Year: 1866

fond self-complacence of recent days.
There was nothing about, her to love,
after all. She had been deceiving her.
self yet more utterly than she had been
deceived. TIE very depth of her self
abasement made her patient.


1t was morning when the letter came,
and at night Brevoort was to return.
So she sat all day and waited, without
knowing how long the hours were, or
feeling once the WEAKNESS of, delay
She felt as if her heart and her pulses
were standing still, waiting also. She
was too utterly benumbed to care for any
thing. Through the weary day the only
thing like occupation which she at
tempted, was to draw one check for fifty
thousand dollars in favor of Jack Bre-
WORT, and sign it.


At last he came She heard the
well-known ring, the firm, proud step
in the hall-how she had loved TO note
and remember every one of his peculi-
arities Then he opened the door, and
came up to her as usual


She made slight gesture of warning,
and that, or something in her face, re-
pressed the enthusiasm which would
otherwise have expressed itself in ca
resses.


81 believe forty thousand dollars is
the amount of your debts?' she asked,
in a clear. metallic tone.
For once his self possession failed
him. His knees shook under HIM, and
he sat down.


"Who-told your" he gasped.


yourself"


She took out the letter, and laid it
in his hand. He looked at it, and knew
Jean Rathburne well enough to give up
his game.


81 haven't one word to say, though
I'm not quite SO heartless, perhaps. as
that letter makes me seem. | should
have been kind to you. But you may
as we'll despise me through and
through"


"Just as WE'LL" she answered, dryly.
"Of course | withdraw from my prom
Use to marry you; but your good inten-
tions about paying your debts must not
be frustrated by my troth- breaking.
Here is check for fifty thousand dol
lars. The margin of ten thousand over
your own estimate of your liabilities will
cover any little items you may chance
to have forgotten, and make you free
man again, who can afford to have
heart


"Do you think me mean enough to
take it?',


II think you wiU take it. There is
a kind of justice in it too. | would have
given you several times as much, freely,
if you had loved me as l thought You
deserve something for the WEAKNESS
it must have been to you to act part
so long"


Her voice softened while she spoke
to tender, womanl y pathos. He look
ed at her, with her sad, downcast eyes,
her heavily falling hair, her face that
in its very woe was sweet, and he came
nearer to loving her than he had ever
come before.


"You can't forgive me-" be said,
l won't ask you"


Then he took his hat and went away,
leaving the check lying on the table.


She sent it to him next day in an
envelope, without an additional word.
Pride bade him return it; but his ne
cessities constrained him. Jean Rath.
burne smiled grimly when the check
came back to her from the bank, pune
tured, like a railroad ticket, with little
round holes.


Pride would have kept some women,
in her place, in the midst of the world.
She was prouder still, and disregarded
the world altogether She never was
seen any more in society. She had had
her day-her summer was gone, with
its roses. She hose to pass her autumn
alone. She pensioned off the widow
Dredlife and sent her away She did
not feel young or volatile enough to
need matronizing any more.


If she suffered, no one knew it. As
| said. the only complaint she was ever
known to utter was that sentence in her
strange will.


She died young. Natures like hers
wear out fast, when no spring of hope
sustains them Without doubr she was
thankful when "the life that had been
SO sad" was over. She did not know,
there under the daises, that the first
tears Jack Brevoort had wept in years
were shed above her grave.