Vilas County news. [volume] (Eagle River, Vilas County, Wis.) 1896-1927, 1899-09-04
Continued,

ventured to ask her, and Lady Lans
we'll answered first by kissing her
then by telling her that it was best TO
Lord Chandos That was quite enough
to content the loving heart, if it were
better for him in any way. She dit
not inquire why. She would sacrifice
any wish or desire of her own.
SO the day of the wedding came, an(
a grand ceremonial it was. The mob
lest and most exclusive English II
Paris attended it, and everything was
after tie wish of Lady Lanswelps
heart. There had never been falrel
or more graceful bride. There hao
never been a handsomer or more gal
liant bridegroom One thing struck
the Countess of Lanswell and made her
remember the day with keen sense CT
pain, and it was this: when the bride
retired to change her superb bridal
dress for a travelling costume she mad
time to notice how white and i'll her
son looked. He was one Of the most
temperate of men; she did not remem-
her that he had ever in his life been IN
the least degree the worse for wine, but
she saw him go to the buffet and fill
small glas with strong brandy and
drink it-even that, strong as it was,
did not put any color into his face
Then he came to speak to her. she
looked anXiously at him.
Lance" she said, 81 do not like ask
ing you the Question-but-have you
really been drinking brandy"
She never forgot the bitter laugh
that came from his lips.
eyes, I have indeed, mother. 1t is
just as we'll a glass of poison did not
stand there; I should have drunk it."
She shuddered at the words, and it
must be owned they were not cheerful
ones for a weddnig-day.
The bride and bridegroom drove
away; slippers and rice were thrown
after them. And the pity is that every
woman inclined to put faith in the
VOWS and promises of a man was not
there to see how they we're kept.
CHAPTER XXXV.
SCI Leave Them Ny Hatred and My
Curse"
Leone was alone when the letter of
the Countess of Lanswell was delivered
to her. She had been wondering for
some days why no news came from
Lord Chandos-why he did not write.
She had written most urgent and
affectionate letters to him, praying for
news Of him, telling him how braveiy
and happily she was bearing the sep
aration from him, only longing to
know something of him.
The warm, sultry month of August
had set in, and she was working hard
as ever; there was but one comfort to
her in this long absence longer he
was away from her, the more fit she
should be to take her place as his wife
when he did return. She felt now that
she could be as stately as the Countess
of Lanswel herself, with much more
grace.
She had been thinking over her flu
ture when that letter came; it found
her in the same pretty room where he
had hidden her goodbye. When the
maid entered with the letter on sal
yer, she had looked UP with a quick,
passionate sense of pleasure. Perhaps
this was to tell her when he would
come. She seized the dainty envelope
with a low cry of intense rapture.
cat last" she saidi to herself, cat
last. Oh my love, how could you be
silent so long?"
Then she saw that it was not Lance's
writing, but a hand that was quite
strange to her. Her face paled even as
she opened it; she turned to the sig
nature before she read the letter; it
was Lucia, Countess of Lanswell."
Then she knew that it was from her
mortal enemy, the one on whom she
had sworn revenge.
She read it through. What hap
pened while she read it? The reap
ers were reaping in the cornfelds, he
wind had sunk to the lightest whisper,
some of the great red roses fell dead,
the leaves of the white lilies died in
the heat of the sun, the birds were
tired of singing; even the butterflies
had sunk, tired out, on the breasts of
Iu0 l1OWSIS IuCy 1ONCus tuC1C was q
golden glow over everything; wave
after wave of perfume rose on the
warm summer air; afar off one heard
the song of the reaper, and the cry of
the sailors as the ships sailed down the
stream; there was life, light, lightnesss
all around, and she stood in the mid
die of it, stricken as one dead, holding
her death warrant in her hand. She
might have been a marble statue as the
stood there, SO white, so silent, so
mOtiOnless.
She read and reread it; at first she
thought it must be a sorry jest; it
could not be true, it was impossible
If she took up the Bible there, and the
printed words turned blood-red Before
her eyes, it would be far less wonderful
than that this should be true. A sorry,
miserable jest some one had played
her, but who-how? No, it was no