The evening tribune. (Pawtucket, R.I.) 189?-190?, 1897-06-04

. serious way at making all right HUI
suddenly an idea popped into his jolly
head.
"I'n turn IL all into.p Joke" no said to
himself. "I'll mako Dory well ashamed
Of herself, the darling. I'll write love
lettnr or two, and put them In my pocket
and let her find thofn. Then theroll be u
row, and whom it's gone far enough I'll
out with the truth. A bit Of joke settles
things the best way"
II seemed such u comical idea that no
burst out laughing ovor his breakfast and
nearly chokod himself twice In trying to
swallow his joke with his coffee.
However, no had not time to carry out
his plan until Sunday came.
Then, while his wife was busy over tho
dinnr, he took from Its hiding place d
little parcel Of pink tinted paper with q
rose nt tho top OF the sheet and conoocted
three idiotic and extravagant love letters,
signed them, "Your best beloved and ever
loving Fanny Ann" and put them into
envelopes and addressed them to himself.
Ho was rather clever with his pen, and
initiated a womnn's hand very well.
Having first sealed these up, and then
cut them open again, he hid them In tho
pockets Of the clothes no wore on holidays,
and which he did not wear on working
days, and on Monday when he went to
work left them hanging In the wardrobe,
There they might have remained, for
Doris had grown ashamed Of her sus-
picions Of Owen and determined never
again to ransack his pockets, but that
Aunt Sarah. dropped In again after Owen
had left ths house.
"Out againr' she said, with nod.
Eyes, and hard at work, poor boy" re-
piled Doris. "Aunt Sarah, I'm sure that
he Is as true to me as one angel could be
to another"
'I should like to look through his pock-
cts. though" giggled Aunt Sarah.
"Look. then, said Doris, throwing open
tho wardrobe door. "There are his
things"
Aunt Sarah took her at her word, and In
. moment moro her shrill, vixenish voice
cried out:
"Three pink notes, my dear, and all
signed Fanny Annp
An hour afterward Doris sat at the GEN.
ter table In her little parlor sobbing vio-
lently.
The light from the shaded lamp fell up
on the three pink notes all wet with tears,
Owens compositions as we know, and SO
absurdly rapturous and idiotic that they
would have betrayed the fact that they
were jokes to any but jealous woman.
But Doris, In her woe and wrath, had
very little common sense left.
Aunt Sarah, frightened by the storm
her own deed had raised, had taken her
departure, and Doris had resolved to wait
for Ovens return, show him the letters
and at once 60 home to her mother.
For awhile 1t had seemed to her that
she would find at home refuge and con-
ISOLATION for all her woes. Then she began
to Vince with modification. To tell her
mother that Owen was false to her would
not be so bad, but that her sisters should
kpoW 1t, her friends, Jacks wife, the
whole c0hnectionl
"Oh, life would not be worth living un-
der such circumstances Doris cried out,
and then an awful thought crept into her
mind and gained strength there. A jeal-
Gus man or woman Is q maniac. Let that
be an excuse for Doris when she cried out
at last:
death is the only curcl Death! Death!
And If God will not kill me, must kill
myself" - ss.
At O'Clock Owen opened tho door of
his fat and went in. Things did not look
as usual. The kitchen fro had gone out,
and no little snack had been kept warm
for him. The bed in the little bedroom
was still neatly made up, and no one had
slept in it that night. In the parlor the
lamp was yet burning, but Doris was not
there.
AS no looked about him he saw doors
and drawers open and things scattered
about, and nameless terror began to
possess him.
"Doris" he called aloud, but there was
no answer. He walked to the table
There lay three sheets of pink paper with
a weight upon them to keep them from
blowing away, and beside them another
letter, addressed to himself. Poor Owen
could hardly command himself sufficiently
to tear this open and read the contents.
have read Fanny Ann s letters. Aunt Sarah
found them in your pocket. Oh, Oweni !
thought you loved me, but your heart has been
stolen by that wicked woman. / was not pref
ty enough to keep you true, but now that you
are false l do not care to live any longer. /
am going to drown myself and leave you free.
Your broken hearted DORIS.
And this, then, was how his joke had
ended. This was what he had brought
about. Doris had killed herself. Then
he would follow her example. But first
he must find her body and pay 1t the last
honors. He caught up his hat and left
his desolate home, the tears gushing from
his eyes as he remembered how happy he
had been there
When he reached the street, he stood be-
wildered, asking himself which way he
should go, what he should do. Then it
came to him that he must report the hor-
rible facts at the station house and have
an alarm sent out. The police would
know what to do better than he could,
and with heavy steps and reeling brain he
sought tho big brick building before which
the great lamps hung, and entered In.
Late as 1t was there was littlo crowd
there, gathered about something that lay
in the middle of the floor.
A horrible thought struck Owen-per-
hnps it might 10 his wife's body ON which
they gazed.
"What Is itf" he gnspcd, with white
lips that could scarcely form sound.
"Young woman jumped into the river"
said policeman.
"My Godr cried Owen, bursting
through the crowd and falling on his knees
before the wet figure lying on the floor