Hot Springs weekly star. (Hot Springs, S.D.) 1892-1917, 1898-11-04
By Ma,zou v Hollis eco

Old memories came rushing over her OF
the young brother, who had died like a
hero; of the kind, generous father who
had never uttered an angry word; of the
''old home" as it stood c%mbowered with
trees. Her heart went back to those child
ish, happy days, so different from the
drcary present. Then the waltz ended,
and the dancers sought the cool, lighted
grounds. She was only disturbed from
her revcrie by the rustic of II woman's
dress, and the sound of n mans voice,
speaking in n subducd tone. Raising her
head, she saw that on the other side OF
the orange tree there was a garden chair
oil it sat her husband and Beatrice
Leigh.
You will still be one of u.s." Lord Wv
ian was saying, although you are going
from us. l shall miss you sorcly, Ben
%trice."
Not as 1 shall miss you," she cried,
passionately; II am nothing to you, while
you-you arc"
WHAT? he asked, for the words had
died upon her false lips.
You are everything 10 me-" she said.
when l LEAVE your roof, i leave my
world behind me-
DO him justice. He never dreamed of
the guilty love that had mastered her.
He a Sclwyn. of Sclwyn Castlc-the de-
sccndant of stainless women and brave
mcn'-could not even imagine a woman
capable of seeking to undermine his
faith. He believed that she was speak
ing of the calm brotherly and sisterly If
lection that he thought had always exist
cd between them.
poor Beatrice" he said, taking the
| white hand in his. II am sorry you must
go."
He did not see the suppressed passion
in her face-the eager light of her eyes
as, bent upon mischief. she continued:
II wish-forgive me if l speak too free
ly-I wish that l left you happier, Wv
ian. Tho world begins 10 talk of you as
a disappointed man.
He sighed deeply, and that sigh fell like
Il dcath-knell on the young wifc's heart.
"Whether my life is made or married."
lie said gravcly. II am responsible for
my own fate"
lit might all have been so different
continued Beatrice. '.Ah. Vivian, your
marriage ought to have crowned your
life
AS l have ] must reap he said
i'lttI IL SIltlNc WI VII IliIiiltS. lJO lDl
talk 10 me of this, Beatrice. Ii there has
been n mistake, it has been mine, and
mine alone"
Then came some half-murmured words
from Miss Leigh. Lady Volante could
not hear them. hut her husbands reply
was perfectly audible.
Il do thank you. Beatrice. for Your
Kindness 10 her: poor child, she suffers
for my mistake"
Lower still dropped the golden head
lower, until it rested on the smooth stem
of the orange tree. She clasped her hands
before her face, lest. in the madness of
her despair. she should be tempted to cry
out. She bit her lips. she clinched her
slender hands until her rings made great
indcntations in thcm-anything rather
than cry aloud.
This is my real good-by," said Bea-
trice Leigh. Il do not suppose I shall
sec you again alone, Vivian"
The bright moonshine showed him the
tears in her dark eyes,, as she raised her
beautiful face to his; and the love in it
was so great. the sorrow so real, that he
bent his head and kissed her forehead, as
her own brother might have done. Re-
member, they had been brought up as
| children Of one mother for many years.
"Good-by, Beatrice" he said. Heaven
bless you for your love to me, and your
| kindness 10 my wife,"
But those words. which must have OPEN
ed her eyes TO her folly. were unheard by
Lady Violante. Through the silver leaves
| she had seen that kiss. She judged her
husband not by her reason, but by her
jealousy. and the sight drove her mad.
They rose from the garden seat and
/ walked away. She crouched lower amid
the orange trees md prayed her old pray
er:
"Oh. that I were dead and he were
frcc!."
Then she rose, and trampling the sweet
almond blossoms under her feet, walked
quietly back to the house. The music
came in sweet, soft gushes of sound from
the ballroom, where Beatrice Leigh, in
her imperial beauty and Circean grace,
vas queen. Quietly and slowly the mis-
tress Of the house walked through the
silent rooms, where no guests fingered, up
to her w room. Who would have rec
ognized in the pale, wearied, h~eart-broken
woman, the fresh, dimpled beauty Of Vic
lante Temple?