Camas Prairie chronicle. [volume] (Cottonwood, Idaho) 1901-1917, 1906-01-19
CHAPTER vII.-CCOntinued.,

Your father loves you, and takes every
care Of you. You must therefore bear
this In mind and not be hard on the fail
ings OF others who have not had your
privileges. My wife-poOr girli--had no
mother when first met her, and was
totally dependent on her father for So
ciety. 1t was a bad training for a young
woman, for her father was a good-natur-
ed careless fellow. always avoiding re-
SpOnsiblity as long a. was possible, and
when at last compelled to show authority.
making up By exaggerated harshness for
his previous neglect.
MY wife was a hlgh-spirited girl and
could not submit to the alternate fits of
indulgence and tyranny. She was about
seventeen when l first met her, and her
fathers treatment was becoming unbear-
able. became desperately sorry for
her and suggested the only means in my
power to help her, which was to make
her my wife. 1t was a foolish proceed
Ing. | know, but was young then, and
had not begun to look at life seriously,
or ! should have asked myself how her
position would be bettered by being tied
Tor life to helpless, penniless fellow, as
was then. Well, we were married.
privately Of course-and for a few
weeks thought we loved each other very
dearly; then she had another fearful
quarrel with her father and begged me
to take her away to a home of her own.
was earning beggarly pittance at that
time. l explained my position to her,
and advised her to wait until had OBJ
tanned a certain appointment, of which
l was almost sure. She lost her temper,
POOT child, and vowed she's never
come near me again. The very next day
was telegraphed for to England. 1
wrote to her, asking her to be patient for
awhile, telling her that l would work
hard and get a permanent post now that
there was a necessity to work. and prom
lSing to come back shortly to take her
from the cruelty to which she had to sub
NIT
"On my arrival in England / found
that an almost unknown uncle had left
me property amounting to nearly three
thousand pounds q year: You can i'm
agine how glad l was for my poor girls
sake made up my mind to surprise
her and personally communicate the good
news, so did not write. l got through
the usual legal formalitles as quickly as
possible, and rushed back to ROme-only
to find them gone! Some told me they
had gone to one place, some to another,
until | was utterly at a loss what to do.
However, I traced them, after a months
search, to Naples, and then it was only
to find that her father had died a few
days previously and that she had disap-
PeaTed no one knew whittier.
i did not know any Of her people,
80 l was compelled to search single
handed. For six months l went up and
down like a restless spirit In search of
peace At last l found her-or rather
her graVe-for she had died; she had
died in convent, where she had been
teaching English. By the help of a SER
want | obtained permission to see her
grave. There was plain stone with her
name only, and the date of her death,
which took place some few weeks prior
to my visit. Poor child! l cannot CON
Vey to you how great a blow It was to
me, and my grief was not lessened by
the fact that she had died at enmity
with me-" '-
I'VE must hope she forgave you, al
though you did not see her." Ethel said
quietly.
Polling did not answer, and there was
silence for time. 1t was relief when
Mr.. Mallett spoke, .;fte
'She must have been Of a most unfor-
giving disposition to resent your pow
erty, so bitterly, and to nurse her hatred
In her dying moments" t..-%
II don't think she did that-indeed,
the chances are that, in her poor little
way, she was looking for me as anxious
ly as was for her. 1t was one Of those
strange fatalities that human foresight
seems utterly unable to prevent"
He rose aned shook himself, as If wish
full to put away the memories that had
crowded upon him while speaking Of the
iong-silent past.
e''You win think me no end Of bore
for annoying you with all this history;
but, II you can imagine the relief It has
been to me to speak of It, and you have
any human kindness In your hearts, you
will forgive me for the infection. But
my poor sketches2 have it! You must
come down and spend a long day with
me on Sunday. What do you say, Miss
MallettP'
Ethel looked perplexed. She had hoped
against hope that Jack would return ev-
cry Sunday since his departure, and went
through a torment of expectation as the
day wore on. This had taken place for
the last three Sundays; but she went on
hoping. Her father, recognizing the din
Guilty in which Ethel found herself, came
10 the rescue.
''If Ethel can arrange matters, 1t shall
be as you wish. can't say more; for
Il Is not my affair, but hers"
THANK you very much"
Ten minutes later the captain stood
alone at the gate, watching the dog cart
disappear down the road. st
80 it's Ethel's affair."" he said,
swell, hope they'll come and bring
Etheps AFFAIR with them. l shall be
better able to judge Of my own chance
after l have seen my rival"
TpuNnr.