The Mitchell capital. (Mitchell, Dakota [S.D.]) 1879-1918, 1899-07-28

The rector's brother has had paralytic
stroke, and the tidings came by telegram
| just in the middle Of the dinner party. The
poor rector was so overcome that he was
almost helpless. and Mr. Dick hadn't the
| heart to leave him, and offered to go up to
! town and see him safe. And he mayn't be
back till tomorrow or the day after. He
sent his love to you, miss, and is very
sorry"
Dick gone-Dick Then she must do
what she had to do alone! And perhaps
it was best so, after all. Was it not more
lifting that she, who had lost all that fife
had to offer, should be the one to mako the
| discovery? Yes-yes-so let it be.
"1f can only live through tomorrow"
she moaned, as she sat crouched against.
the bed, without q thought, however, of
seeking her usual rest. An hour previous
| ly vistas of pleasure and of radiant happi-,
ness had opened in endless measure be-
fore her; now her horizon was bounded by
the thought of living through the morrow.
Presently she rose, secured her door,
lighted taper and unlocked her desk.
Lovingly she took out Neville's treasured
letters and kissed them, and then went to
cabinet in which she kept the presents
that her betrothed had made her They
were costly and beautiful-several books
handsomely bound; a diamond pendant,
which had belonged to his mother; a lovely
suite of pearls-pecklace, eardrops, ring
and pendant; a sapphire brooch and brace
let; some glittering Indian ornaments and
other jewels.
Hastily she placed them together in
small travelling bag, locked and addressed
it to Lord Wynmore, and then hurried to
how %ol>1 IL owl IN @oa,
while upon her betrothal ring:
My Own Dear Notwithstanding
very terrific has happened-something
which makes me sure that my fear of
bringing trouble upon you if l married you
was not without foundation. l write
while l yet have strength; tomorrow
might be too late. You will understand
that in writing this feel that I renounce
life. Oh, Neville, if there were no such
thing as duty, ! should marry you and
hold my peace; but to deceive you would
be torture even greater than bidding you
farewell. Your mothers ring and all your
dear gifts to me l returnall except my
betrothal ring. There is no reason why
| may not keep that. For | am yours in
heart and soul, though we are parted.
shall not dare 10 wear it, Neville, but /
will keep it in fond Remembrance of you,
and you shall take it again when l die.
And so heaven bless and guard you, dear
est Nevillei Do not seek to see your
broken-hearted MABEL"
His letters are mine, too No one else
has any right to them," she said, pathet-
ically.
The clock over the stables struck three
Mabel fastened her letter, placed it on the
travelling bag, and then took off the even
ing dress that she had been wearing.
lis is the last time that shall put on
such dress-the last time that l shall
wear an ornament" she thought, remov-
evening.
Then she searched in her wardrobe for
the plainest black dress she possessed
Henceforth her dress should accord with
her altered life. When she had done all
this she sat down, waiting for the day.
Four o'clock-fve-six! and with the
summer morning sounds of life and move
ment awoke in the household. Mabel rous-
ed herself from her stupor Of grief to meet
the immediate requirements of the day.
A maid would soon present herself to
bring hot water, to draw back the cur
tains, and to inform her young mistress
that it was seven o'clock; and, as she in
tended to remain in bed in order to avoid
comments on her altered appearance, she
undressed hastily and buried her sad face
in the pillow.
Thus broke the day that was to mark
the turning point in her destiny.