Democratic Sentinel, Volume 21, Number 21, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 May 1897 — LIVING IT DOWN [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

LIVING IT DOWN

By Rita

CHAPTER Xl—(Continued.) Earth, sky. the very stars and moon are whirling madly about me. With a last effort at self-command I seize Darby. “Go in, child,” I cry, .hurriedly; “go in and wait. I will be there in a moment.” 1 forget Sir Ralph. I forget everything. I only remember that I am here face to face with my false and perjured lover, and that I will have the truth from him at any cost. Darby obeys. Igo close to the little stone bur that separates the two balconies. “Now,” I say, looking at the face that is as white as my own, “tell me why you have deceived me so.” His eyes meet mine. Oh, the sweetness and the misery of that remembered look! The hands of time go back. We are boy and girl once more—lovers, loving and beloved. We are in the school room at home. My heart leaps in mad and fierce defiance of the present and the future, claiming once again the old rapture and the old belief. Then I hear his voice, and grow calm, as with the icy chill of death.

“I never deceived you,” he his face does not blanch .. There is no guilt or s ,iUer meet my own, but th sudden auger, and to elaim kinship with; him. “A woman lu"r to insult a man if sb| | m “ v thought the right my side. Heaven kiftn glass you, stormed at ♦ wen tv but —” P twenty “But she?” I persf Settling that woman who jdltlOQ of that woman who stje stains “Be silent!” he crj enoe way. “Don’t take h i. How you have hearL* . , my comprehension. , ' 3O enough if you care that the where I lodged. Th out of another fellow in t' lady—who kept it r< a widow. I told yoi I first went there— r . “Yes,” I say stoni* hnowl“She—she was othat L)r he goes on, a sudd;be great showing itself on ?ery w j g {, took a—n sort of fa . a nuisance at last, ‘f ck ‘ klrl ” followed me to BoP’ er Y part the plain facts as t’ It or* you’ll say I’m notjrine and never is blnmeless tit herself at his hear;’ ° r „ ; word of honor I wlne in fact, I disliked ;. that unwise." ing com* “And have you- es during nb «vr ptl> : ,v, , jr he mild you take me for a f<? ffe , ct Then I turn sicked It fore me shipwreck. WOnderonly these: and a festressing had looked so f»ir mtd)clne few moments! lib. o ij had passed since 1)1 • OOIa that balcony, audits Pnd vision on the whittle bottle waters. t free by “So that is—all,”J 0 g ent £ mg voice at last. ‘ , stopped your letters' 18 '''!?. C 2 you from me, whet P-i £>inguot. Absence is a ’oprietor it too hard for you. the genwhnt you have cost “Do not say that old passion in his r too, have suffered tidsomely for—oh, Joan, how oth~ A folly like that do< i nf) „ ‘ heart—nay, rather i y him, and makes hi longing to the pure f rlealy’s And so 1 turned to } and reand you guve me o dubbed Fate has been kin serve. For you loo> bering eyes, and I—l 6X pen you so well as now.bf sho«*B you used to look—#—there "VLh-bu.h.f 1 8 work possible you don’t ! , not heard ”. “6 hand “Heard what?” 188 him a grow white,' his fact in his wrathful, storm-lit If- “ That I am—marl . ■ .. He does not spear* 4 ’ 111 al * move. He simply s#t exact at me with a look liiat he is that makes me of the very terror, and long sight of men—from eof human life. ;

There comes a step on the bare waxed floor of the inner room—a step, and a cheery voice that rings out in frank and kindly accents: “Why, Joan—Joan, my dear—where are you? Star-gazing still? Don’t you know dinner is waiting?” My hands drop; I look up' at Yorke’s face; I see the lurid flash that leaps into his eyes, and a worse terror seizes me than ever thrilled my heart in all the pangs and fears of its beating life. “So it is my uncle!” he says in a voice low and deep as thunder. “Curse him!” Then stars and moon faded suddenly from my sight, and amidst an awful darkness I felt myself falling—falling—falling —whither, I neither knew nor cared. CHAPTER XII. When I wake up I find myself lying dressed in bed. Only my bodice has been removed and rests in a chair. It is evening, and through the open window I catch a glimpse of waving trees in the bright moonlight. As soon as my maid sees that I am awake she comes to my bedside, and in answer to my questions tells me that I had fainted, that I was alone when Sir Ralph, terribly frightened, appeared on the scene, and had me brought into the room. He had remained with me until I had come out of my swoon only to fall into a deep sleep, and then had gone into the garden for a smoke. At this moment I catch sounds of familiar voices from the garden below, and springing out of bed, I rush to the window. Yea, they are the voices of Sir Ralph and Yorke, They are talking in quiet, friendly fashion, there is no faintest trace of anger or resentment in either voice, and I tremble, and draw back and aak myself, “What can it mean?” In

