Year: 1869

were as nething, if out Of this aw


ful sea of anguish, in which I had beef


submerged, could but bring up thi
Ipearl Of great price-something of m,


very own to love and care for.


1t was dead, so my cousin told me


and l turned my face to the wall, not t,


weep but to lie in dull stupor of au
Fguish until the morning broke.


4 regained my strength after a while


and when the host of summer tourists


went to the city again, I went witt


them. That sad chapter ofmy life haC


ended But my girlhood had ended


forever. Not yet eighteen. I seemed
/ to myself to have lived a century.


& had felt for the first time that i
would be impossible to prove my mar


riage; and now, that my baby was dead


l had no desire to do so. He had SCI


one seal Of silence upon our relation to


each other, aud now the grave had set


another. Let them both remain un.


broken until the resurrection morning.


so 1 went back to the world again.
l went into society; was admired;


was carressed. Dudley Randolph
sought my hand. He was all that was
good and noble. He was worthy Of
any woman's love. did not love him
All, no But I thought my heart had
burned itself out; that nothing was left
but ashes and dead embers. Yet, as
a friend, he was most dear to me, and
believed that I could make him hap
lpy. Ny guardian urged the marriage j;
and loDged, womanlike, for a home
OF my own. In less than year be-
came his wife.


No, do not Interrupt me. Let me
tell the story in my own way. 1 know
all that you would say of the injustice,
the cruelty. I did not love my huband !;
| yet it was not without a pang that l
learned, before we had been married
twelvemonth, that it was necessary for
one Of the firm of Randolph d Co., to
go to India, and that he was that one.
He was to be gone thresyears, and it
was impossible for me to undertake so
long and so tedious a journey. Again
the hopes, the psrils, of approaching
motherhood were upon me.


tHe had been so tender. so true! 1
had found such a rest such peace
such a sense of security in his love.
How could | let him go3 clung to
him in the hour of parting! I sobbed
upon his breast even as the most low
ing of wives might have done. Ithank
God for this, at last, that Dudley Ran
dolph never, in those days, doubted
me. He took my love for granted ;
and, if was not over-demonstratiye ,
the absence Of demonstration did not
pain him. He thought by ma
ture quiet and self-contained, and was
content.


'Ee went, not taking the most direct
route. When he reached Calcutta, he
found letter there telling him that
my child, has child, lay upon my breast.
All what letter he wrote in return
l have it laid up among my treasurers
yet-so full Of vearning, passionate love
for US two, his wife and child. 1 was
reading it alone in my chamber, when
a telegram was brought me. It was
from the cousin who had befriended
me in my trial hour. begging, nay,
commanding me to come to her home
in distant city.


Travelling with baby was no light |
matter to my inexperience. But 1 could |
refuse no call from her, and as soon as
time and strength would permit, I was
by her side.


She was very ill-at the point Of
death. She had lived, the physician
said, for many days, simply because
she woold live; kept alive by the
strength Of an indomitable will


4 lived to see you, Isabel she gasp
ed, l had something to tell you. l
could not die Are they ali gone
Is the door shut. Hold my hands, for
[ cannot see. Kiss me Isabelp


/ did her bidding, tenderIy, but
with deathly sickness at nv heart.


Isabel, she whispered, stoop down.
Put your ear to my lips. He is not
dead-yOur little boy. I told you an
untruth. l did it for you good. /
thought it was for the best. There
seemed no other way to save you from
open shame,


'And now why had she told me
pog, | was just finding peace and rest
and fOrgetfulness when, by the heart
thrill with which had read my hus-
bands letter, hoped it Love was
again knocking at my doors


Her falling eyes sought mine. 'For-
give me she said, 4 could not die with
lhis lie upon my SOUL


For answer kissed her; but II
0nly said where is he?,


He is safe; he has been tenderly
cared for, you can reclaim him when
you will. Give me that pOcket-book.'


she opened it with her trembling
ingers and took from its folds card,
You will find bin there, she said, 1t
$ all right Good night. Forgive US
'ur sins as we forgive


The petition was never finished, or
vas finished in heaven. Ny cousin
vas dead.


After she was buried, / Isought my
hid. May God forgive me, but did /
lot want to love him. 1 only wanted to
orget. I had never seen his face, and t
yer since first promised to be Dud- l
BY Randolph's wife l tried to forget '
bat he had ever been. Under the
tern discipline of sorrow l had grown /
lder and wiser, and l saw now with t
lear vision than in the days that seem
d so long ago. saw that my early a
lol had been but clay that l had mis- c
.ken dross for the pure gold Of 0phir. b
Whether this child's father had will {
Illy wrongsd me, know noti 1 did D
OF wish 90 know. But he had been Il
ears older than l. He was worldly G.
ise, aud | was but child. He had u
mpted, where true love should have e,
lided and strengthened me. ID
But the boy was mine, aud be had Y
claim upon his mother had no n
ght to leave him to the tender mer-
es Of the pitiless world, or to trust Ia
m upon the care of strangers. He d,
as mine. go had sought him out. n,
holy instinct of motherhood, thou art b,
ronger than fear or despair or death pi
J heart recognized him, claimed him n,