The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1900-09-30

OF her daughter Alma just now? Web. she
had only then heard the story. n-but III
say no more. Good night and he hurried
away.
II felt stunned, bewiIdered-terrifed. All
sorts of strange ideas and mad projects
foated through my brain as / dragged my
self YEARLY home to my rooms that night.
1 remembered your mothers GOODNESS and
look of proud contempt as l handed her
into her carriage-remembered the story
she would tell you-thought OF your horror
and suffering-thought of your love and the
happiness that had seemed so near for both
of Us, and vowed that till / could prove be-
yond a doubt that my wife was. as 1 be-
lieved her. dead. 1 would never speak TO or
look into your dear face again.
The task was a difficult one. j had
nothing to go upon, no idea how to find this
woman whom people had seen and imag-
ined TO be my wife. In my extremity
hurried into the country to Maurice PaIm
er. But he could give me little help. In
fact, he did but increase my misery. 1t
was quite possible. he admitted, that there
had been a mistake; he had thought so
often lately. but had not dared to suggest
such a thing to me. The woman killed near
Monte Carlo might not have been my wife.
The face had been so horribly disfigured
and mutilated that absolute recognition
was out Of the question.
at the time there had been no doubt
about it. Lara had disappeared that day,
leaving her things at the hotel, and when
this person. about her height and figure.
wearing a dress he thought he knew. and
a brooch he certainly did know, was found
dead. he believed her to be my wife. and
had her buried under her name. Lara
never returned to the hotel, never sent for
her clothes, which were sold to pay her
bill, and neither he nor anyone about the
place imagined that any mistake had been
made"
He paused and wiped the perspiration
from his brow.
And why-oh. why has Mr.. Palmer be-
gun to think that there was a mistaken"
moaned Alma. Living in the country what
has he seen-what has he heard?"
His suspicious were first aroused by a
photograph seen at the house of a friend.
1t was a group of actors and actresses
done by an amateur. The licensees were
not good-did not do justice to any of them.
he was told-but as he locke at one beau
t.ful face. he was filed with terror. 1t bore
a most extraordinary resemblance to my
wife. But convinced that she was dead,
treasured by his lady friends repeated
declaration. that the photograph was not
a good one. not really like the people there
represented. he laughed at his sudden fear,
and tried to forget 1t.
"But the idea haunted him. And he fire.
I-.-L III -
his doubts, but shrank from doing so, and
put it of, thinking he would tell me of
them when we met. But we did not meet,
and I went my way in total ignorance.
without the faintest suspicion of the awful
sword that hung over my head. But the
blow has fallen. I know the worst now.
The woman we believed dead lives. My
life. my hopes. are ruined!'
"A~re-you-sure?"
Alas only too sure. I have seen her
spoken to her"
Alma started and raised her eyes full of
anguish to his face.
"Oh, God, where?'
AT a little theater in the East End
this very night. That is why 1 was late
coming here; that is why 1 now see-speak
to you for the last time"
He paused for a moment overcome with
| emotion. Then steadying his voice with an
effort he continued:
AT the Variety Theater, Palmer told
me. this Nine. De Lara was acting, and he
advised me to go there and see for myself.
/ went-and soon knew all. Under the
name of De Lara she acts, but gives out
openly that she is my wife-has done SO
for some time. AND so, although | was
the last to hear ii, she has been running
my reputation, making me appear a lying,
black-hearted villain. Oh keavens,' he
clenched his fist and the veins stood out,
~throbbing upon his forehead. II longed to
smite her to the ground as she stood be-
fore me like a beautiful devil, hooking and
laughing, boasting of the easy way in
which we had been deceived by the dead
woman's likeness TO herself and the incon-
venience and worry she had escaped by her
supposed death.
1T was all arranged for me in a mar
velous manner, she said. twisting a mag
niicent diamond ring round her finger. j
was up TO my eyes in debt and 1 knew no.
how to get money. Every penny was gone
In the town where / was staying was a
young woman with whom L had made
friends. To her I sold a dress, a brooch
and some half dozen handkerchiefs. With
this money / went to the gaming tables
and won. Delighted. 1 played on and
missed the last train to x. The next
day 1 saw that 1 was supposed to have beer
killed and that Mr.. Maurice Palmer had
kindly undertaken to bury me. Soft. / was
well off now. 1 would keep my money and
remain dead. / came back to London anC
met an old friend, the manager of the
Variety. Encouraged by him 1 went on the
stage. / have succeeded beyond all my
expectations and here 1 am doing all the
leading parts and making quite a fortune.
You might have let me know. and
spared my name,' l said.
'.She shrugged her shoulders contemptu.
ously. and laughed.
1.-the name was and is useful. 1t gives
me a certain standing. You are getting OF
in your profession and In society. AS t
letting you know. hat was not my bust
ness. 1 am well known much admired, an6
always here to be seem
I'm this out of the way place-who sees
your
1T is not so far removed from civiliza.
ton as you suppose she answered, com.
placently. And our little theater is the
fashion just now. 1t is not for me to say
who or what attracts them, but we have
many earls-ay, and dukes in our stalls