The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1899-12-02

When an English lady determines to
elope from her husband 1t may be
safely predicated that she Is very in
experienced or very badly treated. The
case of Lady Laura Lyndhurst falls
under the first category, thus explain
ing, too, her entanglement with Cecil
Templeton, gentleman who followed
the equally glorious and lucrative pro-
fession of officer in the army. His rea-
sons for suddenly finding that he could
exist no longer without the society of
another mans wife fortunately need
not be given here; they were nearly as
numerous as his debts, and, seeing that
foreign travel was an urgent necessity,
his astuteness in discovering a woman
foolish enough to bear the incidental
cost will recommend itself to the ap-
proval If not to the imitation of the
prudent
1t was 1890 o'clock. Lady Lyndhurst,
draped in a dark cloth mantle, was
nervously adjusting a travelling cap of
the same material as she stood alone
before her mirror. On a chair close
by lay the splendid dinner toilet which
she had just made a pretense of remov-
Ing before dismissing her maid for the
night.
She knew that time did not press; in
deed, she was in advance of the hour
appointed by Templeton in his note.
but somehow everything seemed to go
wrong at the last moment; there were
Unforeseen difficulties about her sim
plest acts, and her memory, admirably
under control on other occasions, had
begun to grow curiously restive as the
minutes went by. outside could be
heard the cold, fierce patter of wintry
rain upon the window panes, while
now and again roaring gust of night
wind ratified them in their frames.
At length she had completed all pre-
parations, and, leaving the glass, sat
herself down to write to her husband
the letter she understood was impera-
lively demanded by tradition. She COM
menced, Dear Ralph"-then paused,
effaced the words and began anew
lower down. but, shocked at her i'll
breeding, flung the sheet away and
chose another. She got as far as the
date-which he would hardly require
to be reminded of-and paused again,
the tip of her quill to her lips, staring
at the noble motto above the address.
What on earth should she write? Wo-
men she remembered, usually had u
good deal to say on such emergencies;
a sentimental barmaid, who the week
before had committed a sensational
suicide with the aid of oxalic acid had
been very fluent, and the heroine of
a novel she finished only that same
morning had displayed considerable
epistoiqry powers when renouncing a
brutal husband, and here she sat with
out a word to throw at dog, much
forgot that the diffuseness of the form
er lady was owing to an uneducated
exercise of the faculty of selection. a
defect painfully noticeable in her
chemical essay, while the prolixities
of the latter We're due like England's
greatness, to a sound commercial pol
icy. Instead, she recollected most in
opportunely that this would be the Sec
ond occasion on which she wrote to
her husband during their eighteen
months of married life; the thought
did not make the words flow. To write
the treachery she meditated was not
so easy after all Still she persevered
doggedly, jotting down a phrase here
and there, the stealthy hand of the lit
tie clock stealing over the painted dial,
the hearth fire dwindlng below.
At last, weary of her task, she rose,
and throwing open the window nearest
looked out upon the night. MY God!
my Cod" she whispered, must this be
irrevocable? What if I shall learn to
repent when repentance will be vain?'
The sleet drove pitilessly against her
brow, beating down the dainty curls
clustering there, but she did not heed.
So she remained, a pallid face ques-
tioning the darkness which held no
answer. Slowly a belfry somewhel q
away eastward chimed the hour. the
very hour at which she should leave
that house forever
Starting from her reverie she return
ed to the table, and taking up the dis
carded pen, forced herself to write
anew until the missive was finished
and sealed. Then, pausing a moment
to glance round the cosy room, she eX-
tinguished the light, stepped into the
passage and locked the door, thrustng
the key underneath, a proceeding for
which she could offer herself no ade-
quate reason save that it looked pictur-
esquely final.
Lord Lyndhursts apartments lay on
the opposite wing of the mansion, and
1t would take some time to traverse the
corridors. Mechanically she turned to
the library as she passed and looked