Year: 1859

in his attentions as you? Then came the news
of his death-shot by some traitor hand pur-
suing his solitary way over the mountains;
then my mothers illness for Dick was all her
loye-her death r'


Another pause, and again the hand was
pressed upon the forehead Again she went
on:


1--WE thought you very kind then, Gilbert
Thorne. 1t was BETTER perhaps, for father
that ne went as he did better him and bet
ter for me-fathers are very blind, and mine
Yves binder than all the rest, or he might have
seen what | too late understood Was it
strange, when he felt the chords of life loosen
ed from earth, that he should have thought
you the most worthy of the sacred trust of be-
ing his daughters guardian, and the executor
of his will Oh, fate oh, fate how cruelty
thou doest use US Well, well Gilbert Thorne,
you were my guardian. The world reputed
my father rich All that he left on earth was
in your keepng-his fortune-and his daugh-
ter. You did not take that daughter to your
home, and cherish her as sister, as you prom
ised upon his dying bed-No, no. But am
as much to blame, perhaps, as you, for what
followed, with only this difference There was
no excuse for you, as you were a man of ma
ture years. a husband and father, while was
only a girl of a loving heart-loving as a wo-
man-without knowing or understanding what
fearful thing it is for a woman to embark all
the rich freight OF her affections on one who
can never fill to her the sacred relation of a
husband:-well, well, | became your mistress;
but God ahove can bear me witness, kneW
not achGt DID, / only knew that loved you,
worshipped you with all of the intensity of
strong hearts first affection"


Again pause and again the same hand
pressed upon the brain, and again she goes on
in a softer, lower, and more tremulouS voice
than before


" was very, very happy in those brief, few,
months, Gilbert. | say it with shame, but yet
| cannot help but say it. | used to watch for
your coming the few times week which you
spared to me, oh ! so eagerly, so earnestly. I
have thought sometimes that much might be
forgiven me for what | tried to be then | have
remembered since that sometimes you used to
tell me about my fathers property, and some
times We went in carriages and signed papers in
courts and in lawyers offices, and that after
many months' you told me that my father es-
tate would little more than pay his debts and
the expenses of administration | remember
that | never scarcely needed what you said,
and that | only cared for the money as it was
of need TO you. | never even thought that you
could wrong me, for [ knew you loved me, and
| was beautiful and worthy of being loved !
can recall all the foolish, yet tender sophiStries
with which | used to reconcile myself to my
fate | would say, can never be his wife ;
but | will be to him such tender and devO-
ted friend, so true so dlSntereSted, ever watch
full of his interests, ever patient. enduring, and
loving, that he will cling to me more fOndly
than ever husband to wife, and hold me in
such close relationship that nothing on earth
can ever break the tie which binds us togeth-
err Oh weak and simple fool you little
thought that at the very moment when you
were building such airy castles, the cherished
object of them all was planning to crush them
down to earth


Il well remember the night which decided
my fate. | have thought of it many times, and
never without bitterness and hate until to-day
You came to me as usual, and after our little
supper-how sweet those little suppers were !?
you told me that great change had come
over you that your daughter was coming up
your wife, good faithful woman, was suf-
ferng from your neglect that your friends





you and many other things of like import :;
and then, to cap it all, that [ tcas the cause. lou
said you had determined, while it was vet in
your power, to break, at a single stroke, the
ties between Us, and that each must 90 our
ways, never to meet again. You told ne that
it had been a matter deliberately thought of
| by you, and that from the love which you had
borne for me, you could not let me 90 unpro-
vided for, and that, to satisfy your conscience
and your heart, and to insure for me per-
manent support, you would divide your fortune
with me, and settle upon me the sum of ten
| thousand dOLkyrS an cash"


"Oh, Gilbert Thorne what wretched,
wretched, night was that When life came
back to me, after the full realization of your
purpose had left me insensible upon the floor,
and found myself lying upon the bed where
you had placed me, while you, bending over
me, chafed my temples, and sought by every
tender epithet, to bring me back to reasOn--I
felt all broken, and as though life was worth
no further struggle. You asked me many,
very many things-if | would promise never
| to see you more-if would sign paper, and
| if | would be satisfied to take ten thousand
dollars, and call all things square. | said yes.
-Yes-yes-tO everything What did | care
for? 1chat ten thousand dollars 10 me q
Well, you left me, and promised to come the
next evening. You came, and with you came
friend-you said brother lawyer-to wit
ness the settlement, and to make out the
papers. l remember signed great many
documents. You told me to be calm, and not
to let the stranger see me affected, as it would
injure you if did so. was calm. / signed
everything you told me TO, and then, wheL.
all was finished You handed me paper and a
little book, and told me that there was ten
thousand dollars in the bank, for me, which l
might draw at any time. The stranger said it
was all correct, and he thought Miss Irwin
he'd received liberal settlement; and then be
went away"