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About The Courant-American. (Cartersville, Ga.) 1887-1888 | View Entire Issue (July 19, 1888)
' m'ijhtpr still, I’ll swear, .hlnes. than any miser’s dollars, Mv love’s yellow liuir. \ot a blossom blows that’s fairer, Whiter, none, I vow. Than the lillies ever blooming \ 'On my love's pure brow. Sot a rose that’s redder, sweeter, Tho’ far lands you seek, the radiant rosen reddening tin my true love’s cheek. sot the sky itself is bluer, Haught more near allies N[l , vvU u heaven than does the lovely Sight of my love’s eyes. —Boston Globe. BY CHARLES J. BELLAS/I Y. by the Author, and published ° by arrangement with him. . iiun’iod to the window and raised it, l,„t jt, ■.:< ■ pitch dork; he could soo nothing. Who con: 1 lx> ia that second carriage? He wanted ,i( ’ called. but no one came for him. l\<. heard the doors open and shut, and indis lin >lo voices. but no one called, him. Then lie made his nay out into the hail in va jrue terror. lie thought of his bride wait ing up si nil’s, and se t his teeth for tho worst. >so cart i> power, no vileness of calumny, i .v shameful disclosures should move him. bride waited for him, ready to be his when he called for, her. Ah! ho would not shame hoi, though all hell hissed at her. But how fanei 'ui he was. He could hear the mild mannered minister talking in his polite tones. He caught his complacent laugh. Thank God for it. Nothing could have hap pened. He walked along the hall. The voices came from the dining room. There was the minister's laugh again. He pushed open the door and went in, Tho ministei rose, with the espeoia. defer ence for wealth that marks many of the priests of God, and gave the young man’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “No doubt Mr. 11 re ton is ready. It is the bridegrooms who should always be impatient. I believe I am right, am I not, Mrs. Ellingsworth ?” Mi's, ill lings worth- -Philip started violently tnd tG • color left liis face. She had returned ai time then. “Not always,” she smiled strangely and reached out her hand to Philip. It was but t.v>- a,band, small and velvety, but he tour:, and it as if there were a dagger in its *hite ;'ilui. He knew by the look of 'evil tniuu' o in her face that she had. not been ova} for nothing. Could it be there was Vtiy:! hr; worse than be had forgiven already -tome je of Bertha’s life so black no d-pt.i : io e could cover it? A deadly faint ness was upon him. ‘‘ll* '‘l ■ t ( mg Lit two visitors,” she went on: showing the tips of her white teeth in a beautiful smile. To be- ire, there sat a portly woman with the slightly elevated chin of a certain variety of tho sox when on its dignity. But Jane said “two” —where was the other? Ah, the kherw:: in the woman’s lap. It was a baby. $F Eii.iigsvvorth had a very peculiar expres •''"ii on Ids face to-night, as if his wife were disappointing him. It was rather a danger "iis look if June had understood it. She was offending his elegant tastes extremely by bringing to his house a vulgar, fussy old "Gunn and her baby whom she, no doubt, had picked up on the railroad cars. Philip stood nervously tumbling his watch chain, and waiting for a blow to fall on him, he did not know whence. It was a little baby’s hand that caught at Philip's arm, and he turned to look into its great star like blue eyes. He had seen that same marvelous tint iu cheeks before, and a cold horror of recognition darted through his soul. He tried to lift his spellbound eyes, nnd they rested instead on tho face of Jane Ellingsworth, which was lit up with a fiend ish exultation as she held the child up to him. W hat— not kiss tne buoyf 1 she laughed guyiy. “Such a pretty baby, too; why it i euily has complexion and e\ es like Bertha’s.” ‘he did not cease to look at liis shrinking ; uv - “Eut its mouth and chin” — Some -1 uu 8 In ”de him look at tne baby’s features •r she mentioned them, and then he shud l < 'd. it was too terrible, “are more like somebody else I know.” Her small, flashing > aek eyes seemed burning their way to his ?!b v bruin. “Who is itShe bent toward cm so that her hot lips seemed almost to icss , ll ' s <:ir ' “Curran,” she whispered. Could c not tear himself away Hem her poisonous iionth? “Not so strange, t hough ?” She let , u 1,-1 Ey put its chubby hands into his hair, iciigh she saw every touch was a thrust uxmgh the quivering fibers of his heart, kwn tan ' u ( Ed not understand, he was so *A ‘ ( , itu * s ‘fcht. “Not strange that a child v*su | i 1 