The Mitchell capital. (Mitchell, Dakota [S.D.]) 1879-1918, 1909-01-21
The Crime Of s'' s :
a 9 ss's' the

sombcr-held me in his arms n burs
into tears. Ills embrace was that of
man who concentrates in one being al
that remains Of hope.
"Thou-thou are here" he said in &
low one If thou kneWest!'
II was o to the depths of m,
heart. That manly face, usually SO en-
ergetic, wore an expression OF terror
which was in some way almost child.
ish, a timorous fright. The tears rose
in his eyes.
"'Oh, how l have waited for thee
how l have longed for thee!'
lie repeated this phrase with anx-
ious obstinacy. Then he seemed to be
~suffocating. Emotion! The sight OF
that night when he thought that lie
was about to die without parting with
me for the last time.
For what l have TO tell thee
He shook his head.
1T is the secret of my life
n was lying on a sort Of sick chair
or lounge in the library where he
passed his last days with his books,
He made me sit down beside him. He
took my hand n said:
~ am going to die. I believed that
the end had come last night. I called
S''NS' III WGll, IL i kldu ulSu lIeEe Is
n being in the world who would not
nave had the fortune which, have
H lowered his voice as IL he
thought VIC We're spied upon, as If
someone could hear.
~ have a daughter. Yes, even from
fortunes me. A daughter who loves me
n who has not h right to confess
this tenderness no more than I have
the right to give her my name. All,
our youth. sad youth! l might have
Q a home today, a flreside Of my own,
q dear one near me, and instead of that
an anectiOn of which / am ashamed
and which l ave hidden even from
thee, Jacques-from thee, dost thou
comprehend
Il remember each Of Rovere's words
as II l was hearing them now. This
conversation with my poor friend is
among the most poignant yet most pre-
cious of my remembrances. With much
emotion, which distressed me, the poor
man revealed to me the secret which he
had believed 1t his duty to hide from
me go many years, and I vowed to him
II sWore to him on my honor, and that
Is why I hesitated to speak or rather
refused to speak, not wishing to COM
promise nyOne neither the lead nor
tiYing-l swore to him, M. le Juge, to
repeat nothing of What he old me to
anyone. to anyone but to her.
Herr" Intercepted NJ. Ginory.
His daughter" Dantin replied.
The examining magistrate recalled
that visitor in black who had been seen
occasionally at Rovere's apartments
n the little romance of which Paul
Roller had written in his paper-the
OF the woman in black.
And this daughter"
She BEARS" said Dantin, with \ dis
couraged gesture. 1.-THE name Of the
father which the law gives her, and
this name Is a great name, an illus
trious name, hat Of q retired general
officer living In one of the provinces, a
widower. and who adores the girl who
dead. The father has eve been
known. When dying. the mother re-
vealed the secret to the daughter. She
came, by command of II dead, to see
Rovere but as a sister of charity,
atthful to the name which she bears.
never leave the crippled old soldier
who calls her his daughter and who
adores her"
OH" said NJ. emory, remaining
mute a moment before this very simple
drama, and in which, in that moment
Of rejection he so~mprehended. he an
alyzeu. nearly all of the hidden griefs,
the secret tears, the stifled sobs. the
stolen kisses, And that is why yo,
kept silent2" he asked.
Yes, monsieur. Oh. but I could not
endure the torture any longer, and not
seeing II expected release any nearer
y woul have spOken-I would have
OF sunocation, I endured there. 1t
seemed to me. however. that I owed 1t
to my dead friend not to reveal his Sc
cfet to anyone. not even to you. / shall
never forget Rovere's joy when, re-
lev OF the burden by the confidence
which he had reDosed in me-. he said
TO me that, now that she who vas his
daughter and was poor, living at Blois
only on the pension OF a retired officer
TO whom h had appointed herself
nurse. knowing that she was not his
daughter, this innocen child, who has
paving with a life of devotion for tina
sins Of wv guilty ones, would at least
have happiness at last.
She Is young, and the n for whom
She cares cannot live always. My for
tune will give her a dowry. And then!'
1T was to me to whom he confded
this fortune. He had very little money
with his notary. Erratic and distrust-
fui. Revere kept his valuables in his
safe. as he kept his books in his library.
It seemed that he was q collector, pick
ing up all kinds OF things. Avaricious?
No. but he wished to nave about him.
under his hand, everything which be-
longed to him. He possibly may have
Wt0AAcO W 8ltO WlldI I0 nAO directly 10
tho m whom It seemed good to him
to give 1t n confide 1t to me In
trust.
Il regret not having asked him d.
rcctly that day what he counted on do
ing with his fortune and how he I'm
tended cnriching his child whom he
had not the right to recognise. I dared
not. or, rather. I did not, think Of 1t.
I experienced a strong emotion when
saw my friend enfeebled and almost
dying. I had known him so different,
SO handsome. oh. those poor, sad,
restless eyes, that lowered voice. as Ii
HI feared an enemy was listening! Ill
ness a quickly. brutally changed that
vigorous man, suddenly old and timor-
GUS.
II went away from that first inter
view much distressed, carrying a Sc
cret which seemed to me a heavy and
cruel n and which made me think Of
h uselessness, h ~wickedness, the
vain loves of a ruined life. But I felt
that Revere owed truly his fortune t.
that girl who, the next day after thu
death of the one whom she hat
piously attended, found herself poo
and isolated In q little house In q steer
street, near the chateau. above Blois
felt that whatever this unknown IA
tller left ought not to go to distan
II tolotfunc 1,,ED n noA ~D<It~o- rnw hNno