Democratic Sentinel, Volume 15, Number 39, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 October 1891 — MRS. WINTON'S MISTAKE [ARTICLE]

MRS. WINTON'S MISTAKE

“Do get it for me, Frank, won’t you?” The young husband looked down at the smiling, blonde face with wistful sadness. “Indeed I would, dear,” he replied, “but really it costs too much; I don’t Bee how I can afford it with that bill coming due, and my affairs in such an embarrassed condition.” The pretty wife pouted a little as she replaced the jewel in its case. It was an exquisite little gem. A spray of dewdrops, every blossom a pearl, holding a diamond dewdrop in its heart, an 4 every , tiny green stem and leaf an emerald. “It would be so nice for the ball,” she sighed, childishly; “and I haven’t any jewelry fit to wear.” “Then select something less expensive, dear,” suggested the husband, ■obligingly. The shopman strewed the counter ■with pretty trifles, but Mrs. Winton shook her handsome head. She did not wish to purchase anything else, she disliked common ornaments; if Mr. Winton was ready, they would go. Mr. Winton expressed his willingness. Frank Winton followed his wife with a dissatisfied face. “Alice,” he said, joining her on the steps, “it gives me more pain than you think to deny you this; but my affairs will not allow such extravagance just now. ” A day or two after she sat in her pleasant bed-chamber, utterly forgetful of this little occurrence and the bauble that occasioned it. In a pretty wicker crib lay her six months’ babe; and on a lounge near at hand, streaming down in lustrous folds, was the unauve silk for her new dress, and while she worked away on her dainty ■embroidery the young mother divided iher admiring glances between the two, almost as much in love with the rustling silk as with her cooing babe. She was awaiting the coming of Miss Tilcomb, the expert dressmaker, who was to superintend the cutting out of the new silk. In a little while she arrived. “You seem almost exhausted, Mrs. Winton,” she began breathlessly, settling herself on an ottoman. “I aiift had a night’s slqep for a week. How I’m to get everybody ready for the* party is more than I know. I was up at Mr. Walsingham’s this morning— Miss Edith Walsingham is decking herself out like a queen, I can tell you.” Alice flushed to the very roots of her golden hair, and gave her embroidery an impatient shake. She had her failings, as we have said, and her greatest failing, perhaps, was vanity, or a dislike to be excelled. This Edith Walsingham was her fival, and had been from her girlhood. First in school, then in the «alons of fashion, and lastly in the ■eyes of the man she loved. Edith was a beauty, and Frank Winton had ventured to admire her before he married Alice, and the silly thing, aecure as she was in her husband’s love, could never quite forgive or forget it. “Oh, she’s got the loveliest dress you ever set eyes oq,” continued the little.. dressmaker, warming to her subject.' •> “Green—no common green, though —the new shade —arsenic green, they call it; and some say it’s rank poison; but Miss Edith says she will wear it If it l?ilts her. It makes her look like a queen, with her clear skin and flue hair—and then she’s got 9uch exquisite fine and white as seafoam. She’ll cut a dash at the you may take my word. She went down town yesterday to get some Jewelry, but she came back all in a pucker—said your husband was beforehand with her, and had got the only thing fit to wear.” “My husband?” echoed Alice, opening her eyes in surprise. “Yes; she’s been fretting about it all *da.Vf.and said it was downright ■extravagance for a man of his means • to give So much for. a trinket. What was it, Mrs. Winton, a brooch?” Alice's 1 eyes blazed for an instant, and then, a!t at once, they filled with tears, add a warm flush overspread her face. "Oh, yes; I understand now,” she murmured, “darling old Frank, he has got It fur me. after all." Then, turning to Miss Tilcomb, “Nqt exactly a brooeh, ” she continued, “but the- de»i*st little gem of a blossom foo ever saw, and immensely costly. But I'll have Edith Walsingham Vo know that my husband can afford to buy cmilf Jewelry for his wife as well as other people!" The in porta n l evening came -t

last, and having heard nothing from her husband in regard to his purchase, the young wife came to the conclusion that the whole story was false—some of Miss Tilcomb’s idle gossip. She was intensely disappointed, and the thought that Edith Walsingham would possess the little gem she so coveted made her cry like a child from pure vexation. Alice soon found herself the center of an admiring circle, but for onee their homage wearied her. One desire possessed her—to find Edith Walsingham and see if she wore that snow-drop spray. She disengaged herself from the admiring friends around her, and under some pretext wandered toward the conservatory. Half-way down the passage she met the object of her search glorious as Cleopatra herself in her rustling robe of wondrons green, but the foamy laces on her bosom were held in place, not by a spray of jewels, but by a simple bunch of pansies. Alice drew a quick breath of relief; It? was some comfort to know that this young lady had been disappointed as well as herself.