look like its—father ” kul (he young bridegroom forgotten all ai)o,lt his wedding and the beautiful woman H >tuirs wondering why sin- was not called? denied so, for he sat down, and they loist “u ‘ pretty liabv on him, and his face were H lastly smile as he looked at it. Once, at a!1 expression in the little face, ho caught it “ s Eps, but as suddenly he thrust the C nto T * ie uurs c's lap and rose to his feet. hat are we waiting for ?” His face was del! Umr^e or firmness, a ud. it seemed a: June drew him quickly into the hall. “You that” 10 * 1 u ® lu;irr > the mother of and her woman’s soul quailed at , look he bent on her. “If you dare to a word to Bertha, or show her that . 1 you would thank me,” wliis vr‘ ‘ tiu ' false lips. She saw it was all in journey to Yineboro. She had fol ks'if tracks like a bloodhound, and k (|{ her fatherless child in a stranger’s *' an iing to forget its high bred mother. i A purely she must suffer repulse and dis a the poor factory girl had suffered it i. of ti ht ‘ r ver >'wedding dress. For the sight lov *’ a ace would chill the most ardent But at ' Ver burned in a bridegroom's heart. Scnit; n,)- * his man’s love was deeper than the th<* 4 an< * vau ‘ty that commonly makes *i<)U t'- °f what is absurdly railed pas- L> ' faith was, so sublime, shame was before it. r[ ** E w ‘° had lighted up at her words. “U! v ou ‘ you a thou—a thousand time : i aw-vo! that woman and the ch. ^ Cn her hands. “Jane, for Co >h!. 1 | , VV I ° UI(I lmvo givon her a forHri ■. toou rn 801,1 kerself once, and her pro.- We could .only pray .to kti* . the phrases of entreaty the agonies of life have taught mankind. “They shall leave the house at once,” she said at last, as she turned to go back into the room. He thought his prayers had moved her. But she knew her plot had failed; she had wrung his heart, but his will was un moved. She made a virtue of her necessity. Philip would be grateful to her forever, but there wouid be something else, perhaps. Such hat/' as hers could not be turned aside by so feeble a thing as pity. “How pale you are, Philip. Are you afraid?” and Bertha smiled royally on him as she took his arm, and they passed up the hall. “I am the happiest man in the world,” and he tried to smile as his hand closed over her fingers like an iron vise, it was so cold and strong. But how sad he was, as if an exquisite piece of sculpture that he • loved had fallen from a great height and been shivered into a thousand fragments. The hope and joy of his life seemed slipping away from him. That little child’s face hung between him and the bride who was promising to be faith ful—if she only had been faithful to him; its baby hands seemed to shield her bosom from him, its quavering cries to repra.'-h him for daring to kiss its mother. So small and sweet a baby, but its face seemed threat ening him, its infant form linked indissolu bly a past he had hoped he might forget with a present and future he had foolishly thought had a great store of happiness for him. The minister had taken his seat. Was he really married to the golden haired woman whose hand he held to tightly? Was this tlie moment lie had dreamed of as marking his entrance into anew ideal life? Had lie said everything correctly? He could not remem ber, but he did not want any mistake made about this at least. Oh yes, it was now he was to kiss his wife. He held her to his heart an instant. This was his wife, but joy was dead behind his dry, feverish lips, and his smile, meant to cheer her, was as if some terrible pain was gnawing every moment at his heart. But Bertha appeared to notice nothing wrong. The train which bore away the bridal pair had not traveled a great many miles when something caused Philip to look in the seat behind them. There sat the portly woman, with her chin at last depressed in slumber, and the buoy with Bertha’s eyes and Curran's mouth. One of Bertha's coils of hair had become loosened, and a braid of golden hair hung over the back of the seat as she let her head rest on her husband’s shoulder. Ber tha's eyes were closed drowsily, the nurse in the seat behind nodded in her dreams, but the child reached out its baby hands to play with its mother's golden tresses. The young husband watched the child’s lips forming again and again one word, “mamma,” the wife fell asleep and dreamed she was the hap piest woman in the world, while beneath her head every throb of the man’s heart was an ache. -CHAPTER XXVI. ONE SHORT HOUR. It was a week later that the Breton ba rouche