The Ocala evening star. [volume] (Ocala, Fla.) 1895-1943, 1912-08-06
CHAPTER <.
Dominick Comes Home.

OOfninICk ZONES TONIC.
Three days after the return of the
Cannons, Dominick Ryan also came
home He had answered Rerny's les-
ter the day the Cannons left, a few
| hours after that interview with the
Bonanza King, in which, driven to
bay by the old mans questions, he
had torn the veil from his married
life
After that there was a period Of
several hours when he sat in his room
thinking over what had happened. 1t
seemed to him that he had played
a dastardly part. He saw himself a
creature of monumental, gross selfish
| ness, who had cajoled a young girl,
in a moment of softness and senti-
ment, into an action which had done
nothing but distress and humiliate
her. He, who should have been the
| strong one, had been weak. 1t was
he who should have seen how things
We're going; he, the married man, who
had allowed himself to feel and to
yield to love that ought to have been
hidden forever in his own heart.
He felt that it would be a sort of
expiation to go back to his wife. That
was where he belonged. Rose must
never again cross his path, have a
| place in his thoughts, or float, a soft
| beguiling image, in his memory. He
| had a wife. No matter what Berry
was, she was the woman he had mar
| ried. She had not deceived him. 1t
was he who had done her a wrong,
and he owed her reparation.
In his raw state, his nerves still
| thrilling with the memory Of that mo-
ment's embrace, he saw Berry from
| her own point of view. He lost the
memory Of the complacent mistress in
the picture of the unloved wife, on
whose side there was much to be said.
Morbidness colored his vision and ex-
| aggerated his sense of culpability. If
| she had an ugly temper, had it not
| been excited, fed and aggravated by
| the treatment she had received from
| his family? If they had maintained
a different attitude toward her, the
| poor girl might have been quite a
| pleasant, easy-going person. In all
| other ways she had been good wife.
4
| had ever won glance from her. She
had often enough assured Dominick
of that fact, and he, for his part, knew
| it to be true. She had struggled to
! keep a comfortable home on their
small income. If she was not congen-
ial to him-if her companionship was
growing daily more disagreeable-was
| it all her fault? He had known her
we'll before he married her, six months
of the closest intimacy had made him
acquainted with every foible of her
character. 1t was no story Of a youth
beguiled and deceived by a mature
woman in the unequal duel of a draw.
! ing-room courtship.
Her letter intensified his condition
of self-accusation, chafed and irritated
| his soreness of shame till 1t became a
weight of guilt. 1t also stirred afresh
the pity, which was the strongest feel
] ing he had for her. It was the ten
derest, the most womanly letter, Ber-
ny had ever written him. A note Of
real appeal sounded through 1t. She
had Inundated herself, asked his par
don, besought of him to return. AS
ne lHOuSuI VI II, tue flSlOH VI ueI
alone in the fiat, bereft OF friends,
DULY devoid of any occupation, scorn-
full Of her old companions, fawningly
DESTROYS Of making new ones who re-
i fused to know her, smote him with
an almost sickening sense Of its pitt
fulness. He felt sorry for her not
alone because of her position, but be-
cause of what she was, what her own
disposition had made her. She would
i never change, her limitations were
fixed. She would go on longing for
the same f1esh-pots to the end, believ-
ing that they represented the highest
and best.
Berry had realized that her letter
was a skillful and moving production,
but she did not know that 1t was to
gain a hundredfold in persuasive
power by falling on a guilty con-
science. 1t put an end to Dominick' s
revolt, it quenched the last sparks Of
the mutinous rage which had taken
him to Antelope. That same after
noon in his frigid bedroom at the no
tel, he answered it. His reply was