Jasper County Democrat, Volume 1, Number 26, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 October 1898 — A WOMAN'S ERROR [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A WOMAN'S ERROR

By Marion V. Hollis.

■ CHAPTER XV. came at last; and In tho sweet, Bwy dawn of the morning the ghastly Bow of dying and dead lay with white Bptces turned to the rising sun. Then Bpme a cry that some one was lying, face Blown ward, in the brook that ran through Kbe valley. BpStrong men hurried there. They saw mass of fair hair, a fur cloak, and a Bravolmg hag held in a stiff white hand. HThey raised the body—it was that of a Boman. young and fair —but from those Hnrong nieji rose a cry of dread, as they Baw what onee had been a fair face, Btrnsheil and mangled, all semblanee of marred and deadened. For on Hjjiat face the weight of half a carriage ■had fallen. They who saw it turned mhuddcring away; one, stronger in heart ■than the others, took a white handkerchief and covered it. That covering was ■never removed. ■E-Thcy looked at the costly fur cloak, ■then whispered one to another that it Hhust be a lady of rank lying there, for 'the cloak was of sable. fpThen came the doctor, who had been attending to the wounded, an • EnglishAllan, who had been traveling in the same |rain. No need to move the white handkerchief; no need to place his hand on Hhe stilled heart. Death had been merciful there, giving no time for pain. | The doctor, too, looked at the costly cloak, and the same idea came to him it must he 11 Indy of rank who lay there, icrushed and mangled beyond all recognition. When the first hurry of the terIfible accident was over, Dr. Sheene boi thought himself of the fair, dead woman. It trips time to learn who she was, and send for her friends. They examined the fur cloak first, and • In the little pocket of it they found a letter, addressed to H “The Lady Selwyn, "Villa l'isani, “ Florence." k They opened the traveling bag. In it t were papers bearing the same name; a i email jewel case, and on it they read: I "To my beloved daughter Violaute; from her. affectionate father, Horace | Temple.” There was a purse, containing bank notes and gold; that, too, was marked 1 with her name. There seemed every rea- ' son to believe that the golden-haired wnm- | an lying dead in the waiting room was : Lady Selwyn. Some one there had met ; the family, had dined at the villa, and had | visitod Lord Selwyn a Signor di Luna; L and he, the moment his eyes fell upon the ; mass of golden hair, cried out: K "You must telegraph to I.urd Selwyn; ■ this is Lady Selwyn.” I; So Dr. Sheene, feeling true sympathy • for a feilow country man in deep distress, sent a telegram himself. D was worded i thus:

g- * “From Doctor Shocnc, liailwny Station, Sedi, to Lord Vivian Sehvyn, Villa Pisani, is (Florence —Come at once, without delay. * There has been a dreadful accident at f Sedi, and Lady Sehvyn was in the train.” There had never been a more brilliant fete than that of which Beatrice Leigh reigned queen. The guests seemed une willing to depart. Everything was so beautiful; the grounds, with fountains, odorous flowers and colored lamps; the & cool, fragrant conservatories; the tnagnitip cent suite of rooms; the chivalrous, band-' some, attentive host; and. above all other f attractions, the queen of the revels—Boat. trice Leigh! r; It was not until the dawn flushed red in the sky, and the birds began to sing, that the carriages were all ordered, and ; the ballroom deserted. It was late in the morning when Lord | Sehvyn was roused by his valet Nieoli, who stood by the bedside with a paper in his hand. fi “What is it. >Nicoli?” asked his lordship. “Why have you disturbed me?” | v "There is a telegram for you, my lord,” said the man, “and 1 thought you had belter have it at once.” He took the paper from the man’s hand and read. Bewilderment and unutterablt surprise. came over him first—no fear. Of course it was a mistake! Far from being in the train at Sedi, his wife was sleeping near; that he knew. For the accident he was sorry; but it -was not bis wife who was there. "There is some mistake,” he said to the valet, who stood by in silence. “I must - get up, though, and set it straight. Get ine some coffee, Nieoli.” The man went away. Still silent and trembling, Ix>rd Vivian dressed himself hurriedly. "How could such a mistake arise?” he asked himself. "Mow could such a foolish error be made?” He went to his wife’s room and turned the handle; the door was locked. "Violante," he cried, "I want to speak to you.” There was no answer. r “Violaute, darling!” he cried again, “I want you!” Still no answer, and a deadly chill of fear came'over him. ; Jbst then he heard Nieoli enter his room with the coffee. “Never inind that!” said Lord Vivian hastily. “Nieoli, could yon break open . a door quietly, without making much noise?" Yes, Nieoli could do that. He went to fetch the, necessary implements, and his master stood with the (lawn of a terrible fear in his face. Once more lie cried "VioJante!” but no answer-cume from the silent, deserted rooms. Then came Nieoli, and in three minutes the door was opened, and Lord Selwyn entered. What did it mean? There was the bed ’with its pretty white hangings, but no Violante lay there. No one had slept there; thp room was empty, silent . and desolate. With that strange dread growing on hint,' be opened the door that led to her i dressing room; it was pll silent, all desolate. No Violante was there! if;..' What did it mean? An accident at Seal, and Lady Sejwyn was in the train! The word* in letters of fire seemed to flame round him. Then his eyes fell up-