came over the brow of the hill toward Mr. Ellingsworth’s house. The bay span never stepped so proudly, and certainly the gold plated trimmings on their harness never glittered so brightly before. As the carriage had passed through the lower village the fac tory girls had a 1 rushed to the windows to see the master and his bride, and for the mo ment the laborers on the foundations of the new mill stopped their work in one accord, and were rfil eyes till the bridal couple were out of sight. Philip’s face was fairly radiant with hope and love, and he could not teach his eyes to look anywhere but at Bertha. She glanced idly on either side, at the white gloved coachman on his high seat or at the prancing horses, anywhere but into the earn est, tender face, which might have been a constant reproach to her calm indifference. Clearly enough, the clouds that had settled so gloomily about his wedding night had lifted; his love and the sweet reality of his present life and his new sense of duty toward the woman who now called him husband, all helped him to put away her past, even to its most terrible incident, and his healthful mental nature was rapidly building up anew life which should have no taint in it. Philip Breton made a noble lover. Perhaps it was because he was not a great man. He was not so wise but that he believed in the reality of tho sunbeams poets make their love songs of. He had many holy aspirations; he caught now and then glimpses of ideal beauty and truth. In some vague way he fancied all these were realized in Bertha. In her he loved al 1 the harmonies. In her he worshiped purity and charity and all the graces. As for Bertha, she continually found new surprises in his gentleness and in his devo tion —surprises partly because she forget them each time. She really wished he were not so devoted. She wished he did not make her feel as if she were forever posing in tab leaux. She thought him inc lined to be fool ish, because he did not seem keen eyed enough to see her most obvious faults —not magnanimous enough herself to understand that lie looked at her through a halo of glory his love had put about her. In spite of her self he could see something beautiful and good in everything she could do or say. “We are just passing my home,” she said, a little petulantly; “can’t you see anything but me ?” ■‘'This B n it your Lome now, my dear.” He corrected her very gently. As he glanced into the windows of the parlor where they had been married, Jane El lings worth’s dark face looked out at them, cruel and malevo lent. Philip started forward in his seat. Why, no., he must have been wrong, the face in the window was wreathed in the most charming smiles. She even kissed her fingers to the bridal pair., and let a sheet of paper she had been holding flutter to the floor in her chil llike enthusiasm. Bertha nodded coldly; Philip lifted his silk hat, and the car riage* passed out of sight. Philip was too wise to weary his wife just now by showing her -all the changes in his home, which would delight her so much later. He knew by her drooping step, as she walked along the hall, that she was tired and would appreciate rest above all things. So he took her first to her own little sitting room, which he called her boudoir. He had rather expected a little lighting up of her eves, perhaps some pretty exclamation of pleasure. Possibly he had made an absurd artistic blunder. Could it be he had got the wrong shade of blue after all? She only threw off her bonnet and sat down in the least inviting of the chairs without seeming to care to look about her at all.. “You must be tired, Bertha,” said Philip at last, trying to hide the disappointment that made his heart swell so painfully. “Won’t you sit in the easy chair? I am sure y>u wMI like it, though perhaps you would rather lie down.” “Oh, no, I am net tired,” she said, care lessly, without turning her eyes to look at him where he stood, restlessly playing with the window curtains. He pulled roughly at them, he longed that moment to ruin the beauty that had failed to please her. He could not see where thb fault was; the carpet was as thick and soft as a bed of violets, the light seemed delicate almost as some perfume, but Bertha did not seem to care for anything he had devised for her. She was going to speak; if she would only criticise, he woulo change every Mi ing again to win a smile of approval from her. She might at least un derstand how much he had tried to please her. “W hero does that door open?” “I will show