spite of my maid’s remonstrance. I order her to help me put ou my bodice, and snatching up a shawl, rush down into the gardeu. My appearance causes my husband great alarm: but F tell him that 1 feel better now, although m.v ghastly face ladies the fact. He asks ine why I fainted, and I nnsuvr that I was fatigued and giddy. He then turns to Yorke and introduces me to him as the iatter’s new aunt. Yorke acknowledges the introduction, meant only for my ear. He has, then, not told his uncle that be bad met me before. I tremble as 1 think what his purpose may be by this concealment, and his assumed friendliness for the man whom, only a few hours ago, he had told me he hated. Sir Ralph tells me that Yorke had informed him that lie did not get my husband’s letter announcing our marriage, and that his meeting ns here in Salzburg was purely accidental. 1 can bear it no longer. I falter out that 1 am tired—that I would like to go indoors, nnd Sir Ralph turns his back ou the garden, and the starlight, nnd the attractions of the nocturnal cigar, aud accompanies me. At the portal we pause for a moment. He turns to his uephew. “Are you coming iu also?” he asks. “I!” and Yorke laughs a short, mirthless laugh. “Oh, no, lam not so foud of my pillow as all that. I’m going for a walk; it's a glorious night. I mean to get to the top of the Gaisberg,” pointing to the great peak with its cap of snow. He lifts his hat with all courtesy, but, oh! the mocking smile, the look of hate and fury in the brief glance that meets my own. Then he is gone. He has not offered to take Sir Ralph's hand or mine, and we go iuto the hotel aud up to our rooms in silence.

’'.“'v it* . changed,” say* administration, it is evident he is aiuuhe becoL.’jg alarmed at the increas- expach ing d scoutent manifested by the “V oid! rank and file of his party. > { my The Republican says that “the word* friends of Ge . Lew Wallace are -pealed already opening the campaign for r? loße his election to the United Slates fo/oou senate and will press his claims by/ all honorable means from now til the choice is made.” “Honor-pew what ble means” will be a new policy for'l g au them, and will* prove a failure.— .'formed at Judge Turpie will be returued \ itßel !’. jince that The Republican says that as “evjdence of the growth of pro-^ u ln the tecticn in the South” Senator El ff'wJujJ kins and others of his kidney front with my that section “will vote for the pro-] 6 *™ tective tariff bill.” Senator Elk-f were off ins has b g coal interests had which he expects to d rive party, I profits in case the “protective tar pro ' iff bill becomes a Jaw. Slepheharty being B. Elkins andhis associates in this) ' a ° r^ e t^ n infamy, will be found representingiitpeasuut themselves and therr own individ-f. n equally ual interests, and at the expiration of their present official tenure will) cry out, be succeeded by men who will ren-*° r '1 few ~ . , . , . r kay into a resent the interests of their, con-piring, the stituency instead oi their individ-j ued or be ‘ ualinterests. i w l 3 *—~— . lorrible!” I Wool producers will reoogmzetny hands, something ot the edormous stockn't bejtr it oc foieign wools which they will 0 8^ x ?J? r have to compete with when the new 1- Do— ’ “° law goes into effect by the fact that with what the wool importations in March, my terror, 1897, Iwere 58,085.359 pounds an ” against 17,781,547 pounds in March y frantic_ of the preceding year and against JS, dl °_ only 8,468,415 pounds in the ksl rful place March under the McKinley law. The above is reurolaced by the Republican to invoke sympathy odotilat. for the ‘wool producers.” Tbefc nigh protective manufacturers ar° importing this wool to forestall the , h JE O^! t 5 operations of the law now before the Senate. They will add the h °£ creased tax to tne price of their products for the consumers to pay. ' Ve are They care only foi themselves, and the deep, is it not high time for the masses '’ nce and -: he to look after | neheg 0 f tl r individual interests. Thev ling arms ah aid oppose all efforts to exact J e ° e^ u \° o tribute from the many to concen- >t Yorke trate wealth in the hands of, % e> d b ‘“ d^

