The Owosso times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1897-1926, 1907-02-15
and for whom he had suffered.

Il
should be painful. 1t is better that we
should have quiet talk than that we
should part again In anger and bitter
ness"
| She caught his hand in both of hers.
: Still she said nothing. Her large eyes
| gazed up at him as II she sought TO
read in his face the thoughts he might
| not utter. the memories he might not
recall. Her lips distended. He saw her
mouth twitehing at the corners.
| "Nanette,' he said again, though his
| voice was not well under control and
something rose in his throat and stified
him, Il appeal to you not to give way
| toto emotion. You may-become i'll
! again-and would never forgive my
| self"
| Still clinging to his hand. she sank on
her knees by his side. But there was
no wild burst of tears. Her sorrow
was too deep for such kindly aid.
"Stephen," she whispered family, 81
cannot ask you to forget, but you have
| spoken of forgiveness. Can you for
| give?"
| He bent over and would have raised
her. She chung to him with such en-
ergy that he desisted.
my poor wife," he murmurcd, "who
am that l should deny that which
hope to obtain from my Creator?'
But" she painted in that unnerving
whisper. II treated you so vilely. ]
| left you to join the man you had
| fought to save me. l deserted my hus-
band and my child for the sake of the
money he bequeathed to me- In the
| lust of wealth | strove to crush you
out of my Heart. And now that God
has humbled me / must humble my
self. stephen, am not your wife. /
| obtained DIVORCE
| "Nanette," he cried II cannot bear
! to see you Eneeling at my feet. | ask
no revelations. ! forgive you any
wrong you may have done me fully
and freely, as hope to be forgiven
She yielded to his pleading and al
lowed him to raise her. For an instant
she was clasped to his breast.
at would be happiness to die IN your
arms, Stephen" she said wildly. Il do
not deserve it, ! know, but heaven is
merciful"
The dreadful idea possessed him that
in her weak state this passionate wish
might be granted.
"Nanette," he cried, you must con
troll yourself. If you Will not promise
| to sit down and talk quietly l will
leave YOU"
She obeyed him instantly.
Il don't care how much you scOld
me-" she said, "but you must not go
away l meant to see you before left
| Penzance. l came here that night.
looked through the window. l saw my
daughter and her adopted sister listen
ing to you and weeping because of 4
| mothers shame. Then must have lost
my senses. l ran away. l remember
nothing else until woke up to find
| Constance caring for me-in your
| house,
He tried to break in upon the trend
of her thought. This was by no means
| the line he had intended to pursue. His
| hope was to soothe and calm her, -
part from her in amity and without
giving her cause to deplore a loss Of
| dignity.
81 am only too pleased that when i'll
| ness overlook you you We're committed
! TO my care and to Constance. Poor
| girl! She thought you were dead
did you tell her that?"
"No, but l allowed it to be assumed.
which is the same thing"
when did she know the TRUTH
"In the hotel-after you left the
| room. had TO say something. 1t was
| -better-for you-that l should say
| you were my wife,"
$50 even in that trying moment you
strove to shield me from unjust suspi-
cions. Stephen, how could 1 have acted
toward you as did?'
Again he endeavored to lead her to
talk of the future rather than the past.
"There is one great surprise in store
| for you," he said. But it is a pleasant
one in every way. Enid is Mr.. Traill's
| daughter"
II am glad' she said simply. Il do
| not understand, but you must tell me
another time. Just now l can think
only of you and of myself. You must
| listen, Stephen. will do all that you
demand, hide myself anywhere, but
you must know everything. When we
parted, when deserted you to nurse n
dying man, was foolish and willful,
but not wholly abandoned. Nor have /
ever been. l was rich enough to graf
| ify my whims, and for time l lived
| in Paris, OH the Riviera, in Florence
and in Biarritz. But 1 was always
meeting people who knew you, and,
although my, wealth and perhaps my
good looks kept me in certain set, |
| felt that our friends invariably took
your side and despised me. That i'm
Uttered me the more. At last your ia
Their died. and saw some vague refer
ence to your disappearance from soci-
| ETY.. | employed agents to trace you.
| They failed. Then L went to America
and lived on ranch in Nebraska,
where ! obtained divorce from you
on the ground of desertion. Desertion.
Stephen That was the plea 1 raised"
She gave hooking little laugh.
Brand, thinking 1t best to fall in with
her mood, sat In silence on a chair
which he had drawn close to the win
dow. From his house he could see
the wide sweep of Mounts bay. The