Vilas County news. [volume] (Eagle River, Vilas County, Wis.) 1896-1927, 1896-12-21

| She took my nand. w nom else haV2
| to trust" she saio simply. Basil.
/ you have been very good to me- | have
made your life miserable; it is too Late
to atone; but | SHAH never forget these
! days.
Her eyes were full of tears. l kissed
her hand reyerently, and told her that
| when | saw the ola smile back upon
her lips, all | had doht would be thou
sand times repaid; bul as | spoke | tTem-
bled at the thought OF what might be III
store for both Of rs.
We drove to ROdins, and were perforce
obliged to take the road which passed
/ by Mrs. Wilson'S house. Philippa half
| rose from her seat, and seemed to be on
the point Of asking me some question;
but she changed her mind. and relapsed
| into silence. | felt a horrible dread lest
the roadside objects and landmarks
should awaken recollection, and my
| heart beat violently as we neared the
white heap by the hedge, that heap
which l believed held our secret | felt
that / grew deadly pale | was forced
to turn my head away and look out of
was not made easier by knowing that
Philippa was gazing at me with
that troubled look in her eyes.
Altogether | felt that the strain
was becoming too much for me,
and | began to wonder il my life would
/
ment.
After long silence, Philippa spoke.
''Tell me, Basil, have you heard from
that man?''
shook my head.
| where is he? He was coming that
night. Did he. Gomez"
Il suppose not. Why do you ask?'
"Basil, kind of horrible dream
haunts me. There was something
dreamed of that fearful night-some-
thing | dream of now Tell me what it
was"
The perspiration rose to my brow.
Dearest" [ said. ''no wonder you
dream. You are we'll now,. but that
night you were quite out of your senses.
/ Your fancies are but the remains of that
/ dellrium. Ehink no more of that
wretch; he is probably living in Paris,
after the manner of his kind. Think
only that life is going to be calm and
/ happy"
Anything to keep the knowledge Of her
fatal act from her! | forced myself to
talk in light, cheerful manner [ Jest
! ed at the appearance of the few nuf-
/ hed-up country people whom we passed
on the road. pointed out the beauty of
the trees on the wayside, each branch Of
which bore foliage of glistening snow.
did all / could to turn her thoughts into
other channels-to drive that strange,
questioning look from her eyes. Right
/ glad l felt when we were at last in the
train, and the first stage Of our flight an
ACCOMPLISHED fact
| Upon reaching London, [ drove
/ straight to the hotel at which my moth
! er was staying. 1t was one of chose
| high-prlced, respectable, private hotels
| in Jermyn street. / engaged rooms for
my sister and myself. [ sent Philippa
| to her room to rest, and then went to
| find my mother. In another minute /
was in her arms, and ere half an hour
was over | had told her Philippas story,
and my love for the woman on whose
behalf | besought her protection.
| Yes, | had done right to trust to her.
| l knew her noble nature; her utter free
| dom from the petty trammels of society.
[ knew the love she bore her son. Let
me here thank her once more for what
| she did for me that day.
She heard all my outpourings in ST
lence. | told her all, save two things
the name of the man who had wronged
my love. and the fate which had over
taken him. / told her, as | have told
you, how had loved-how loved Phil
! ippa; how [ now dared to hope that
| in time to come my love would
take my poor girl to her heart, and, by
treating her as a daughter, restore, if it
| were possible. her self-respect.
My mother heard me. Her sweet face
grew shade paler. Her lips quiv-
cred, and the tears stood in her eyes.
| [ knew all that was passing through her
mind. [ knew how proud she was Of
me, and what great things she had hoped
[ should do in the world. She was a
woman, and, woman-like, had counted
upon her sons lettering himself in mar
| rage; but. in spite of all this, knew
I was right in counting upon her aid.
| Once again, my sweet mother, l thank
| you.
She rose. ''Let me see the woman
you love. Where is she? / will go
| to her."
''She is here. in this house. All, moth
err knew you would do this for me"
| She kissed my forehead. Bring her
to me-" she said.
| I went out and sent word to Philippa
| that | wanted her. She soon came to
me. She had removed the stains of
travel, and although pale, looked the
| perfection of graceful beauty. | led her
| to my mothers room. She stopped short
as she saw it was tenanted by lady.
| A quick blush crossed her cheek.
''Philippa. dearest" / said, ''this is my
mother. | have told her all, and she
is willing to welcome you"
| Still she stood motionless, save that her
head bent down and her bosom heaved.
My mother came to her side, and, plac-
| ing her kind arms round her, whispered
some words which [ neither heard nor
| tried to hear. Phlllppa broke into a
storm of sobs, and for some moments
wept on my mothers shoulder.
Then she raised her head and looked at
me and my heart leaped at the express
| sion in her fearful eyes. Basil. my
| brother, you are too good to me!' she
/ calculated.
Ny mother led her to the sofa, and,
with her arms still round her, sat down
| by her side. / left them, knowing that
my love had now the truest, noblest
| heart to sob against: the quickest, most
sympathetic ear to listen to the tale of
her wrongs: and the softest, kindest
voice to soothe and console her.
All! how happy [ should have felt,
could that one nights dark work have
/ been undone-could that white tomb for
| ever hold it's CHASTITY secret!
| CHAPTER VII.
THE MELTING OF THE SNOW.
The first stage of our flight toward
safety accomplished, [ sat down to once
| more review the situation. and to take