Year: 1875

f1ef fOuglNg WIS lpt 'aA ii'
banks of the Thames. AS drew near me
place the darkness was gathering, ana ,he
broad surface of the river was hidden
from me in n chill white mist stood for
"a while with nv ewes fixed on the vapor-
ous shroud that brooded over the flowing
water-I stood and asked myself in des-
nair the one drcary question, What am
10 say to her?


The mist chilled me TO the bones.
;urned from the river bank and made my
wav to her lodgings near by. at must be
done ?n said to myself, as took out my
key and opened the door.


She was not at her work as usual when
| entered her little sitting-room. She was
standing by the fire with her head down,
and with an open letter in her hand.


The instant she turned to meet me
saw something was wrong. Her ordina'
nv manner was the manner of an unusual
" placid and self-restrained person. Her
temperament had little of the lveliness
which we associate in England with the
French nature. She was not ready with
her laugh; and in all my previous expert
ence had never yet known her to cry.
Now, for the first time, saw the quiet
face disturbed; saw tears in her pretty
brown eyes. She ran to meet me, and laid
her head on my breast, and burst into a
passionate fit OF weeping that shook her
from head to foot.


Could she by any human possibility
have heard of the coming change in my
life Was she aware, before | opened
my lips, of the hard necessity which had
brought me to the house?


1t was simply impossible, the thing could
not be.


Iwaited until her first burst of emotion
had worn itself ont. Then asked-with
an uneasy conscience, with sinking
heart--what had happened to distress her.


She drew herself away from me, sigh
ing heavily, and gave me the open letter
which had seen in her hand.


"Reai that" she said. "And remem-
Der told you what might happen when
we first met


/ read the letter.


1t was signed in initials only but The
writer plainly revealed himself as the man
who had deserted her. He had repented ;
he had returned to her. In proof of his
penitence he was willing to do her the JUS
lice which he had hitherto refused-he
was willing to marry her; on the condi-
ton that she would engage to keep the
marriage a secret. so long as his parents
lived. Submitting this proposal. he want
ed to know whether she would consent, on
her side, to forgive and forget.


| gave her back the letter in silence.
This unknown rival had done me the SER
vice of paving the way for our separation
In offering her the atonement of marriage,
he had made it, on my part. a matter of
duty to her, as well as to myself, to say
the parting words ] felt this instantly,
And vet l hated him for helping me


She took my hand and led me to the
sofa. We sat down side by side. Her
face was composed TO sad tranquility.
She was quiet she was herself again.


Il have refused to see him. she said.
until / had first spoken to you. You
have read this letter. What do you say Pr


I could make but one answer 1t was
my duty to tell her what my own position
was in the plainest terms. did my duty
leaving her free to decide on the future
for herself. Those sad words said, it was
useless to prolong the time OF our
separation. | rose and took her hand for
the last time.


/ see her again now, at that final mo-
ment, as plainly as if it had happened
Yesterday She had beon suffering from
an affection of the throat and she had q
white silk handkerchief tied loosely round
her neck. She wore simple dress Of
purple merino, with black silk apron
over it. Her face was deadly pale; her
fingers felt icily cold as they closed round
my hand. ..--..
..Promise me one thing ! said, ''be-
fore | 90. While live, am your friend
If am nothing more. If you are ever
-, hat pt ms
know it,


She started and drew back from me as
If l had struck her with a sudden terror.


"Strange'' she said, speaking to her.
self. He feels as | feel. He is afraid OF
what may happen to me, in my life to
come"


attempted 10 rcassure her. | tried to
tell her-what was indeed the truth--that
l had only been thinking of the ordinary;
chances and changes of life, when
spoke.


She paid no heed to me; she came back
and put her hands on my shoulders, and
thoughtfnllv and sadly looked up in my
face.


3My mind is not your mind in this mat
ter she said. 81 once owned TO you that
| had my forebodngs, when we first spoke
OF LQls Lldn ictulH. may tOii ~" nv"
more than l told you then. believe |
shall die young and miserably. Ii am
right, have you interest enough stili Left
in me to wish to hear il ?''


She paused. shudderng-and added
these startling words:


"You shall hear OF it,


The tone OF steady conviction in which
she spoke alarmed and distressed me.
My face showed her how deeply and how
painfully was affected.


There, there she said, returning to
her natural manner; don't take what |
say too seriously. A poor girl who has
led lonely life like mine thinks strangely
and talks strangely-sometimes Yes; 1
give you my promise, IF | am ever in
trouble, l will let you know it. God
bless you-you have been very kind to
me,-goodby


A tear dropped on ny face rs she Aissed
me. The door closed between Us. The
dark street received me.


1t was raining heavily. / looked up at
her window, through the drifting shower
The curtains were parted; she standing
in the gap dimly lit by the lamp on the