Middletown transcript., 1912-05-18
CHAPTER XVII.
rbs str.no9h q The weak.

in which these two lovers found them
selves so unwittingly and inextricably
involved. 1t was indeed curious and
bewilderfng situation. Passionate
alteration for the other rose in each
breast like the surging tide OF
mighty sea, and like that tide upon
the shore it broke upon conventions,
ideas, ideals and obligations intangi-
bic to the naked eye, but as real as
those iron COSTS that have withstood
the waves assaults since the worlds
morning.
The man had shaped his life upon a
mistake He believed absolutely In
the unquestioned devotion Of wom-
an to whom he had been forced to
mete out death in an unprecedented
and terrible manner. His unwilling
ness to derogate by his own conduct
from the standard of devotion which
he believed had inhabited his wife's
bosom, made it impossible for him to
allow the real love that had come into
his heart for this new woman to have
free course; honor, pride and self-re7
spect scourged him just in proportion
to his passion for Enid Maitland.
The more he loved her, the more
ashamed he was. By a curious COM
bination Of circumstances, Enid Matt
land knew the truth; she knew that
from one point Of view the woman had
been entirely unworthy the reverence
in which her husband held her mem
ory. She knew that his wife had not
loved him at all, that her whole heart
had been given to another man, that
what Newbold had mistaken for pas
sionate desire for his society because
there was no satisfaction in life for
the wife away from him, was due to
fear lest without his protection she
should be unable to resist the appeal
Of the other man which her heart
seconded 30 powerfully. If it were
only that Newbold would not be false
to the obligation of the other woman's
devotion, Enid might have solved the
problem in moment.
It was not so simple, however. The
fact that Newbold cherished this men,
ory, the fact that this other woman
had fought so desperately, had tried
so hard not to give way, entitled her
to Enid Maitland's admiration and de-
manded her highest consideration as
we'll Chance, or Providence, had put
her In possession of this woman's Sc
cret. 1t was as If she had been caught
inadvertently eavesdropping. She
could not in honor make use Of what
she had overheard, as it were; she
could not blacken the other woman's
memory, she could not enlighten this
man at the expense Of his dead wife's
reputation.
Although she longed for him as
much as he longed for her, although
her love for him amazed her by its
depth and intensity, even to bring her
happiness, commensurate with her
feeling, she could not betray her dead
sister. The imposts Of honor, how
hard they are to sustain when they
conflict with love and longing.
Enid Maitland was naturally not a
little thrown on her balance by the
situation and the power that was hers.
What she could not do herself she
could not allow anyone else to do.
The obligation upon her must be ex-
tended to others. Old Kirkby had no
right to the woman's secret any more
than she; he must be silenced. Arm
strong, the only other being who was
iprivy to the truth, must be silenced
too.
One thing at least arose out of the
sea Of trouble IN q tangible way; she
was done with Armstrong. Even If
she had not so loved Newbold that she
could scarcely give thought to any
iOther human being, she was done with
Armstrong.
A singular situation! Armstrong
had loved another woman, SO had New.
bold; and the latter had even married
this other woman, yet she was quite
willing to forgive Newbold, she made
every excuse for him, she made none
for Armstrong. She was an eminently
sane, just person, yet as she thought
iof the situation her anger against
Armstrong grew hotter and hotter. 1t
was a safety valve to her feelings, al.
though she did not realize it. After
all, Armstrong; actions rendered her
a certain service; II she could get
over the objection in her soul, If she
could ever satisfy her sense of honor
and duty and obligation, she could set
Tie the question at once. She had
only to show the letters to Newbold
and to say: These were written by
the man Of the picture; 1t was he, and
not you, your wife loved" and New,
bold would take her to his heart in
stantly.
These thoughts were not without q
certain comfort to her. All the com
pensations Of self sacrifice is in Its
realization. That she could and did
not somehow ennobled her love fol
him. Even women are alloyed with
base metal. In the powerful and
universal appeal Of this man to her
she rejoiced at whatever was Of the
soul, rather than of the body. To
possess power, to refrain from using
1t in obedience to some higher law, fl
perhaps to pay oneself the most fat
tering Of compliments. There was 9
satisfaction to her soul in this which
was yet denied him.
Her action was quite different from
his. She was putting away happiness
which she might have had in compli
ance with higher law than that
which bids humanity enjoy. 1t was
Aattering to her mind. In his case
It was otherwise; he had no con
sciousness that he was a victim Of
misplaced trust, Of misinterpreted ac
tion. He thought the woman for
whom he was putting away happiness
was almost as worthy, II Infinitely less
desirable, as the woman whom he now
loved.
Every sting Of outrage, every feel
ing Of shame, every fear Of dlsloyalty
scourged him. She could glory in IT;
he was ashamed. humiliated, broken
She heard him saVagely walking ur
and down the other room, restlessly
tmDelled by the same Erinyes which