The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1897-10-27

me for it, John?"
al never laid IL up against your he
answered. AZ reckoned it was natural,
and l knew you wasn't well, so tried
to forget all about that part of our life,
and I've done it--almost."
"The rest of my story is harder to
tell and harder to listen to. You re-
member that Willis came back and
hunted Us up. He came at the worst
time for all Of US. L was set against
you and half wild about baby's death
and reckless TO everything.
ale found that out and kept pleading
with me and urging me to go away
with him. ought to have sent him
away, but I-didn't. IL was as though
some evil spirit put the words into his
mouth-and listened-God help me,
| listened.
She started to her feet and stood fac
ing her husband, her arms raised to her
head in wild gesture.
at was no fault OF mine that did
not sin against you in deed as | did In
thoughtp' she cried. ''If it had not
been for some aecident-I don't even
know what it was-I should not have
been here now. l went to meet him
one night. We were to drive to Oak
ley and take the train for some place.
l waited l don't know how many
hours, but he didn't come. At last 1
crept home and found you asleep.
"In the morning while you were
away letter came saying an unforeseen
accident had happened, and he would
let me know about it soon. / never
heard from him again."
She paused and looked at him fear
fully as though expecting violent out
burst of anger, but he said nothing,
and at last she spoke again.
wont you speak to me?" she cried,
tremulously. Haven't you been list
ening? Have l done wrong to tell
you? Speak to me, for Gods sake! 1
can't bear it."
The words were lost in a storm of
sobbing, and she threw herself down
on her knees beside him, hiding her
face with her hands on the arm of the
old fashioned chair.
"Don't take on so, Eunie," he said,
gently. you'll be glad all the rest of
your life, think, on account of jest
what you are crying about now. Look
up, my dear, and may be 1 can finish
the story for you. You say you never
knew why he didn't come that night?
l could a-toId you why.
"You?' she cried.
"Yes," he answered. "Jest me. He
staid away because L told him he'd
better, and he knowed / meant what
said. Did you think was so blind all
them months that l didn't see what
was happenin'? I'd knowed it if L
had been mile, away, for there amt
never any trouble in your heart but
what l don't feel it. 1 jest stepped ia
an talked 70 Willis. lie understood,
an that settled it."
"Then you've known" she inter-
rupted breathlessly. you've known
all this timer"
He nodded ehecrfully. "All this
time" he answered.
"But you never said word to me
you never acted as though"
''It's always harder for me to talk
than to keep still, he said, slowly.
"Surely you've found that out long
ago. l could not a-said a word with
out maxim things worse, most likely,
so thought the best thing to do was
to jest wait-an' I've been waitin'."
"Waitingr' she repeated. Waiting
for what?"
"For what's happened, Eunie," he
said, softly.
The woman was clinging to his arm
and weeping convulsively.
"Twasn't your fault, little GIRL" he
said. "It's jest happened that way.
There amt no need to cry about it
now. The time for cryin's all gone
past, an l don't think it'll come
again. London Mail.