The Washington herald., 1907-09-15

against yourself, what should have been
whispered 10 YOU as we sat hand in hand
/ together; but I must tell il as 7 can, You
remember that September storm and a
/ business visit paid to Eddleston on the
day Of the reopenins of the Murray
School. Ny visit was not to Eddleston,
but 10 Finnarty, q fishing village some
miles beyond IL. 1 got a curious. ~
spelled. Hl-written letter asking me 90 go
there on matter of the utmost impOr-
tance: once 7 would have tossed II "a the
I fire. but now I went The cottage ! was
directed 10 was d lonely one. far out be-
tween the sands and the fat fields. Its
owner. the writer OF the letter, told me
but, my God. how am I to tell yOu?''-
and the writing, fairly steady till now,
became so blurred and uneven that the
dilated eyes Of the woman breathlessly
reading could hardly decipher il.
"On the morning after the storm he
found a body washed up on the sands
a woman's. with long light hair, blanch-
ed by long immersion ia the water. Il
must have been washed down by the sud
den spate in the river. after lying for
weeks probably in some deep pool. There
were some rings, a fine diamond one
among them, and a little brooch. He
took them and buried the poor unknown
body among the sand dunes. When he
examined his prey he recognized the
Stormont device on one Of the rings. and
remorse and prudence. chiefly 1 think
the fear that he could not dispose Of his
prize with safety 10 himself, caused him
to write 10 me rather than 10 inform the
police. :
sr1Fv NOR NTar{au -f7ara can 80 mn ,71rrF,r
there was BasiI's diamonds, the plain
gold signet with the Stormont oak. the
little butterfly brooch-your dread Of the
Alder Pool has been but too true. He
took me 10 the place where she was laid
Better ye Gamma see her noo' he said.
Marian, viii You ever forgive me? I left
her there. 1 left him in the belief that il
must be some unknown vagrant who had
robbed our child and, since she had eyi-
IDENTIFY never been missed. tie story need
not be brought up again. He was in
fnitely relieved. For his own sake he
VIII hold his tongue.
7 came home 10 find my child-the child
who had been flung upon the wayside like
a weed. and had sprung up TO such
strength and beauty-thTeatening the por-
trait OF our darling with q knife, as I
thought God forgive IRE. 1 felt for the
moment what murder means I took the
portrait 10 the library-nOw you know
why. Next day Ashe, who seems TO have
scented out some mystery, dropped some
hints 10 Isobel about the Testament and
she searched for IL and found it in my
writing table. With it in her hand again
the sole reminder Of her past life-mem-
ory awoke!
when I came in--Oh my God. II is
an awful thing for a man 70 face his
judge in his own flesh and blood. but.
amid all the horror Of it-I found that
my utmost dread was perhaps gr0undless.
Last night brought me the resul: of nv
inquiries, the continuation Of the hope
had hardly dared 10 cherish. You are
my wife. Marian. ! have done you no
legal wrong, though that may seem but
small thing now, after what you have
read.
IF cannot pray for myself. at least I
can beg for pity for my child-the shock
OF the awakening that she was not your
Child-that you were not her mOther-well
nigh killed her. 1t was I who forced her
to play her part, since I thought Il would
only cause further misery TO undeceive
you now, but it is impossible; I can keep
up the cheat. live the lie no longer. I
would rather bear your utmost condem-
nation than let you speak again as you
did last night Of your love and trust-for
ne,
But IsobeI Is innocent. She is my Legal.
frst-bOrn child. I have sent the proofs
In a sealed packet to my lawyers, but She
does not know this yet I have PLAYED
a towards part-to her, indeed. While nv
one thought was 20 safeguard YOU.
found it hard enough to wiring a promise
OF silence from her; the thought Of deceiv-
ing you reyolted her. and I was guilty OF
the miserable device Of keeping for the
present SO much Of the truth from her
If she did not know her true position.
she might be less likely 10 speak.
thought, though there I cruelty rnisitdged
her. She finds it hard to forgive me: I
do not wonder 1 have given her a heri-
tag6 Of misery. for there is Conyers, who
truly loves her-but 1 cannot write Of that
now. Marian, can you take pity on herr
Though for you, too, there viii be the BIT
ter contrast between her young beauty
and that nameless grave in the sands; but
you viii not, Ike me, see your sin, your
shame, your folly, looking out on you
from those clear eyes, from that face un-