The Washington herald., 1907-09-15
CHAPTER XVIII (Continued)

CHAPTER XVIII (COntinued).
Here she fingered ont d sort OF death
in life for few years; then the child
Elsie was left alone with the old man
and his old housekeeper about as infrm
as ne. She had never been at school
What she knew her grandfather had
taught her. She had never had d friend
Of her own age. and she had the natural
longing Of youth for youth, and she would
watch the long white road unroiling itself
down the glen. wondering il she would
ever fare forth upon it 70 the wonderful
world beyond. or If some change-some
one would ever come down it 10 her
Weil-I came"
I needn't tell you the story OF that
autumn Our hearts seemed TO flow to-
gether like two mountain streams. For
. time I lived only in her, the world be-
yond the glen did not exist; and at last
I persuaded the old grandfather 10
marry Us. see the dark. heavy manse
Darlor yet, the old beadle and the old
housekeeper. the only witnesses. The
old minister had lived for years as with
drawn from the world as any monk in
his cloisJeT. and his hold on life was
fast slaCkening. He accepted my story,
my reasons for q private marriage, with
out any demur, though then had not
the slightest intention OF concealment-
only till could prepare the way 10 bring
my bride home
Then came the telegram telling me Of
my mothers sudden illness. I came back
TO the old life. the old expectations, the
old surroundings. I saw how my mother
clung to you, Marian; that you We're
Ike daughter 10 her I realized now
what the news Of my marriage would
mean 10 her / could not bear to break
her heart upon her deathbed, 10 disaD-
point her last earthly desire. In my
weakness I let matters drift on. She
fingered long, as you well remember.
and while she fingered I delayed
In the short December days my wIfe's
grandfather died. and I took Elsie from
the lonely manse-the silent glen-to Ed
inburgh. Poor child, il was sorry
change for her. but feared the gossip
OF country place. She was infinitely
more lonely than in Strathchurch. and
her pride was sorely chafed because /
asked her for time 10 assume another
name. Was 1 ashamed OF her? was the
burden Of our interviews, our letters.
after that
needn't weary YOU with the story
Of that winter-the story Of a man and
woman-ch1d, rather. waking from
the hot dream of young passion. and see
ing each other with unglamoured eyes:
and the further poor Elsie and I drew
apart the nearer, Marian, I drew again
70 you. I have no defense for the dou-
bic wrong I was doing: as day by dav
the Old, lifelong love reasserted it's
power. Ny eyes. were<opened, and I saw
al that In my rashness. I had for
felted- Ny visits to Elsie grew fewer and
ieWer. 1 had always plenty Of reasons
my poor mother craved my company.
my father was delegatng more and more
10 me-but the excuses which seemed so
cogent at SJOrmont did not always seem
SO strong IN that dull little suburban
house
AT last I got letter from Elsle-not
the hrst-beseeching me desperately to
come at once-at once. It was the night
my mother died. my Eathe-- was dis
tracted-yoU remember could not 90. so
It seemed TO me. Iwwired the uews-I
wrote begging her 10 be patient. to be
reasonable. only u little longer. though
at the bottom Of my heart, I knew il
would be a bitter day for me when
must bring her 10 Stormont. and God
knows how much poor child. she read
between the lines.
There was silence for some days. and
then came a last frantic scrawl Since
her last letter-a letter which by soma
bitter misChance never reached ne-had
failed TO touch me. though her news
would( surely have moved any man. SO
she wrote-she knew that she had no
longer a place in my heart any more
than in my life. She would leave me free
II was not likely she would survive rbe
birth OF her child-the child for whom I
had not one word Of welcome. Her life
was unbearable. I learned too lata thar
some ruiiian had been thrustirC himself
On her, and / was away She kent her
woTd; she vanished out OF nv life. In
spite Of every effort. I never found any
real trace OF her till-but you will hear.
FROM that day remorse has clung to
me Ike my shadow. Why didn't 7 throw
myself on your generosity, Marian? There
were whispers, hints-T was not treating
you well DO you think did not know
what your divine patience was bearing
for ne?
Enough-I let you think me q true
and honest, If somewhat slack. wooer.
and, as time went on and the past re-
ceded, You gave me happiness which I
never dreamed could have been mine.
Then the blow fell.
When our child was given back to US.
thought my Judge had reiented. and
theI-oh, my poor wife. it was your own
hand-and, as a damned soul may, I