The representative. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1893-1901, 1899-09-28
Ny wife will be my widow. and-a free

woman"
"Ah!" she caught her breath sharply,
and the color died out Of her face. For
moment she looked at him, her whole
Wild soul in hef eyes, but he had sunk
down on q chair, and saw nothing. Per-
haps he shraHk from seeing too plainly
the relief hts words must have given her.
And you think-I shall be glad!" she
said. In q dull, toneless voice, most unlike
her own. Nss-+ ~
Think? I know it. and do not blame
thee for It, I blame none but myself. I
was no At mate for thee. should have
seen that thou hadst all-I naught. Thy
father did thee an Ill turn Phoebe the
day he married my mother and brought
such beggarly brat home to be q brother
to thee
The passion had died out of his hagkard
face long since, and sbthlng but the hope
lessness remained. k s@Ange apathy was
creeping over him. After all. was it worth
while chatting against fate! He had done
his best, as he said, aha this was the miser-
able result. Old 1nsnhs1ies crowded upon
his mind. and 1.-THE present faded and grew
indistinct. losing itself In the. past. The
comely woman before him was q child
again, and he, her PROUD stepbrother, her
chosen playfellow. They het on more equal
terms then. in the happy Inconsistencies
of childhood. 4, "a,
Thy mother has been good mother to
me-" The woman's voice recalled him, and
he raised his head to- listen Twas my
father came between u.s.;
NAY, nay: twas he threw us together
Thou wouldst never have thought to marry
me but for him. He warned thee to have
naught to do with such a ne err do well,
and that set thee to spite him"
"Ah!"
Thy own words lass" YEARLY II have
not forgotten them If thou hast. Twas
just after the old mans DEATH and we
not month welded Ay, ay; to spite him,
not for love of me. Lord! what is there
what was there ever-in me that such a
woman as thou art should care? was
fool for my pains, but-the manner of tell
ing me so might have been kinder, Phoebe
it might have been kinder
The tired voice sank to silence. He was
too utterly weary to say more.
Ralph. lad--O, 1 deserve 1t ALL Thou
dost right to blame mel
Blame thee?" he looked at her in a be-
wildered sort of way. 81 did not think to
blame thee. Twas all a mistake, but a
mistake there was no going back upon.
for thee-it is not yet too late"
He sank back in the chair and his ewes
closed.
The woman flung herself on her knees
beside him, and took his wasted hands in
her strong warm clasp
20, lad, forgive me. have been a beast
to thee, butt loved thee. 1 loved thee
through ALL 1t angered me that thou vast
poor. that folk should think-O, lad, speak
to me. Say I forgive thee "
But she pleaded in vain. In the deep
silence the rain battered against the win
dow, ceaselessly, monotonously, yet with
a strange insistence. There was no other
answer.
She chung closer to him, dawning ter
ror in her great gray eyes.
Ralph, lad, l love thee" she cried.
'Dost not hear? love thee. I have longed
for thee all these weary years to tell thee,
to show thee
Another sound broke in on the patter-
ing of the rain-the sound Of pattering feet
along the passage, and then-a child's
happy laughter!
Hist, Ralph" and she sprang to her
feet. "Dost hear? Thou wilt hear him
our sonny little boy whom 1 have so
longed to show to his father! o, thou wilt
forgive me now and love me, and-Ralph!
Ralph"
She threw herself on the, ground beside
him and broke into passionate weeping.
EYES, she had been pleading to deaf
ears.
1t was too late for love or for remorse
to avail her anything here. Ralph Wrough-
ton, the failure, was dead.
And without, a laughing child tried
vainly to raise the latch.-West End.