Belington progressive. [volume] (Belington, W. Va.) 1912-1927, 1913-09-18

fear in my hour of happy recovery.
SO long as Edith is well-Doris!
Doris! You alarm me. Edith is not
| ill--not ill.,"
The poor child could not answer
save with her sympathetic look and
hating, tremulous breath; and these
signs, he would not, could not read,
his own words had made such an echo
In his ears
"Ill! / cannot imagine Edith i'll. /
always see her in my thoughts, as l
saw her on that day of our first meet
| ing; perfect, animated woman with
the joyous look of glad, harmonious
nature. Nothing has ever clouded
that vision. If she were Ill | would
have known 1t. We are so truly one
that-Doris, Doris, you do not speak.
You know the depth Of my love, the
| terror of my thoughts. Is Edith ill?"
The eyes gazing wildly into his,
slowly left his face and raised them
selves aloft, with sublime look
Would he understand? Yes, he un-
derstood, and the cry which rang from
his lips stopped for moment the
beating Of more than one heart in that
little cottage.
Dead" he shrieked, and fell back
fainting in his chair. his lips still
murmuring In Observation-Disclosures
Dead! dead"
Doris sprang to her feet, thinking
of nothing but his wavering, slipping
| life till she saw his breath return, his
eyes refill with light
But the rest must be told; his
brother exacted 1t and so did the sit
uation. Further waiting, further hid
| ing of the truth would be insupport-
able after this. But oh, the bitterness
| of It! No wonder that she turned
away from those frenzied. wildly-de-
manding eyes.
"Doris?"
She trembled and looked behind
her She had not recognized his
! voice. Had another entered? Had
| his brother dared-No, they were
alone; seemingly So that Is. She
knew-no one better-that they were
not really alone. that witnesses were
within hearing. II not within sight.
Doris he urged again. and this
time she turned in his direction and
gazed, aghast II the voice were
strange, what of the face which now
confronted her. The ravages of sick
ness had been marked, but they were
nothing to those made in an In
slant by blasting grief. She was
startled, although expecting much,
and could only press his hands while
she waited for the question he was
gathering strength to utter. 1t was
simple when it came; just two words:
How long?"
She answered them as simply:
"Just as long as you have been ill, !"
said she; then, with no attempt to
break the inevitable shock, she went
on: Miss Challoner was struck dead
and you were taken down with ty-
phoid on the self-same day"
Struck dead! Why do you use
that word, struck? Struck dead! she.
a young woman. Oh, Doris, an acct
dent! My darling has been killed in
an accident"
They do not call 1t accident. They
call 1t what it never was. What 1t
never was" she insisted. pressing him
back with frightened hands. as he
strove to rise. Miss Challoner was"
How nearly the word shot had left
her lips. How fiercely above all else,
in that narrowing moment had risen
the desire to fling the accusation OF
that word into the ears of him who
listened from his secret hiding-place.
She refrained out of compassion for
the man she loved, and declared in.
stead, Miss Challoner died from a
wound; how given, why given, no one
knows. had rather have died my
self than have to tell you this. Oh,
Mr. Brotherson, speak. sob, do any
thing but"
She started back, dropping his
hands, as she did so. With quick intu-
ition she saw that he must be left to
himself if he were to meet this blow
without succumbing. The body must
have freedom If the spirit would not
go mad. Conscious, or perhaps not
conscious, of his release from her re
straining hand, albeit profiting by it.
he staggered to his feet, murmuring
that word of doom: Wound! wound!
my darling died of wound! What
kind OF wound?" he suddenly thun
dered out. Il cannot understand what
you mean by wound. Make 1t clear to
me. Make 1t clear to me at once. II
must bear this grief, let me know
It's whole depth. Leave nothing to my
imagination or / cannot answer for
myself Tell it all. Doris"
Il And Doris told him:
"She was on the mezzanine floor
of the hotel where she lives. She
was seemingly happy and had been
] writing letter-a letter to me which
they never forwarded. There was
no one else by but some strangers
good people whom one must believe
She was crossing the floor when sud
denly she threw up her hands anc
; fell A thin, narrow papercutter was
!, in her grasp; and it few into the