you if you arc not tired,” yet he dreaded to take her iti that room, and see her as cold and indifferent as she was now. He felt it would break his heart. Khe rose to her feet and looked in curiosity at him as he took a key from his breast pocket and turned it in the lock. “Is it your treasure cham lx* r ?” “Yes,” he whispered, ami threw open the door, and stood back for her to enter. The room seemed as pure and white as if a thou sand angels brooded over it with their snowy wings. Peace and holy rapture seemed breathing from tho very walls, and the young bride felt anew timidity steal over her heart. She was awed indescribably in the temple of love he had made for her. Poor soul! would there lie but one true worshiper? “Come,” she said, and she smiled more sweet ly than he had ever seen her. She held her hand out toward him, as he lingered on the threshold. He came and took her hand and then put his arm about her as she stood in exquisite pensiveness, struggling to take in the mean ing of the place. She had cast her eyes down on the carpet, which seemed like the driven snow, sparkling with hail drops. The solemn beauty of her chamber subdued her like a child. “You would not dare to kiss me here, Philip,” she said at. last in a voice so gentle and thrilling, it seemed to his throbbing heart as if anew soul had been born w ithin her. “It is so pure and” But he drew her unresisting form into his arms, and kissed her full cool lips again and again, and she did not stir on his shoulder, but her great blue eyes look a startled re pioacb at his ardor. “There is no place too pure for the kisses I have for you.” * There never will be an hour in Philip Breton’s after life, when he shall not look back to this moment as worth all his 'agony, as the acme of his being, when the cup of his happiness was full. And who should over turn it? Why should he not hold it to his ever thirsty lips forever, the well spring of his love bubbling and sparkling forever within? Might not the world stand still awhile? Must it jostle him from his un wearying rapture, and push him on and on into the barren desert of failure which awaits all mankind at last? The dinner bell tinkled invitingly, and the master and mistress of the house came down together. At the door of the dining room stood the man servant, salver in hand, and the silk skirts of the lady of the house swept against him as she passed in. Philip frowned fiercely at him, for the usually most well be haved and respectful waiter seemed to forget nil his duties in staring with brazen impu dence in the beautiful face of his master’s wife. Pliiiip grew pale with anger, but Bertha only gave a glance of lofty contempt at the fellow’s smooth face and white apron. “Your servants are not well behaved, my dear Philip.” In a moment more they were alone, and Philip forgot his wrath in the new picture of his wife across his table. His old lonely days were ended. No more solitary feastings. Bertha was a] ways to brighten liis house and his table for him. The satyr of bronze on the mantel that had scowled on his des olation, seemed actually smiling now. The portraits around the green tinted walls had seemed to his imagina tion, as he had sat down so many times to his rielity furnished table, like guests at a funeral, or again, as if morosely curious how a man could violate all the principles of hos pitality by dining alone. Now, he fancied, they had taken on a more genial, compan ionable expression. To be sure the sun poured in through the open blinds in unusual brightness, but it was the light in Bertha’s blue eyes that changed everything for him. it was the beginning of his own home. This woman, who seemed too lovely to be other than a caller for an hour, had come to stay, to sit with him as she did now, whenever he breakfasted or dined or supped—always. The world might heap wrongs and outrage on him, his factories might burn and his wealth dissolve —she whose presence in itself was a perfect existence to him, had come to him to stay forever. Bertha’s face was lient over the table studying the odd device on her napkin ring. The sunlight flickered in her golden hair as tenderly as if it were giving her kisses of welcome. So she would sit before him al ways. But the sudden creaking of a man’s boot made him look up. The waiter had come in almost noiselessly and stood at the sideboard carving a bird for their second course. Philip was glad he had not said one of the hundred caressing words that had come to his lips. But how slow he was at his