Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1900-05-10

claim her, saying that she was his
wife? True, it could do him no good;
it could not save him from the conse
quenceS Of his crime. Perhaps, re-
Numbering how young she was, and
how completely he had deceived her,
he might be merciful and spare her.
She was so innocent, SO inexperi-
enced, that she did not know where to
write to him. She had an idea of
sending him a passionate appeal for
silence and compassion; but how
could she address her letter? Her life
had passed so happily until now.
She knew, in some vague kind of
way, that there We're sin, sorrow, and
crime in the world; that life had a
shady side all unknown to the limo.
cent; she knew that there were pris-
ons and scaffolds; but il was all in the
vaguest fashion. She had never seen
anything of crime, and now she was
suddenly brought face to face with it.
Her own husband-the man whom she
had married in secrecy and haste-lay
in felon's cell. The man through
whose aid and help she had intended
to triumph over her rival, was bound
hand and foot in the trammels OF
stern, terrible justice.
What should she do if ever he wrote
to claim her? She raised her beauti-
full, despairing face to the bright heav-
ems.
Il should kill myself" she said. "A
Gordon could never live in shame"
every loud ring at the hall door,
every Unexpected noise, every look of
excitement on the faces of those near
her, sent a. thrill of fear to her heart,
bleached her face, and made her hands
tremble so that whatever she was
holding fell.
1t seemed to her that her living mo-
ments were dying ones; yet she could
not tell what she dreaded Her hus-
band could not seek her, and it was
improbable that any one else knew the
secret; still the terrible fear never left
her, never died away
That was her first punishment; the
second was her gradual awakening to
sense of what she had done. 1t had
seemed like a feverish dream to her.
She had been led on from hour to
hour, day to day; she had been drawn
so insensibly, so gradually, into the
net that she had not noticed it. Her
senses had been STEPPED in glamor
OF flattery, homage, and fancy which
She had mistaken for love.
The desire for vengeance had hl1r-
lied her on; the pictured dream of a
clever triumph had closed her eyes to
Ill else. 1t had been a dream, and the
awakening was terrible to her.
Looking back calmly, she could not
| believe that she-Ethel Gordon-had
been so blindly misled. Now that it
was too late. she asked herself where
was her pride, her dignity, her self-re-
! spect-where the pride of race and
name that should have kept her from
so terrible blunder. so great a folly.
so miserable sin?
| Perhaps that was the greatest pun
ishment of all. She would look around
her with despairing eyes, asking her
| self how long she had to live: how
! long she must carry this terrible bur
| den of sorrow and shame. There was
no help for her; no human aid or
power could help her. She had taken
her VOWS before Heaven, and only
Heaven could release her from them.
No wonder she buried her face in her
hands, hated the bright sunshine, and
| longed only for death.
There were long nights when no
sleep came to her. when, with a rapid
step, she would walk up and down her
room, wringing her hands. uttering
! from time to time a low, passionate
| cry, longing with impotent wrath to
have Laurie Darlington punished for