Year: 1871

something greater than proof, tina


neutralizes it and makes it superfluou
it is faith. l do not believe a wor,


of all this. Letme go to Mark he need


me-"


A" Sit down, Jacqueline you canno


go to him now. Remember that other


will believe, though you should doub


his guilt. 1t is only when we have


personal interest in thing that faitl


oUtweighs proof. 1t is right for you t.


trust him but will that save him ?'


1t will comfort him." -


But you can save him."


al! You are wasting words. AnC


the proof?' .-. -. l.. -, Ks


q l will destroy it,


" oh thank you, thank you. YoI
are our kind friends, after all. You be
lieve in his innocence. How 1 love you
how Mark will love you You said thai
shall owe everything to you"


" 1t is you who can save him-with
me-"


" Yes, oh yes. How kind, how gen
erous. Tell me my part-what shall
do" -


"Your part is soon told. You re-
fused it once. Consent to become my
wife-hear me out land 1 will destroy
every shred of this damning proof.
Mark will be proclaimed innocent and
be reinstated. In the eye of the world it
will all seem mistake. He will appear
an honorable man, free from suspicion,
the world before him where to choose.
Which is the greater love-to save his
happiness or his honor ?''


Jacqueline answered him not word,
hr1f h loft
alone. She went to her room and then
put on her bonnet-the poor little braid
which Mark had said became her so
well, which he was never to see her
wear again. She would go down to the
ferry, and take the boat for the city,
and see Mark, and tell him that, how
ever the tide might set, she was with
him, believed in him. But when she
reached the ferry the boat had left.
Then she returned, and wrote to him a
long loving letter, reiterating her faith,
her firm assurance in his innocence.
And the next day but one she received
these lines:


"You have believed in me long
enough, dear Jacqueline. Your protes-
tations come to me as so many sharp
but well deserved rebukes. am gull
ty. Look in the books of common law
and see what the sentence of the forger
is. Will you let me wear away a miser-
able youth in prison, when 1 might be
up and amending my ways-when you
might deliver me? Mr.. Dunn has told
me of his suggestions to you. For your
own sake, as well as mine, pray, pray ac-
cept his terms for though we part in
pain, life without love is better than
with disgrace. MARX STRETToN."


Jacqueline put down the letter with a
twinge of agony. So cold, so selfshl |
Ready to accept her sacrifice 4! Had it
been herself, she would have grown
gray in prison, starved on bread and
water, suffered on the rack, rather than
stood out large and generous beside
him. That he had done the deed in a
moment of dire temptation, she could
have forgiven him; but that he should
lay the burden upon her shoulders
though she were ready to bear anything
for him-but that he should require it
of her, that was the sting. Why not
leave him to his fate? Did his welfare
any longer concern her? The man who
could frame this letter must be radically
bad from the hearts core-not the
bright ideal she had worshipped. Was
this her punishment for making an idol
for herself? Had the brazen image fallen
and crushed her? But Just here there
came to mind the image of her lover as
she had last seen him; the large calm
eyes; the firm, well-cut lips, that knew
not how to shape lie, you would have
said man with sincerity in every look
whose presence made one forget mar
rowness and deceit as naturally as the
sunshine banishes darkness. And here
the hood-tide of Jacqueline's love set
in, covering the ugly wreck, and leaving
her alone with heavenly pity in her
throbbing human heart.


How the days dragged after that! No
more looking forward to a happy home,
to a charmed future. As mistress of
Mr.. Dunn's house she would have all
that her heart could wish, but all that
pride might demand she could roll in
her carriage, and wear fine laces and
splendid jewels, and sweep the tufted
carpets with shimmering silks her bed
ridden father should have the newly
patented reclining chair, and be wheeled
over velvet lawns and through perfumed
gardens; there would be flowers in her
vases every day the year round-in
great vases of costly Japanese workman
ship. She hated herself for these
thoughts, that gave her no comfort, no
delight. She was well enough, happy
enough, in her cottage, with its wood
bine porch, and her window, wreathed
with prairie roses, in her hard work and
pleasant thoughts; she needed nothing
from the store of another-she needed
nobody but Mark.


What she answered when Mr.. Dunn
came again to press his suit she could
never tell; she only knew that when he
went away Mark was free, and she was
in bonds that nothing was left her but
she quaint engraved seal, which had
been the first to admonish her of "many
crosses in life.''


When Jacqueline stood at the side of
Mr.. Dunn, and the bishop married them
for better or worse, she was but q child
in the ways of the world. She had
known poverty and care and sickness as
familiars; but she had simply heard of
treachery and fraud as one hears of
ghouls and vampires. They were
things belonging to the Dark Ages,
when barbarous baron could
serve up his rivals heart at feast
to his lady love. Wolves in sleeps
clothes did not belong to civilized life.
So she became Mrs. Dunn; but she soon
found that her crosses were not to end
here. She was no longer mistress of her
own movements or tastes. If she wished
for quiet, Mr.. Dunn insisted upon so
ciety; if she would ride, he preferred to
go afoot; if she would work, he demand
ed idleness; if she made a friendship
he forbade it; when she found pleasure
in guest, the invitation was never re-