carving; was ty* canvas back so tough, then? Ugh! There was a glass on the sideboard, and Philip happened to glance into it. The man held the knife and fork in his hands, yet he was not carving at all, but was still star ing at Bertha’s bent beautiful face in the mirror, with his evil, swinelike eyes. He seemed to be studying her features, as if to recall some association. Oh, he had suc ceeded. A hideous grin distorted his mouth and whole face. Then Philip rose and pushed back his chair. His servant recognized his master’s wife. Apparently she had played some very inharmonious part in some pre vious scene he had witnessed* And he was but one of the world she had disgraced her self before. What could his evil eyes have seen? Which miserable page in this lovely woman’s history that her husband was try ! ;ing to blot out of memory? If he could for give her, might not the rest? Must she be subject to insult in her own home? Was he not powerful enough to protect her against i the shame of such looks as this fellow gave her? He stepped to the sideboard and touched I his servant on the shoulder and beckoned him to the door. The malicious grin had hardly time to vanish from the frightened ! face. | “Go!” the words came hissing from hi? master’s lips, “and if I ever see your face again, or if you ever breathe a word against the woman I have made my wife”— The man slunk up stairs like a whipped dog. “Why, I didn’t notice you had been out,” said Bertha in mild surprise as Philip re-en tered the dining room. “Were you ill? How t pale you are.” But she did not rise in her solicitude and come to him. Instead he came to her, and bending very gently over her tided to kiss away the lines of care on her white forehead which he had never caused. He did his best to smile gayly, and succeeded wed enough to deceive her. “I will be your servant to-day,” he said, “with no profane eyes to look on.” Then he shook off his unhappiness by sheer force of will, and began to talk lover’s non sense to the coll mistress of his home i;i more perfect abandon than ever, even in the ex uberance of his youth. He must be happy while he could, he da-ed not stop talking, lest he should think too much. But she only looked at him in far off surprise, with now and then a curious, not quite pleased smile, at his absurdities. At last, all too soon, she arose. “I must go and dress and try and look a little prettier, for today at least.” She touched his shoulder kindly as she passed out into the hall, leaving him sitting still at table. It was only then that he discovered a letter that had been concealed by a plate. What did he care for business today? Still it mi gilt serve to pass a little of the time till his wife should return. How the thought of her warmed his heart. In a few moments the door behind him would open, and he would turn to see her graceful form on the thresh old. She would be dressed in some new color, or perhaps iu the black that gave her the air of a dethroned queen. By this time she must have thought of some kind thing to say to him, but first it would be: _1 1i j ! 1 i •■---? • | p| Iplg PWjfii'ls Jy y V w, r j 1 cr. * “Go!” “Sitting at table yet?” Then he would rise and draw her jeweled hand through his arm and show her through her whole home. She would be so delighted with the library; he tvas sure everything there would please her exquisite taste. He had never enjoyed the room, though it was so perfect; there had been something dreary to him in its classic simplicity. But now everything would be changed. Then he would lead her to the drawing room, and would make her sit down again before Hie long silent piano, which fiad given out not one tone of music since her white fingers had last caressed its glistening keys. And she would play and sing for him while he dreamed of the new rare life of beauty and peace that was to be his hence forth. He glanced at the face of tho envelope; but it was not for a moment more that the mist of joy cleared from before his eyes enough to read the words stamped on its upper corner. “John T. Biddings, attorney at law,” and beneath in smaller type, “Divorces procured without trouble or publicity for any cause desired.” What was he or his business to Philip Breton? He tore open the envelope patiently; probably a begging letter. He unfolded the sheet lie found within. At the top in big letters the attorney’s name and address; and below the advertisement about divorces again. Philip frowned and began to read what the man had written to him. “Dear