The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1911-05-12
(ContinUed.)

mistake, that he had not set the law
in motion at once. Perhaps sne
could have made Martin marry her
in the earlier stages of his infatua-
ton. Now, as things were, the pol
son of that preposterous notion Oh
the priest's-that he was responsible
for her-that he was to blame-that
he ought to help-would keep on cir
culating in his mind, deprived him OF
rest, worked him up into a. fever Oh
negation, of utter reputation of any
such fantastic claims.
''She Is nothing to me. nothing to
me-" he kept on assuring himself,
"she broke her oath, that absolves
me from mine. Not all the priest
craft in the world can make me
think otherwise. What! I, in my
prime, devote my life to such a wo-
man!
Il trusted her. / gave her my
honor to keep, and she lost it! That
acquits me+acquits me before any
tribunal, Gods or man'sv' he urged,
to his own heart. -.
And in fancy he. saw her stand,
as to-day she had stood. with that
worn face and dilated eyes, perfume
floating from her, every fold of her
rich garments carefully disposed up
on her slender frame. The catlike
expression which, as a girl had been
SO slight. so charming, just an up
ward curve of lips.a pointing of dain-
" chin, was now prominent, wholly
feline. But behind it, since Faith
er Conroy's words, he saw lurking
the despair, the hopelessness.
The vision stood SO plainly in MS
minds eye that it was almost as II ne
saw it. He had been pacing the floor
in the moonlight, to and fro, to and
fro; and as he turned to face the door
he had the hallucination that he &C.
tually beheld her there, just as he
had seen her, but with a difference
that sent cold thrill of nerves down
his spine. He thought that her
arms were outstretched towards him.
self.
So strong was the Illusion that he
had to- choke back a scream of hor-
ror He thrust out his own arms in
vehement repulsion-he found him
self staggering, grasping at some fur
nfture for support.
1t was nothing OF course it was
nothing. He passed his hand over
his eyes and nobody was there. But
the moonlight had become terror;
could find and spent the rest of the
night sitting up in a chair. forcing
himself to read the pages of a book,
but with all his attention fixed upon
the problem before him.
When the dawn had fully broken
he lay down at last. And now
sleep came to him. He woke weary
and unrefreshed with the contest still
undecided in his mind. He was as
firmly determined as ever in the JUS
tice of his own case. But during
the night his wife seemed, in some
occult way to have come nearer, to
have grown into a personality instead
Of q mere abstraction as she had been
during all these years.
And it made difference.
His brains and nerves felt numb
after the nocturnal struggle, and his
mind turned with aversion from the
thoughts that had racked it. He
came down to breakfast to find a sui
try morning with heavy purple clouds
threatening thunder.
Vernon, too, looked as if her
nights rest had not been good.
Her eyes were unquiet, though her
manner was passive.
How lovely she had looked last
night For the first time he had
seen her in an evening gown, and the
combined grace and yigor of her
shape had filled him with admiration
To his unbounded establishment a.
letter lay upon his breakfast plate.
Or, rather, one of those blush dou-
bic cards with adhesive edges, which
they sell at the postoffice. 1t had
been addressed with a lead pencil so
the handwriting did not Immediately
enlighten him He opened it forth
with at table, Mrs. Bardsley and Yer
non both present. Inside was writ
ing:
Leo. Leo! I have seen you again,
and the pain was too awful to be re-
peated. So goodbye.
81 did really love you as much as
lies in me to love anybody; and three
days after / left you I repented from
the bottom of my soul. Since then
i have gone through deep waters.
have loathed my life, but UP to now
i have been too great a coward to
leave it, Now I am too great cow
ard to keep it any longer.
Goodbye, then. I only ask you
one mercy. 1 give you your freedom
give me this in exchange. If it can
. be managed, shield my name from
infamy. Let me be buried as the wife
of the man from whose hands I am
now escaping.
81 suppose that Vernon will have
TO know that the obstacle is remov-