closer, closer to my own. “Do you know,” he whispers, in a husky, stifled voice—“do you know that here the lake is six hundred feet deep? Six hundred feet! What is there to prevent my taking you in my arms and plunging into this—Styx—as you called it? ’Twodld be an easy death, Joan, and a sure one, and life has done its worst for both of us to-day!” As Yo.T.e uttered these words I grew suddenly Very calm. I looked up and met his eyes, bit all fear had left me. Yorke’s eyes burned with fierce, unholy flame, and I looked back to them cold, still, unfearir g. Tljep a flash of sunlight shot across oftr path. The lake waters shimmered under its golden touch; the drops from the lifted (t»rs fell like jewel-flames across its still ard rippleless surface, and suddenly, without word or warning, a long, reverberating echo shook the silence as with thunder. Darby’s cry of terror echoed my own. Yorke half sprang to his feet, but the rowing girl pushed him back to his place. “Pistol!” she said, with a broad grin. “Only pistol. People shoot him.” And straightway from under the seat she produced an old rusty looking blunderbuss, and began to jabber away in her uncouth dialect with the greatest fluency. I understood afterwards that it was the custom to let off a pistol at this spot. The child wag trembling in my arms. Her fears helped to subdue my own. 1 soothed her, and held her closely to my side while still the boat glided on, and finally shot up to a little promontory on the east shore, and there stopped. Oh, the delight of touching land again! I sprang out and gazed around, bat I was trembling still. Then I turned to Yorke, my face and eyes one blase of indignation. "How dared you speak so to me?” I

cried, ptMiottaWy. ‘lt was erosi, cowardly, brutal!" "Yes," he said, “it war But I don’t think yon would hare minded if I had carried out iny threat.” "You must not be cruel to Jo," said Darby, lifting up that pure, calm face *f hers rebukingly. “Jo is very good, and you are not. Aud you made her cry last night, and she was very ill. I do not like her to cry, and I will tell Sir Ralph if you vex her.” Yorke’s brow grew very black. the child here for a moment,” he said, “aud walk on with me. We are bound to have it out sooner or later. The preseut time is as good as any. Do not be alarmed. 1 shall not hurt you. The — the murder mood has passed." "I am not afraid of you or anything you can do,” 1 answered, quietly, as I unlinked the child's hands from mine and led her to a sent beneath the trees. “But you are right; 1 must know why you have behaved like this—why you have forced me into such a position. Your presence here is an iusult to your uncle, and your pretended friendliness a disgrace to both. It is unmanly and cowardly to revenge yourself on me by acting as you have cboseu to act.” e moved on, just near enough to keep the child iu sight, but far enough to be out of hearing. “If you had only waited," began Yorko —“if you had only trusted, or if I had not let my brutal temper get the better of me! Joan, why did you marry my uncle V” * "He was so good,” I cried faintly: "so unselfish, and he helped us in such sore straits. He saved Darby’s life—he has reecued father from ruiu, and—and he loved me." "Yes,” answered Y’orke gloomily; “I always told you that, aud I always knew I should have no chance against him in the long run. You women want so much—an ideal so spotless, a physical man with the soul aud nature of an angel. Ahl if you only knew our trials, and snares, and temptations! We fail you In a weak moment, and then you are relentless. Joan, would you have married had you not ceased to believe in me?” "No," I said brokenly; “you know that." “Well,” said Y’orke, "I wonder who has been most to blame—you or 1 ? Not that it matters much now. The mischief’s doue—irreparably done. Joau, I wonder If you believed I loved you?" “Y’ea,” I answered unsteadily; "I did. That made it all the worse.” “And now?" he suid, and that old hateful sneer was on his lips. “Now, of course* we are to be virtuous aud good—to go away, to turn our backs on each other, and ou all that mokes life worth living. Is that to be the program? Play at friendship and decorum In appropriate fashiou; lock up memory and its treasures like an emptied box that one tosses into a lumber room. Do you think that’s an adequate description, Joan?” "It will do,” I said, trembling like a leaf. I turned back; I went down the rough path; I took the child’s hand In mine, and stumbled like a blind thing down to the water’s edge. “Take me home!" I cried wildly to Sir Ralph us we met face to face. "Oh, take me home! This place Is horrible. It terrifies me. I can’t bear any more of it— I can’t indeed!” Aud he humored me. He said no word, asked no questions, but I heard his calm aud cheery voice talking to Darby, aud its tones iusensibly soothed my jarred and trembling nerves, and the wild, hysterical terror subsided. Swiftly aud surely the boat glided on amidst the golden warmth and color of the day, but I—l sat there with hidden face and trembling limbs, deaf and blind to the benuty, and the stillness, and the pence, only praying over aud over again in some drear, hopeless way. “Help me to bear it, O Heaven! Hel| me—ob, help me to bear it!” (To be continued.)