Sir: I understand you will have just returned from your wedding journey when this reaches you. lam sorry to inter rupt your bliss but it will be very important for you to call upon me immediately upon your receipt of this communication. You may wonder how my advertisement about divorces which your observant eyes will have detected at the top of this page can concern you. If you call on me at once I will be able to explain that and several other points of interest to you. Very truly yours, John T. Biddings. Philip spread the letter open on the table cloth before him, and read it again and more carefully. He seemed very slow to take its meaning. Then he folded it very accurately and put it in his pocketbook. He rose to his feet and rang the bell for the maid. How cool he was. He showed no sign of having received a terrible blow, unless it was by passing his hand wearily across his forehead once or twice. The clearest feeling he was conscious of was a nervous anxiety lest Bertha should come in upon him just now; and when the door opened he started violently. But it was only the maid, who had answered liis sum mons. “Tell your mistress,” his voice was very low, but it sounded firm enough, “tell your mistress I am called away to Lockout. I shall lie back by tea time —at 0, I suppose. Can you find my hat for me Jane—l mean Annie. Thank you.” He pulled it well over his eyes, and walked along the hall and opened the door. He did not like to glance up the open staircase for fear he might see Bertha He dreaded to look in her face just now. The maid stood waiting. “Tell your mistress that I am called—oh, I told you, did I?” CHAPTER XXVIL A LEGAL DISTINCTION, “Ah, Mr. Breton, jess, yes, I was sure you would come.' 1 The lawyer pulled two chairs together near his office table. John T. Ghidings had changed a great deni since the time when he undertook to engineer the corporation scheme. Apparently he was going down hill very fast, without bra lies. His eyes wore a glassy look, as if he had just waked from a drunken sleep. The smooth rouudness of his cheeks was gone, his lower jaw was strongly marked, and his nose seemed drawn out and sharpened to give the effect of a bird of prey. Philip glanced significantly about the room. The lawyer followed his eyes and laughed. “Changed some, aren’t we —all lack of money. Actually, you have no idea how *lO even would furbish this old table and polish this floor. ,'imes aint as they were, Mr. Bre ton, in the old days, when I used to get fat fees out of men like your father. Nice man, your father. But,” and he leered meaningly at his visitor, “when we do get a chance for a dollar I tell you we jump at it.” He tipped back his chair against his half filled, book shelves and peered familiarly into Philip’s stern face. “Why, look at those dirty fel lows back by the door. Time was I wouldn’t notice a client unless he wore white collar and cuffs. But now for business. 1 suppose you were a little astonished to get my let ter f” “I should prefer not to have listeners,” re marked Philip, coldly. “Oh, well, I will finish with these fellows first, then. I thought you niight be im patient.” “Not at all, sir.” The lawyer’s clothes were threadbare and soiled, and the black felt hat that he wore, indoors and out, well slouched over his eyes, was torn in the erowm. Philip compared him with his shabby looking callers, and could not see but the clients looked as well as their patron. But at every sign of poverty and degradation his heart sank lower and lower, for the man must be reckless and hungry as a man eating shark. If it lay in his power to rack the life out of a victim— the man could have no restraint of character cr decency to hold back his hand. Could there be anything he; knew about Bertha’* past, that terrible gap Philip had not tried to look into? He dared net think. Impatient! he dreaded the moment when the lawyer should send away his soiled clients. Philip started each time he half turned as if to come back. But when Uiddings closed the door after the pom wretches. which was not until a little roll of bills had passed from their hands to his, and earn© back to his seat, the young mill owner did not seem to observe him until the lawyer said: “1 have filled out a complaint, but have not signed it yet.” Philip looked at him blankly. “What is a complaint!” “Well, my dear sir, a man of your position might pass a lifetime and never know. Ahem! It is a form of procedure that is generally understood to l>e applicable only to the poor. When