The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1899-08-18
never figured on, and now that he had

he was Blau 10 get away.
After many weeks the letters began
to come. If Margaret had felt the least
bit hurt at her husbands anxiety to
go, her fears vanished after reading
his letters. They were full of the same
love and devotion of their honeymoon
days, and though the separation was a
severe sacrifice, Margaret lived only in
the thought that he was prospecting and
| that one day they would be brought to-
gether again.
For months Girard's letters were full
| of enthusiasm and good news, but one
| day the tears gathered in Margaret's
eyes as she laid down his last letter.
Eight months of tropical climate had
| been too much for him, and Girard's
health was breaking. After that each
letter was an evident attempt to spare
| her feelings and to be cheerful in a
| time of gloom, and not many more
| weeks proved it, for one day cable
gram announced his death. Then came
letter from the captain of the ship,
with a few words of consolation, one
| from the United States consul stationed
at the port where Girard had died, and
later his mail and other possessions
| were returned to her.
The $4,000 life insurance was col
lected, but Margaret's heart was
| broken. She cared for no one and for
| nothing but Girard's memory, so she
bought the pretty little cottage where
their married life had been spent; fur
nished it as nearly as possible the way
it was before, and even trained the
morning glories over his Office window
so that they would shade his desk just
as they used to do. Margaret's devo-
ton was beautiful. For 20 years she
lived in the quiet little town, leaving
| now and then for a short trip abroad,
but always returning to the shrine of
her affection. Her devotion was the
marvel of the community, and the lit
tie village was proud of it, for halo of
romance rested upon her head, and held
her aloof, in awesome reverence, from
the rest of the world.
But one day the little community
was startled. a stranger man was seen
to enter her cottage. He was tall,
heavy-set and swarthy, and why he
had come to the village and to see the
doctors widow no one knew until after
ward, when Mrs. Duval explained that
he wanted to purchase piece of her
property.
That was his passport into her house,
but after that he was a frequent visitor.
Margaret could scarcely realize that
she was listening to amorous overtures
after her lifelong sacrifice to the mem
DRY of Girard, and she could explain it
only on the ground of a peculiar re-
semblance that the stranger, Mr.. Hunt,
| bore to her long-lost husband. She
| could not trace it in the features, but
| now and then there was something
about him so like Girard that she was
fascinated and would listen to him al
most helplessly.
But one day the end came. The stran
ger man had offered his life and fortune
to the little widow. A rosy light from
the setting sun fell aslant her pretty
features as he entered the cottage door
on the evening that he went to receive
his answer. Margaret was sitting at
Girard's desk, looking dreamily out of
the window. In her hand she held a
small gold locket: it was open, and
showed the handsome face of the only
man she had ever loved. The stranger
stepped nearer. He understood with
out being told that she was struggling
between the old affection and the new.
Suddenly she burstin tears, and, rails
ing the locket to her lips, she kissed it
passionately.
"Girard! Girard!" she cried: II can
never forsake you! Forgive me for the
thought"
In another moment she discovered
that Hunt was standing near her, and,
sitting her emotion, she stood dignified
and erect before him.
Il thank you for the compliment you
pay me in wishing me to be your wife"
| she said, 'but 1 must decline the honor.
| For-I might as well tell you frankly
do not love you, and it would never be
possible for me to care for you in any
but the most distant way. l gave my
heart to my husband years ago, and 1
love him this moment as much as in the
days we spent together in this little
| cottage. The very walls remind me of
him, and to forsake him now that he is
not here would be the grossest sacrilege.
My life shall be one long sweet devotion
to him. 1 belong to him now as on my
wedding day. 1 thank you, sir. Good
by"
The stranger bowed reverently and
left the room. Fifteen minutes later he
was comfortably seated in the state
room of a Pullman car.
81 couldn't tell her." he unused; ''the
shock would have been too great. 1t
was long time ago, but it all comes
| back to me now. How well l remember
the night when Fedora and wrote that
note and signed the captains name.
And the letter from the consul-that
was what puzzled US for awhile, till we
found that old planter from South
America, who had been educated in
England. He wasn't afraid to risk the
forgery-and so it went. And then the
mail-that is, part of the mail that we
sent back; I always had a curiosity to
know what was in some of those letters.
Poor Margaret! She loves me still.