on the letter addressed to himself, in Violante’s well-known writing. He tore it open; he read it onee, twice —thrice; he cried aloud that he could not understand it—he knew not what it meant. Why had she gone from him?— his wife, whom, in spite of the cloud and the coolness thnt had arisen between them, he loved better than all the world besides. A fatal accident, and Lady Selwyn was in the train! The words came to. him with a fresh meaning now. Sedi, he knew, was a station on the road to Genoa —Geuoa led to England. The cry that came from his white lips startled the sleepers from their dreams. He understood at length. Violante had left him, and something terrible had happened. What was it? What was the worstV Was she living or—dead? CHAPTER XVI. Did Beatrice Leigh repent of her welllaid plans, her maneuvers, her sarcasms, her cruel, stingiug words, her never-end-ing persecution of a youug and helpless girl, when her eyes fell on Lord Vivian's tortured face, and she read the telegram lie held in his hand? A flash of triumph lighted up her dark eyes. She even lnughed to herself that the fair, gentle young wife, who had been her rival, had taken this dangerous step. Over and over again Lord Vivian read the letter; over and over again he rend the sad, plaintive words that were to haunt him until he died. He was not long in starting for Sedi. The train left Florence at six; it was now after five. All the way there he held the letter in his hands; it was all that remained to him of his wife Violante. By Mrs. Selwyn’s desire Xieoli went with him. He was not in a tit state, she thought, to travel alone. He hn<l been longing for the train to arrive, and yet when it did so,* when he heard Sedi called out by the loud-voiced porter—when the speed slackened and the engine stopped—he would fain have gone on; uncertainty then seemed hotter to him than what he might hear and see. It was a small station, prettily built and gay with flowers. As he left the carnage Lord Vivian saw a group of people gathered on the platform; there was a hushed, solemn silence over them, only broken, every now and then, by the shrill cry of a woman who, recognized a beloved one, crushed and dead. Two gentlemen advanced to meet Lord Vivian. One was Dr. Sheene, the other Signor di Luna, who had waited for him. The English doctor spoke first-. “I believe you are Lord Selwyn,” he said. "Of course, you have received my telegram?” “How is she —m.v wife? Let me see her at once,” was the reply. “Not this moment, Lord Vivian; you must wait,” “If I wait, I shall die,” said Lord Vivian calmly. “I can hear no more; tell me, at least, how she is.” And the two men looked at each other, neither daring to speak. “How catne Lady Selwyn in the train alone?” said Dr. Sheene. ‘'She was quite alone, apparently without either servant or friend; how did it happen?” “I enunot explain it at all. I did not even know that she had left (ho house. Oh, let me see her! Do not keep ine talking here; I am half mad with sorrow. Is she much hurt? Is she injured? Can she be taken home?” They looked at each other again—the two who knew the fatal truth, each dreading to speak. The man before them, with his wistful, pleading face, saw that look, Uml a long, low moan came from his lips. “Not that!” lie cried. "Oh, heaven! anything hut that! She is not dead?” No denial such as he thirsted to hear came from them; the solemn expression of each face deepened. Lord Vivian grasped Dr. Sheene’s arm. “Do you not see I am going mad?” he hissed. "Tell me the truth!” "You have spoken it, my lord,” was the reply; "you have said it. Heaven help you to bear it. She is dead!” “Dead!” he moaned at last. "My wife —Violante —it cannot be!” “ ‘Heaven gives, and heaven takes away,’ ” said the solemn voice of the English doctor. They went with him to the long, narrow waiting room, where, side by side, the dead awaited removal. She lay apart from the rest. A resting place had been made for her, and there, in the quiet sleep of death, lay the woman Lord Vivian believed to be his wife. He passed in silence the long table where the bodies of women, children and men lay so motionless and still—passed them in grave, solemn silence. When he came to the place where she lay, a low moan broke from his lips. The golden hair hung in rich profusion, stained here and there with blood. The costly fur cloak was wrapped round the quiet figure. I>ord Vivian took a tress of the golden hair in his hands. "It is my wife!” he*cried. "I bought that cloak for her three years ago. Let me see her face!” But here the doctor's grave voice interfered; the doctor's strong, firm liajid drew him geutiy back. "Ileaveu forbid!” he said. "Yon loved your wife; I would not have you look upon what lies there for. all the world—the horrdr of it would kill you! There is no single feathre left; the weight of half a carriage fell upon your wife's face and crushed it.” He knelt down;* in silence by her side and buried liis face in his hands. What passed between his soul and its Maker iu that hour none will ever know. If ever he bad been impatient with her youth and her simplicity, her ignorance of the world, her unstudied frankness, it was all avenged now; • ’ And then the heavy task came of .taking home what everybody believed to be the body of Violaute Lady Selwyn, Lord Vivian regained his- outward calm; in heart and soul there raged a torrent of grief, of remorse, of bewildered sorrow l ’ ' r . p y _ .

and hopeless despair, that knew no words —but he came of a race strong to bear. When the first sharp pang was over, he began to arrange so thnt all honor should be paid to the body of his wife. He would not leave her. Hastily writing a note to Mrs. Selwyn, he sent Xieoli back to Florence with every detail of the accident, while he remained at Sedi. Mrs. Selwyn was dreadfully shockedi For many days afterward she was exceedingly ill, both in body and mind. She would have given all she had in the world to have had the unhappy girl back agafh. No one ever knew how Beatrice Leigh felt that intelligence. She it was who received Nieoli, and who, at Mrs. Selwyn’s request, read her son's note. She said the usual civil things: lamented with all due propriety the sad accident; condoled with Mrs. Selwyn; hoped Lord Vivian would not be unrooaatable —but no one ever .knew what she really thought and felt! There was a grand funeral, attended by all the nobility and many of the poor of Florence. Lady Violante Selwyn wai laid to rest in the sunny cemetery of Florence. There a white marble monument was raised, and on it, in letters of gold, was inscribed: Sacred To the Memory of VIOLANTE LADY SELWYN, The beloved Wife of Lord Vivian Selwyq Who died in the 23d year of her age, Regretted and mourned by her Sorrowing Husband. (To be continued.)