a wretois has committed a burglary, for instance, some friend of justice, as I for example, goes before a magistrate and makes certain charges. Then the poor devil is arrested, dragged before the court and tried.” “Well, sir, what are your complaints to me!” The lawyer smiled. “Strictly, nothing, unless you identify 3’ourself with a woman calling herself Bertha Breton." He paused to notice the effect of his words. “My wife,” gasped Philip. “Oh, for God's sake, speak quick!” “You have been lately married?” “A week ago.” “The woman you have married has a hus band already. Bv remarrying as she has clone she has committed a felony by our laws. Some rather inaccurately call her crime bigamy. A state prison offense, I suppose you know—l mean for her. The law of our state does not touch you.” “But she tofd me she was free to marry.” How far off his voice sounded. Was it he, indeed, in a low atV>mey’s office, discussing his wife, whether she were a felon or no. It was like a horrible dream; too horrible to be anything but a dream; but he could not awake from it. “No doubt she thought so,” said the law yer, charitably; “but let me show you.” He opened a drawer in front of him, and took out a long paper. Isn’t it odd, women have no notion of folding a legal document cor rectly. Did you ever notice it;” “No, I never noticed it,” answered Philip, mechanically. He felt as if he were standing still, while the world was flying from under his feet. “This is the marriage certificate. It is proper in form, you will see.” Y es; it seemed correct. Bertha's name was there, and Curran’* They seemed to leap out of the parchment as he read. And there were two witnesses. He rubbed his e} r e:\ “Thomas Bailes” —that was the name of the servant he had turned away. Yes; it was lot an hour ago he turned him away. “Who is this Thomas Bailes “He was a waiter at the ‘Lockout house’ where the happy couple were made one.” The paper fluttered to the floor, the walls of the room seemed rushing in upon him, while the grinning face of the lawyer danced in hideous measure before his eyes. Was God, in his mercy, sending him death? When his brain cleared again the lawyer was talk ing still. “You will wonder how I happen to possess this paper, but you will recollect my adver tisement at the tos of my letter head? Well it seemed Mrs. Curran, excuse me. grew tired >f her uncongenial husband, quite outside ier sphere of course. A fine fellow that Cur ran was too. But the young lady naturally sighed for her old, more refined associations. Her husband does nothing but shock her. She becomes wretched, her craze is over, the reality is not to her delicate taste at all. W hat next? She leaves him. Fortune throws ny advertisement in her way and I receive a ■etter from her address, then at Vmeboro. Here was a short way out of it all, a divorce without trouble or publicity, for any cause iesired. She would be free as air again, free io end her life, as she no doubt intended, in ton ventuM retirement. ” Giddings threw his feet upon the table and uni led very slyly. “I undertook her suit. What better cause could there be than in jompatibility. Oh, no; she need not come to Lockout, so there was no trouble; and as to publicity, why, will you believe it”— and ‘he lawyer winked horribly at his visitor; ‘Curran himself was within twenty miles of Lockout during the pendency of the suit, and ae never guessed his wife was being divorced roan him; and I don’t believe he knows it to ;liis day. Ha, ha!* And he laid his head aack on his chair and laughed till the tears ran down his face. “But you procured her a divorce?” It is ilinost worth pain to have the exquisite de light that comes with relief. Philip felt ashamed that he had distrusted God so much. How much more joyfully he aould cherish his wife than before. There was no blot of shame on her sweet name. There was no page in her life the whole world night not look at then. Aud this man wanted v reward for what he had done, aye, and he should have it. There was no gift too great 'or him who had turned this young husband’s jitterest memories sweet, who had made his ife and his love like that of other men. He •eached forward and grasped the lawyer’s >ily hand in hearty good will. Gidding’s stared at him in silence a mo nent. Then he moved uneasily in his chair md released his hand. * guess you don’t understand,” he had mough of his manhood left to hesitate. It was actually a more disagreeable business ;han he had counted on. “Such secret con venient divorces as I