Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1899-07-20
t&@4S3>TSs&qg @s$SaA@gs@
s roze3 Heart,
y A TRRILLING LOVE STORY.
IN BY FRANCES WARNER WALKER,
BY FRANCES WARNER WALKER.
CHAPTER xxvIr--(Continuedl
THRILLING LOVE STORY.

"When conceived it, 1 did not
dream that Herbert Dalrymple lived,
or, living, he again would look upon a
country whose soil he had cursed. The
rame [ bore had been made hateful to
layself and repulsive to others. 1t had
been banded throughout Europe. By
accident, l saw one day, in the paper
an advertisement asking for informa-
ton of Herbert Dalrymple, his wife or
heirs. AS l read, l glanced casually
into a mirror before which l Glanced
to be sitting. That glance sealed my
destiny. l saw the wonderful like
ness l bore to my sister. l remem-
bered how. in earlier youth, my father
had often addressed me by her name;
repicutred to myself the home which
might now be opened to her had she
lived. the wealth, and rank and honor
which would have been hers, but that
the grave had shut out from her their
possession. Life and death both
Knocked me With their might have
been and suddenly a voice whispered
in my ear to forever sink my identity
into hers. Home, shelter and safe pro-
lection might again be mine, and to
whom. in accepting them, would | do
wrong? Not to Herbert Dalrymple, for
l but took that which he had re-
nounced. Not to Lady Montfort. for l
but made her life less lonely, and en-
riched in sharing it. Not to my dead
sister, since uninvaded was left the
sanctity of her rest. l was poor, too.
The patrimony left me by my father
was gone. My life in Russia had eX-
hauSted it. All honest livelihood was
impossible to me. Go where | would.
insidiuS whispers preceded or followed
me, and honest doors were closed in
my face. l, who had done no wrong
save the wrong of trusting; committed
no sin save the sin of loving, and
avenging that loves betrayal! Yet. to
the real criminal the world gave but its
sympathy. To me, its scorn. Like a
sleuth- hound. he was ever on my
track. l was growing weary of the
struggle. Soon l might have sunk to
the depths of infamy. into which he
seemed determined to hurl me. Then
heaven-you hear me- Harry
heaven weary of it's eternal Unjust
ice, opened for me this way out of my
Indebtedness! How could I dream
that Herbert Dalrymple lived? And
what matters it! His eyes have
searched my face, and seen in it only
the features Of his lost love. To him
the grave has given up its dead-the
stone has been rolled away from the
sepulchrc. Yet. the ceremony which
binds us is to be again performed.
Truly, | shall then be the Lady Mont
fort Let Louis GervaSe wreal0 his
further vengeance then. if he dare
Her voice betrayed no tremor. Her
manner was cold and stern.
Ar!lwright looked on her with quiet
pity. born of Il great love, but again he
only said:
1T must not be-
at must not be- she echoed. "Who
will prevent it? You? Go to my hus-
band, then. Tell him your story. and
will tell him that it is Il lie. fabricated
because YOU yourself loved me, and
would prove false to your friend. Go
to him. Test it. Which will he be-
lievc, YOU or me? Was ever story 50
Improbable as the story you would tell
him: And think you he would wait
for you to gather proof to sustain it:
One single word from NE would drag
down upon your head all the fine Struc-
turc YOU would build upon me. Be
lievc me. Harry Arkwright. when tell
you that Florence Nane is dead indeed.
Leave the woman in peace who has
sprung from her ashes
ArkWriyht "roaned.
"Eiorcnce." he said. docs an honest
love offer YOU no peace? DO YOU fear
to trust yourself to my protection
against this man and the world? Who
would care for you. as | would care for
you. or shield YOU as | would shield
you? You are right cannot betray
your secret. although in sharing it |
am traitor to my friend. | cannot
drive YOU out from home and protrc-
ton to the mercilpSS mercy Of the
world But there is another alterna
tive offered YOU For the third and last
time, Florence. | ask YOU to give yoll1
self to me-to be my wife. can offer
YOU no title. no power to crush the
world which has ill-uSed YOU But |
can carry you back with me tn a
Younger. fairer land than this. where
together we can forget and be forgot
ten.
A look of misery swept over her love-
~ face.
All" she said, you plead to wo-
man who had Il heart. have non".
Your prayer is hopeless. llarlN-hopr-
less because | so honor you that /
could not do YOU this dishonor. You
love me. ana love is something which
never more must enter into my me
when I might feel its touch or Walien
to respond. Forget me and forgive me.
Tho girl YOU loved is dead. In Lady
MOntfort you may never trace even a
passing likeness to Florence Nane.'