The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1900-09-30
You are trOubleds You nave heard

" IA
oeny-al- / know YOU will.
He sighed, and his eyes rested upon her
Tor an instant, then wandered silently up
wards.
IL was almost day. Little streaks of red
and gold were already visible in the sum-
mer sky. The street below with it's string
of waiting carriages, the tall. high houses
opposite. looked weird and dreary In the
Dawn, whilst the girl in her white evening
oress, a spray of somewhat faded flowers
upon her breast. and fair hair rufled. her
sweet face full of sadness and distress,
appeared to have grown suddenly worn
and haggard. when seen by early morning
light.
But the man at her side saw no change
In her. The freshness of her dress, the
neatness of her hair mattered nothing 10
him. He loved her. And as he gazed into
her pure. true eyes, the wasted years of
his past life rose UP black and hateful be-
fore him, and withvall his soul he wished
that he could wipe them out and become
worthy of the love and admiration of this
trusting child.
But alas, he could not claim her now.
An unexpected blow had fallen upon him.
His sins pursued him. His folly had found
him out. And he must. Just as he saw
the gates of a paradise on earth opening
before him. pay the price of his misspent
youth.
Alma" he said. gently touching the lit
tie hand that lay cold and inert upon the
girls lap. ST nave never deceived you
willingly. I have told you everything.
Told you that I was %poor-that I had
gambled away my patrimony-"
Yes. yes" She flushed and grew pale
again. But that matters little. I have a
good fortune. you are working well, get
ting on at the bar. But-you told me your
wife was dead. And now they say that
she i~s-living.'
They say true" He was white as death.
But till ten days ago / was certain she
was dead. You believe this, Alma?'
one shivered and covered her face with
her hands.
yes" she moaned. ct do believe you.
But what does it all mean? Did you not
see her dead?'
mo. We had not met for years, and
whether she was living or dead did not
trouble me. I would not care now-only."
he lowered his voice to a whisper. "for my
love for you. But till ten days ago I never
questioned the matter. 1 believed her
dead"
"Why?" The girls lips were quivering,
her eyes full of tears. what were your
reasons for thinking so?'
"a friend who had known her we'll
Maurice Palmer-wrote and told me of her
death. He had paid for her burial"
Alma drew a long. deep breath.
How was she supposed TO have died?'
Through an accident. She.was. as 1 have
told you. a girl of low family. but very
beautiful. Her fatal beauty ruined me and
she lured me on to marry her. Cut by my
friends and relations, we could not live
In England and / took her abroad. We
were miserably unhappy and before long
grew to hate each other. To drown our
feelings and make life bearable we took
to gambling For a time she won, but I
lost-always heavily, and when everything
was gone I fed home and buried myself
and my misery at Cotswold, a little place
in Cornwall left me by my mother. She re-
fused to come and remained at Monte
Carlo.
Years passed on. She never wrote, and
I knew not where she was, or what she did.
Then. an old friend wrote, telling me she
was dead. She had. he said, ruined herself
at the tables and fallen i'll of fever i'm a
little place some miles from Monte Carlo.
Here she was tenderly cared for and nursed
back to life by an angel of a niece, and
when well enough set out once more for
the gambling rooms, to stake her last louis
and win back her fortune. That night. a
woman fell between the train and the plat
form at X and was picked up crushed
and mutiiated. dead. From various things
in her possession Palmer believed her to be
my unfortunate wife, and as such he had
her buried.
His account of her death satisfied me.
I made no inquiries, asked n questions. ]
refunded Palmer and dismissed the matter
from my mind I felt no sorrow. and did
not pretend to any For some time / lived
on, lonely and wretched at Cotswold, and
then my idle life began to pail, and 1 came
to London to work. / soon grew less miser.
able. Things looked brighter. 1 got on at
the Bar, and made friends. And when ]
met you, my happiness seemed complete
for my heart was full of hope. On that
night when we danced together so late at
the Kendall S I was about to ask you the
all-important question when your mother
interrupted and carried you off. Then the
blow fell. Happiness. peace. joy, were scat
tered" He shuddered. "Oh! the horror
of itt'
How did it happen?' came from Alma's
white and trembling lips. "Who told
your
IAN old man, whom 1 had hardly seen six
times since my unhappy marriage, but who
had been more intimate with my wife. He
accosted me in a friendly way and hoped
Mrs. Cunning was well. I told him she
was dead many years. He stared; then
said that he had seen her, looking in the
best Of health and very handsome, I'm the
street but a few days before. 1 assured
him that he was mistaken. Such a thing
was impossible. But he insisted that he
could not have been deceived. and turning
to a young man who came up at that mo-
ment said:
James, did I not point out Mrs. Charles
Cunning to you in the street the other
day?'
YES, and I recognized her at once. She
is very beautiful. Though people say Mr.
Cunning does not seem to think so.
"'Good heavens,' i cried 1 could have
struck the fellow for his insolence. 'Whai
people say these things? Who knows this
woman. supposed to be my dead wife?'
James Masters looked at me as though
he thought / was going mad.