old.
Although 1 told myself that were she at
my feet praying for pardon / would
spurn her and cast her from me, knew
that l lied. / knew that If Viola came
to me-if my eyes once more met hers
Il should throw all manhood's pride to
the winds, and-such was the strength
of my passion-take this faithless wom-
an to my heart, and hold her there UNI
til, as 1 told myself bitterly, some fresh
lover robbed me again.
Such being my true feeling, picture
my emotion when, one morning, l found
a letter lying on my table--a letter adj
dressed to me in Violas handwriting!
I tore it open with cry Of delight; l
pressed it to my lips. Had not her
fingers touched it? Then l read. 1t
was but one line:
"If you knew all, you might forgive"
"If l knew allw What more was
there to know? l knew that she had
left me without word or sign Of warn
ing that she had fed, accompanied by
man who had loved her passionately
long before / ever set eyes upon her;
that they were, somewhere or other,
hidden from pursuit. Heaven! what
more could l wish to know?
ITO RE coNTINUED.I