The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1910-08-12

have my way and-do what I said, what then? Suppose when I have l worked my will, go away, leaving only desolation and disgrace behind, should I be any happier? No, I should still be in hell''
 ger.
 'I felt that I was Radford Leices- ter again when she kissed me last night he went on. T was at The Beeches again, and for minute I was in heaven-yes, in heaven. I was the lover once more, and, great heaven, how sweet it was to love-" A new light came into his eyes, and he looked more like the Leices- ter of old, Leicester at his best. For g. moment dark passions were dis pelled by something higher, purer; the sunshine of joy rested upon him, but only for a moment.
 'No," he cried, that's all gone. I'll see the thing through to the end. Besides, it is not I whom she loves. l It is a rich foreigner, a partner in the Great Tripoli Company, a Signor | Ricordo, a man with an Italian fa- ther and a Moorish mother. Rad ford Leicester is nothing to her; she ] said so. She declared she could never marry him; ay, and in spite of her promise to him, she is willing to l marry Ricordo. A woman's prom ise. Byron was right, in spite of all canting moralists. A woman's fidelity is like thistledown, and her promises are written in the sands. | ,'I wonder why that woman is so | happy?" he went on presently. "A lonely widow, she has lost her hus- !, band, and her son was killed in the | war, and yet she is happy. Her | faith is strong, she has no fear. Of course she's simple, md shes 1gnor- ant; but if shea happy-great God, what does all our learning amount to? What is the value of all this culture of which we boast? She might have known all about me in telling that story of Aaron Goudge, | for, after all, the motives of that suIlen blackguard were quite as high as mine. Liddicoat wrenged him and he tried to murder him Olive Castlemaine wronged me, and I have brooded over something which is really worse than murder. He had his way, and then lived in torments, and supposing I have my way, what shall be the better? Oh, what a bitter mockery life is."
 He strode along the valley which he had entered, and then, climbing the hill before him, came upon a long stretch of waste land.
 ''She told me she loved pe." he went on; told me that. in spite of struggle, her heart went out to me; told me, that while she feared me, she was never happy unless I was near; ay, and she told me, that al- though her promise never to marry seemed binding when she thought of 1l less real when she thought of me Well, why can't I be happy? Why can't I keep my character, and live in happiness with her? She loves me, and Tho, I don't-I hate her still-yes, hate her more than ever.'' s
 But evidently he was not satisfied The simple farmwoman had start ed him off on a new train of thought
 Nothing is ever worth doing wrong for; it never was, and it never will be- Who said that? 1t's af- 1 ter all. We may sheer at right and wrong, we may say that right and wrong alter with different peo- pies, different countries, but they re- main; yes, and right is heaven and wrong is hell. And I know enough black night. The joy of it is devils joy, only to turn to bitterness and gall. What is revenge, after all, but going to hell yourself in order to | uTdS SOIi0 OIe elSO IhSiS. AHc that's what I've been thinking of But if I don't, what then? Let me think of that now, but no, I won't I'm not one who vows to do a thing and then throws it over lightly
 The sun began to lower, and the lair grew cooler. The sweet, fresh air of the moors famed his brow and it seemed to bring healthier thoughts to him.
 Winfield refused to stay with me as my guest, when he knew what was in my heart,'' he said, ''and Winfield
 does not profess to be a saint; he. only just minded, honest fel-
 low. Was he right. I wonder? Why after all, can't I be happy? Let me think now; yes, I will think it out
 Suppose I give up my scheme of re.