The San Juan islander. [volume] (Friday Harbor, Wash.) 1898-1914, 1904-01-21

traying her guilt. He could guess at the
cause of her enmity towards Rose; for
NJ. Merry Yves shrewd man; and he re-
solved to expedite the union of the lovers
as much as was possible, that. in case
the hatred of Helen should be still UNI
satisfied, the young girl might be safe
from her reach, under the protection of
her husband.
Meanwhile the burial of Henri took
place. 1t was quiet, unostentatious He
was laid in the family vault. to rest at
last, after a weary life of sorrow, of
desperation and of crime. Only the mar
quis and the immediate members of his
family were made acquainted with the
history of the unhappy man, in the rec
ords which he left behind. Louis return
ed from Paris in time for this burial
Returned, in anticipation of his ap-
preaching marriage day, to find his in
tended bride but just recovering from a
dangerous illness, and Helen Montauban,
as many believed, at the gates Of death;
to learn the story of the strangely
chequered life of his deceased relative,
and recognize, in his beloved Rose.
cousin. and the child so long mourned as
lost by his uncle. What an astounding
revelation was this.
In the evening preceding the bridal
day the marquis called Rose to him in
the library, and after some remarks, care
less and Insignificant enough in them
selves but accompanied by manner
that betrayed the emotion agitating him.
he said suddenly:
Rose. my child, you have loved your
father"
80, yes, MONSIEUR she replied, earn
estly, and with tears standing in her
eyes.
"And you have also loved me, RoseT
His voice trembled, despite his efforts to
control himself.
"Ah, my friend, my benefactor, what
have you been to me but a second faith
er?'
He seated himself beside her.
at is sweet, my child, to hear you say
this-ah, you do not know how sweet to
me! Rose, did | not tell you once that
l lost, fourteen or fifteen years ago,
child-a lovely, gentle infant, whose pic
ture you have seen in the saloon-a child
who was stolen from me?'
Yes, monsieur"
"And l have told you that you were
what that child would be now If she were
living. 1t is why you have ever been so
dear to me. All, many time. Rose,
have clasped you in my arms with an
emotion of tenderness which, even had
you felt, you could not have comprehend
ed! For my child-my Marguerite-my
pearl-resembled her mother-her sweet
mother, my wife, and you were the i'm
age Of both mother and child. And now
listen, Rose. 1t is within these two last
months, Rose. that l have discovered
what became of my little Marguerite
She was stolen from me by my own
brother, Henri. You start, Rose, and
turn pale. 1t was so; it was his revenge.
He would have taken Helen, the child Of
her whom he had loved so madly; but he
knew that l loved my youngest darling
the best-that idolized the daughter of
my lost Marguerite: and he took the
youngest. He reared her as his own He
brought her into this neighborhood, after
an absence of two years, during which
time she had grown and altered beyond
recognition, though, when | met her,
saw likeness to my wife. Yet l never
suspected. He dwelt, solitary man,
with this little orphan child, whose moth
er--his wife-they said was dead. He
lived not more than half a league from
this very dwelling. There my child, un-
recognized, expanded into lovely wom-
anhood. She was"
He was interrupted in his hurried and
agitated recital by faint cry from Rose.
She sprang up with clasped hands and
quivering lips.
20. tell me-tell me who it was" she
cried. "Speak-it was"
my child-my daughter!" uttered the
marquis, extending his arms to embrace
her; "behold her-for they called her
Rose Lamonte!'
"Ah, my father" And with the soft
utterance of that dear name. she tainted
upon his breast
AS matter of course, Rose-no, Mar
guerite-and Louis were united And
though Marguerite mourned still, with a
child's affection, the loss of him whom
she had hitherto regarded as a parent,
yet her heart turned with natural love,
to her true father; and the regard which
she had ever felt for him, while her re-
lationship to him was yet unknown, ex-
banded and deepened now into that holt
est and tenderest of sentments-a daugh-
ter's affection.
Helen Montauban. as soon as her health
became re-established. entered convent,
to enter upon her novitiate: and when 1t
was expired, assumed the veil, that shut
her from a world grown hateful to her.
The Illustration of her evil design upon
her sister was too much for her to bear;
and though, thanks to the mercy Of NJ.
Merry, her guilt remained secret from
all save himself, yet she could not endure
to meet daily with those whose happiness
continually reminded her of the fate alike
of her love and her revenge. None knew
why she entered the convent. save NJ.
Merry. Persuasion had avaied nothing.