New Ulm review., 1901-01-16
an Indifferent actress, but her per-
sona1ity took and kept the attention

of everyone in the room. At first
glance it seemed to me as if this
woman were returning to my con
sciousness from some pale limbo of
the past, and turned to Curzon to
ask if she were anyone we had seen
on the stage before.
The minute I looked at him /
guessed who she was. I had recog-
nized her by the description I had
heard given of her. He had recog-
nized her by his relentless memory,
which would not let him forget that
she had been the one passion of a
life, which, since her treachery, had
set itself to but a meaningless tune.
l saw his wife slip her hand into his.
"Shall we go?" she whispered. Her
intuition had been as swift as mine.
Her courage and dignity were what
would have expected them to be.
Not at ALL he replied. ''It's a play
we came to see, isn't it, Isabel? What
| is character more or less to u.s."
But for all of his bravado, I saw that
his wife kept her hand still in his
| there in the dusk of the box. I was
conscious, too. when the moment
| came that the actress turned her eyes
our way and saw Curzon, and, after
a seconds hesitation, recognized him.
Her eyes dilated and she drew her
breath sharply, but she did not lose
her line. On the contrary, she began
to take more interest in her part,
and acquitted herself creditably.
| We took tho 1a6ioc Io,,o of+ =
theater and then I went on with the
Curzons to their door.
"Tom," [ said, as shook hands with
him. Il happen to know about your
story. l guessed who the woman was
on the stage tonight. I want to con-
graduate you on the good friend you
have in your wife and to tell you that
1T you need another friend-which YOU
probably will not-you can find one
here"
He said: sThank you," in his hearty
way and went up the stairs with Mrs
| Curzon.
The next thing I heard was that the
leading actress-Marie Averill, she
was billed-was stricken with col
lapse, and that she was lying at deaths
door at the hotel. The paper an
nounced this, with the change of cast.
l met Curzon that afternoon and he
asked me if I'd seen it.
Isabel is up there at the hotel look
ing after her. he said
"Curzon," I cried, ssyour wife is an
angel, but suppose you haven't found
it out, have you? You take her for
granted, don't you?'
Il don't think I can talk about that,
can I?' he asked. didn't beg his par
don. | was too fond of him to let a
formal apology intrude itself between
US. The next day, meeting him again,
he ventured the information that his
brother had been killed in a railroad
accident in Australia, and that his
brothers wife had been on the stage
for ten years.
"She has daughter, the picture of
herself" he said. 'The daughter is
| staying with us. Isabel saws she
doesn't think Nannette can recover
I hope not" I thought, but I didn't
dare say it.
1t was true, that once having given
up, the woman of many remorses could
not recuperate. She died in the arms
of Isabel Curzon, and she was buried
from the Curzon home as Curzon's sis
| ter.
l sat in the hospitable library of the
house the evening after the funeral.
"Tom," said I, "she's paid the debt
| to the uttermost, hasn't she? Your
brother paid, too, didn't he? Now put
the memory out of your life. The peo-
pie who deceived you are dead. Make
an effort to trust the rest of the world.'
He made no answer, but sat there
staring at the fire. I saw that the
ghosts of the old pain had hard hold
OF him. and no word of the right sort
came to my lips. I was casting about
me in vain for some argument to offer
in protest of his suffering, when the
door opened and his wife came in, her
arm about the waist of ily-slender,
white-faced, beautiful girl whose
black garments clung to her with
statuesque grace. The girl lifted her
g,ray-blue eyes apeaingly, and I saw
there were glints Of gold in them. She
had tender and deprecatory smile,
and though her eyes were red with
weeping, yet she looked comforted
too. We both arose as the ladies en-
tered, and Curzon stood staring at the
two, his lips trembling.
"Tom," said Isabel Curzon, in her
strong, clear voice, st suppose you
know that this dear child is our new
daughter, don't you?'
Curzon sprang toward his wife and
caught her hands and pressed his lips
to them
Isabel" he said, quite oblivious to
the girl and to me, 81 love you'll" The
words had all the dramatic force of a
first declaration, and guessed shrewd-
| ly that Isabel Curzon had never heard
him say that thing in quite that same
tone before. She had won him at last.
through many sacrifices. I looked at
the girl whose adoption represented
thesupre sacrifice of this courageous
woman. and felt sure that the sor-
1