The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1900-09-04
1899
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"You had better come to me this sum-
mer," Aunt Ryder had written to me-
land we will talk over your future plans
together. de not like you to live alone"
Alone! That was the word in the let
ter that struck like ice upon my sore
heart. l was utterly alone. Even Aunt
Ryder was my uncle's widow, not really
related to ME, though Elsie and l both
loved her. Elsie was my stepsister, my
second mother since my own died in my
infancy. my teacher, friend, companion
and comforter. And Elsie was dead
But accepted Aunt Ryder's invitation
and was preparing to visit her for the
summer when found the keynote to
Elsie's life, her diary.
| l read it. am not going to quote it
here, but far back upon the yellow pages
read how my sister gave her heart
years before to one Rodney Wallace; how
| they had loved and exchanged vows and
rings, and wedding day was set, and
how he left her to prepare home in the
| city for his bride and never returned.
l burned the diary, because upon one of
the pages Elsie had begged would if
! ever | read it.
Then l finished my packing and went
to my Aunt Ryder She was the widow
of my mothers brother, and our grand
/! fathers estate was divided now between
Elsie died. And l was an heiress in
small way, having the income of $4,000
J at my command.
Aunt Ryder took me to Newport and
inisted on my wearing thin, light, black
| dresses and white lace. All my energies
seemed numbed by Elsie's death.
| We had been but a few days at New
port when Aunt Ryder, who is hand
| some, sprightly woman. greatly admired
| in society, met some friends she had
| known in Paris, where she had lived
many years. She was quite excited over
! this meeting and insisted upon having
luncheon pa-ty at our cottage.
do try to brighten up a little, Rhoda,
for one of E.y great pets will be herev'
"And who is she? asked, being quite
accustomed to seeing Aunt Ryder pet
everybody.
'This time it is he. He came to Paris
some 1S years ago, and your uncle was
very intimate with him. They were both
artists and had a mutual admiration for
each others works. have not seen him
since l left Paris-nine-te years ago."
"Does he happen to haye anything so
convenient as name?" asked.
'Oh, yes, Rodney Wallace. He paint
ed that portrait of mine over the piano
at home with n. W. in one corner!"
| Not an hour later, black dress, white
roses, CHASTITY face and all, was pre-
sented to tall, grave man, with iron
| gray hair and SOFT brown eyes, the very
reverse of the gay Lothario had pictur-
| ed as the man who had "loved and rode
| away"
| was young, romantic. and l hated
this grave, sad man with all the impetu-
osity of my youth and romance and yet
he awed me from the first There was a
grave patience about him that reminded
| me of Elsie. And it was to me- to me
| who so hated him, that he turned for
companionship all through that long
1 summer time.
And 1, little by little, learned lesson.
Flow could + love when hated? How
could my heart be won by my sisters
1 murderer?
1 So the dying days of August found me,
not frightened or benefited by my So
| journ at Newport, but PALE listless.
wretched, tortured by my fidelity to the
| dead, my love and hate for the living.
One resolve made. | would never
marry Rodney Wallace.
1 Yet when he wrote to me a manly
straightforward letter, asking my love,
it cost me hours of widest weeping to
move my heart to refuse him.
| While tried to nerve myself to send
away the fatal letter I heard steps in
the drawing room, and then Aunt Ryder
spoke:
Rodney" she said in tender voice,
as if she were speaking to her own son,
you have made me very happy. hoped
this would happen when introduced you
to Elsie's sister,"
"Elsie's sister, Rodney cried harshly,
as had never heard him speak before
"Hush! Elsie was not false"
Not false! Was she not my betroth-
ed, almost my bride? Did not love her
| with all the strength of my heart? She
broke my heart. she desolated my life!
And now-now you tell me the woman
love, as never hoped to love again, is
| Elsie's sister,!
My heart throbbed almost suffocating-
| ly; my brain reeled; the room seemed to
grow black and rock around me. But
heard Aunt Ryder speak.
Rodney, in those days in Paris, when
l knew but little of your story never
dreamed that it was Elsie whom you
| loved"
/ 41uI Cue IIuIu' Iouuey plcdueu.
"What was the truth?"
"Elsie did not write that letter. Elsie
died, believing you false to her. She was
her mothers heiress. Rodney, and her
mother married villain. Were Elsie
married, and his own child still mere
baby. the home must be broken up, the
money held in your control and that of
the trustees, and so forged letter was
sent to you"
4 "Does-she know ~
mo one knows but memo one! My
husband was with Esie's stepfather
when he died and heard this confession,
too late to remedy the evil"
"And-Rhoda?
"Rhoda was so young she probably
never heard Of Elsies engagement. Rod
ney, promise me you will never tell her.
Remember that Bayard Woolstan, for
tune hunter. forger as he was-was yet
her father"
stole up stairs. Over my empty
crate burned my false, cruel letter,
vowing in my utmost heart to be Rod
ney's true comforter and wife.
1t is two years since we were married.
. All the shadows are gone from my hus-
hands fnpa and ha tolls mo his n;cturae