Middletown transcript., 1903-08-29

i
what you are pleased to desig
nate an insolent lie, he said very
quietly. Here and he touched
his breast pocket-are copies O.
the certificates of the marriage
of Julia Russell to Mark Gar
thorne in 1857, of her second mar
riage to you in 1862, and also O.
the death of her husband in 1864
The clergyman who performed
the first ceremony is still living
He attended my uncle in his las
illness and will swear tohis iden
tity. The friends in Australia
who sent home the report of his
death and whom he visited JUS
before his return to England, vii
also, if necessary, give evidence
I don't believe it. 1t is a lie
trumped up by you and your
mother. She always hated me,
know, because I tried to prevent
my brother disgracing himself
and his family; she would have
done anything to injure me. She
knew of this, I suppose?
My mother knew for many
years. She was a woman OF
strong passions and steady pur-
pose, Paul replied quietly, and,
as you say she hated you. II
you look back into the past and
recall the wrong you did to her
and hers-how you broke the
solemn promise you made to my
grandfather on his death bed,
and deprived my father Of his
just inheritance-of the money
which would have purchased life
and health for him-you cannot
wonder at it. Yes-she knew of
this, and she kept silence My
mother could wait for her re-
venge, and when her brother
died she came here, and year by
year she has looked on and
watched and waited-watched
the improvements you have made
on the estate, watched you stint
ing yourself to pay off the mort
cages that your son might inherit
an unencumbered property. All
the time she knew that it was her
son-not yours-who would reign
after you here and for whom you
were toiling and saving.
A short silence ensued, and Sir
Johns face turned to a livid hue,
and his lips became white and
trembling. He told himself it
was only a lie-a falsehood. He
was a fool even to feel a passing
qualm. Yet something in Paul's
quiet manner and voice scared
him.
1t is a lie. | quite fail to see
your object in telling it, he said,
IN a sneering tone, and with an
assumed Indifference wich con
rastedstrangely with his change
Of color.
Paul quietly smiled.
| have not come out Of any love
% you-be sure of that, he re
5urned coldly. I came because
ny conscience would not allow
ne to be silent. It was right that
you should know. The past is ir-
'etrievable, but the future is still
7ours. The estates must be
nine, but you have considerable
property, and I have heard that
IS yet you have made no will.
Remember what that means now
md satisfy yourself of the truth
# what | have told you. You can
till make the future of your
children secure. Rem e N Der
bat your marriage is no mar
iage-your children are no ones
;hildren. If you die without a |
will, they will be left penniless |
nd at the mercy of the world.
Both the men had been tco |
much engrossed with their con
'ersation to notice that the door |
lad opened quietly, and that |
1ilda was in the room. She had |
,een informed Of Paul's visit, and |
he was burning with curiosity to |
now the reason of his presence
here at such at time.
1t must be very urgent bust
Iess that brought him to the Hall |
While his mother lay unburied at
he Farm, she thought, and after
he interview had lasted as It'll
eemed to her a very long time,
he softly entered the library just
4 time to hear -Paul's last SEN
ence. She heard the words but
t first failed to understand the
leaning, although Paul's earnest
lanner and her fathers nervous
startled her. With a
wifi movement she came for
vard and stood by Paul's side,
utting her hand on his arm.
She was dressed in white satin