The herald-advance. (Milbank, S.D.) 1890-1922, 1907-08-23
or Dead?'|
The Strange Disappearance Of
Gerald RathbOne.
~ Guy TAoRNG.


object Of her life, &c recently gained.
SO thoroughly enjoyed, was snatchei
away from her in a sudden moment.
But when Marjorie had come to her
self again and the doctor had been
summoned to treat her for a nervous
shock, she found her mother once
more the kindly and loved parent of
old. Lady Poole had been frightened
at her own violence, and ~repented bit
terly for what she had said. She tend
ed and soothed the girl in the sweet
est and most motherly way. And with
out Disgusting from Marjorie the bit
.er blow the girls decision vas to her,
she told her that she was prepared to
accept the inevitable, and to reorgan-
ize all her ideas for the future.
And then had come the black mys-
terry Of Gerald's utter vanishing from
the world Of men and ONE
Lady Poole had always been fond of
Gerald Rathbone, and now, by a curl
contradiction of Nature, when she
had schooled herself to realize that it
was on this man her daughters life
was centered, the old lady was terri
bly, and genuinely affected at Gerald's
disappearance. No one could have
been more helpful or more sympathet-
ic during those black hours, and she
gladly left Curzon street for Brighton
in order that she might be alone with
her daughter, and endeavor to bring
her back In some measure to happi-
ness. to interest In life.
Soon after Marjorie had written her
letter to Sir William. Lady Poole had
received q reply from the scientist, IN.
closing q short note for her daughter.
It had been q wonderful letter. The
writer said that he could not disguise
from himself that he had seen, or at
least suspected. the way things were
going. Terrible" he said, "as this
letter Of your daughters has been to
me, it would yet i'll become me not to
receive 1t as a a had hoped and
believed that q very happy life was In
store for me with Marjorie, and for
her with me. Then l saw that 1t was
not to be, and Marjorie's letter comes
~ no surprise. but as only the definite
and final end Of my dream. Dear Lady
Poole. do realize that, despite all this,
II viii always be my duty and my priv.
ilege to be the friend Of you and OF
your daughter II you and she will per-
init me to be "a. I have told her 50
often how l love her. and I tell her 30
even nov. But love, Is I understand
II, should have the element Of self
sacrifice in IL, II 1t IL true love. I will
therefore say no o about my per.
sonal feelings except in one way. Just
a. my whole life would have been de-
voted to making your daughter happy,
30 ! now feel It my duty to devote my.
self a. well as I can to making her
happy In another way. She has chosen
q man no doubt more worthy to be
her husband than should ever be.
You will forgive . natural weakness
II I say no o on this point, but the
great fact IL that she has chosen.
Therefore, I say that my only wish is
for her lifelong happiness, and that all
my endeavors, such as they are, will
be still devoted to that end. Let them
be happy. let them be together. And
II I can promote their happiness. even
though my own heart may be broken.
believe me. dear Lady Poole. 1t Is my
most fervent wish.
will you give Marjorie the en-.
closed little note OF farewell? I shall
not trouble her more. until perhaps
some day In the future we may still
be friends, though fate and her decis.
ion have forbidden me to be anything
more to her than just that.
Believe me, my dear Lady Poole
In great sorrow and in sincere friend.
ship.
william Gouldesbrough."
SO tho two ladies had gone t.
Brighton, and while the press Of the
United Kingdom was ~throbbing with
excitement. while hundreds Of people
we're endeavoring to solve the strange
mystery Of Gerald Rathbone's disap
pearancs, the girl more nearly inter
estod In It than any one else In the
world stayed quietly with her mother
at the pleasant seaside town. and wal
not molested By press OF public.
Marjorie had become ven In these
few days . ghost Of her former self
The light had faded out Of her eyes
they had ceased 70 appear transparent
and had become opaque Her beauti
ullychiselled lips now dropped IN
pathetic and habitual pain, her pallol
was constant and unvarytng. She
drank In the keen sea breezes and
they brought no color to her cheeks
she walked upon the white chalk cliffs
and saw nothing Of the shifting gold
and shadow a. the sun fell upon the
sea, heard nothing Of the harmonies
q the channel winds. Her whole
heart was full Of = passionate yearn.
ing and Z dull despair; she was like q
stately fower that had been put out Of
it, warm and sheltered home into an
icy blast and was withered and black
ened IN an hour.
$50 %#E@. -