She drew back In the shadow of the window, watching her beautiful rival with a feeling of bitter envy. Her dress was so wondrously becoming, her lace so costly, her style and figure so queenly and imposing, no wonder Frank used to admire her. She was, indeed, very beautiful. And poor, simple little Alice smoothed down her mauve dress and adjusted her golden tresses, with a sharp pain at her heart, and a childish fear lest she should b'e totally eclipsed. Just at that moment, as Edith was about entering the saloon, a figure glided out from an embrasure close by and detained her. “Just one moment, Miss Walsingham—accept my arm, please, and, we'll go into the conservatory—’tis' quiet there.” Alice heard the voice and caught a glimpse of the face, and for an instant the floorseemed sinking beneath her feet. It was Frank, her own husband. What could he want of Edith Walsingham? They went off toward the conservatory, and Alice stood for an instant irresolute; then she followed them with stealthy steps, though her very fingers tingled with shame at the meanness of the act. They had entered the conservatory and closed the glass door after them, but Alice could see them from her standpoint in the shadow of a blooming acacia—Edith seated and Frank standing-by her side. “You received my note?” he was saying, “and you have decided to take it?”

“Yes, certainly, and I thank you, too,” she replied; “it was kind in you to give me the chance.” “’Tis a pretty thing,” he continued, taking something from his pocket; “poor Alice had set her heart upon having it she’s like a child about such things. But it can’t be helped—she mustn’t know so lonj as I can keep it from her, poor child. Here it is, Miss Walsingham, and it’s worthy of your beauty—let me fasten it on for you, and I won’t detain yo. longer—l meant to hitJfre called at your house this afternoon, but I’ve been half beside myself.” Frank bowed, and they turned to come out, and as they did so Alice caught sight of the spray of snow-, drops gleaming on Edith’s bosom, A pang like death pierced her heart, and without a moan or sound she drooped down in the shadow of|the blooming acacia. When she consciousness they were gone, and she was alojne among the odorous blossoms, with the music and laughter of the revel coming faintly to her ear. For a short time she remained perfectly still, thinking it all oyer; then she rose and' prepared to quit the mansion. When Frank Winton returned to his house that night from the performance of some arduous business duties that had called him from Lady Howard’s party at an early hour, he found it desolate—his wife and children g° ne - The nursery maid handed him a sealed note. He tore it open and read as follows: “I know all—you can deceive me, no longer—l am going home to my father.” “Great heavens! Has she abandoned me thus? Oh, Alice, I did not look for this!” And sinking into a chair, the strong man sobbed like a child.

A few days later Alice received a letter from her husband explaining the whole thing. He had failed in business, and having bought' the pin, was obliged to resell it, as he could not pay for it. A ready purchaser was found in Miss Walsingham, and he had tried to keep the secret from his wife. In concluding, he said he was going to Montana to seek his fortune, and bade her an affectionate farewell. * * * * On a crisp October morning, when all the. Western forests and the great Montana mountains gleamed and glowed with all the gorgeous tints of autumn, in a rude miner’s hut a young man lay apparently at the point of death. By the bedside, bending over to catch the faintest breath that stole from his pallid lips, sat a fair woman, her cheeks very white, and her blue eyes wide with terror and despair. All day long she sat there, watching, hoping and waiting for one sign of returning consciousness or recognition, but she terrible fever grew hotter in his veins, and he tossed from one side of his couch to the other, moaning incessantly and calling upon his wife’s name. The old physician watched him for a few foments, and then made a sign to Alice, who stood by, not daring to draw her breash. “It niay kill or cure,” he said, “but we must risk it; he must be roused out of this; yourself known to him.” The Rife knelt by the couch, with straining tears. “Frank, my husband,” she murmured, passing her hand over his brow, “don’t you know me? I am your wife— don’t you know me, jiear?" W' m As her voice reached his senses, a sudden brightness ailed his eyes, he put up his hand and touched her gulden hair. “It is Alice!” he murmured. “Where

am I —at home? Has all this been * dreadful dream?" “Yes, love," she answered, assurI suringly, raising his head to her bosom; “and it is all over, and you will soon be at home and happy again.” He closed his eyes with a look of unspeakable content, too weak to ask another question, and in five minutes he was sound asleep. “All right," said the old doctor; “I may leave him safely now and go home. You can do the rest.” And she did. For in three months time Frank Winton was In his own home again in England, a happy man, with all the trouble of the past explained and forgotten. “And now, Alice,” he said, “I will find Edith Walsingham and buy back the spray of snowdrops; it shall be yours at last, dear. ” But Alice shook her golden head. “No, Frank,” she said. “I do not covet such trinkets ahy more; there is my gem—my pure snowdrop!” pointing to the crib in which her boy lay asleep.