The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1899-05-11

the husband Of Christabel. Perhaps
some slight feeling of embarrassment
or conjunction on Dicks part fent
him from seeking Marks society, and
thus the severance of their friendship
was complete.
Even professionally they were
strangers; for, contrary to expectation,
Dick had not developed into world
famed genius, and often heart-sick
ening misgiving arose in Marks heart
as to the fate of the woman he loved.
One night he was dining with broth
er artist, and over their wine in lazy
content they discussed their early
struggles.
But the past had recalled Christabel.
and Mark was in reyerie when his
friends voice at last reused him. 1T
is rarely one can procure the refine
ment needed so that you can imagine
my disgust when my model failed to
keep her appointment"
"Of course" assented Mark, racking
his brains for a clew, conscious that
his thoughts had been far away.
friend continued. $50 after waiting
several days / went in search of her.
| found her at last. 1t was a sad case.
She was the widow of an artist. Her
husband had been clever fellow, bat
disreputably ideal this learned from
that ready means of communication,
the landlady; and TO keep the wolf
from the door this poor wife had with
the only means at her command sue
ceeded in earning a small income"
Did you discover her name?" Mark
asked, pressed by the vague fears that
never left his heart.
His friend watched the ascending
wreaths of smoke from his cigar for
a second before he replied: Her hus-
bands name was Turvil, a name, I'M
happily for the woman he married,
little known"
Thus were Marks worst fears for
Christabel realized. Dick had proved
unworthy of his love.
Many hours did not pass after he had
learned her story before he stood in
the squalid out-of-the-way street in
which Christabel lived.
The landlady politely, but with many
curious glances, asked him to wait in
the shabby little parlor while she went
in search of her lodger.
Then there had come the sound of a
light step, the rustic of a woman's dress,
and Christabel stood before him; and
across the bridge of years the two
looked at each other.
To his eyes of love there was little
change in her. There was the same
grace of outline that had won his adj
miration years ago; the same lovely
face; but that she had suffered, suf-
fered intensely, was so apparent, that
instinctively he stretched out his hands
to her.
Little by little he heard her story.
''He was always the same" Christabel
said, sadly, nothing could rouse him to
effort. | do not think he could help
it; he loved gayety, life, ease-respon-
sibilities were insutfera Die; to be the
wife of such a man is to be ever near
the sun, but never to feel its bright
ness"
yet YOU chose hiri, Christab bell
She lifted her tired eyes to his face
There was in their depth dumb re-
proach, an unspollen protest.
But she only answered with wan
smile: perhaps so, as Il wor7a1 does
choose, who, after all, may not choose,
but is chosen"
And as she spoke, the Blindness OF
years fell from him. ana too late he
realized that in giving her up he had
but sacrificed her to his pride. 1t had
been only selfshness after all.
The pity of it, ah the pity of il
all! 1t ove~powered him, strong man
that he was.
"Christabcl,' he cried, brokenly, ard
the hunger of love was in his voice,
"can you ever forgive me-"
Forgive you?" she asked in wonder.
Then he told her all. He did not spare
himself; the action he had once deemed
noble he despised as unworthy now.
But the woman whom he had sacrificed
read between the lines and understood.
In her faithful heart she found no
blame for him.
So that when at last he looked up into
her face. thinking to meet there the re-
proach he felt he deserved, he saw
only in her eyes the love-!ight that
years ago should have been his hearts
best. treasure Madame.
A Self-DenyinE Husband.