get don’t stand in our jourts. The whole thing is bogus, my dear dr.” Philip’s face had become like a dead nan’s. “Issaied by the supreme judicial court Df Utah/ it says on them; but there is no such ;ourt, and as for the seal. I keep it in this little irawer. Besides, if there were such a court, ind its genuine seal were stamped on a decree )f divorce, it would amount to nothing when both parties live in this state. Our state nakes its own decrees. Utah decrees or the iecrees of any foreign state or territory are void here. Your wife is Curran’s wife yet. 3he is as much married to him today as she jver was.” “How am I to know but that you are lying ;o me?” The attorney handed him over a file of etters with a shrug of his shoulders. “You aeed not wade through them all, the last is conclusive, I think you will agree with me.” Mr. Giddings— Dear Sir— l received this mom ng the divorce from the supreme judicial court if Utah, aud you will find inclosed a draft for :he second half of the S3OO agreed upon. Of course I have to rely wholly on your assurance diat my divorce is complete, and that T have a right to resume my maiden name. I thank you for the quiet way in w hich you have have man iged it. I did not suppose it could be done so •easily. I only wonder Mr. Curran has taken it 50 calmly, he seemed almost wild when I first left him. Yours gratefully, Bertha Ellixgsworth. Yes, there was no doubt about it. It was Bertha’s handwriting; no forgery could have deceived her lover’s eyes. Haw little she fancied he would ever be reading it over, and cursing the first hour he ever looked on her dear face. He watched the attorney put it back on file again. It seemed a desecration to lay one of her notes in the stained, tin box, with the ignoble company of lying and suppliant letters. •* “She seems to have relied completely on some assurance of yours that her divorce would be good. Philip tried to speak calmly to this man, who held his darling’s fate in the hollow of his hand, but his voice trem bled, and almost broke. “You are not well,” exclaimed the lawyer, and he opened another drawer in bis desk and drew out a square shaped, yellow colored bottle. “Take a swallow of this.” Pnilip clutched it eagerly. He thought now be could understand how a man might want to drown alt pride and sense in drunk enness. He poured the crude stuff down his parched throe* as if it were water. One swallow was not enough, nor were two, but when he set the bottle upon the table at last, the lawyer resumed: “And so it would have been good, nine times out of ten, good enough to make all parties concerned comfortable. A document is a document to most people, a Seal is a seal. Asa man thinketh, so is he. Parties divorced by mv fiat alone, remarry and raise children, and are as happy and clear of conscience as if they were not committing a sin every hour of theig lives, unless it happens to come out.” “This has come out, I suppose, and Lockout is all agog with it.” Philip's heart stopped besting while he waited for his answer, “No, m3* dear sir, another mistake; no one under heaven knows of it but me, and you now.” Breton must have taken him for a fool. Philip started from his chair like light ning. “Thank God, then Bertha is safe yet.” Bffb Giddings attempted to look very stern. “Did you suppose I made out that complaint for nothing? She is rich and beautiful and proud, no doubt, but the same law hangs over her as the rest of us. No one knows of her crime 3*et, but before the sun sets,” the attorney rose, and cautiously put the table between himself and his guest, whose eyes seemed to him to gleam dangerously, “but before the sun sets,” he continued, watching the other closely, “an officer with a warrant will call at your front door.” TO UK CONTINUED. ■-, iimhi .-HttWtaK-ajagi H unniciit’s Rheumatic Cure En dorsed by the Medical Profession. A GREAT BLOOD PURIFIER. Atlanta, Ga., Nov 4,1887. H R, C. Cos.: Gentlemen —I have used five bottles of vour H. R. 0., and cln erfnPy recom mend it as the best blood, purifier and tonic I have ever used since taking your cut el have gained twenty pounds in weight. Yours truly, Wm. Turner. AN ATLANTA PHYSICIAN SPEAKS. Atlanta, Ga., Oct 20,1887. H. R.C Cos : Gentlemen —I have used your Rheu matic Cure in several cases of the worst type, and lam glad to say it had the desired effect in every case. I take great pleasure in recommending your medicine to those who are suffering from rheuma tism and its attendant complications, and if tri and I am confident of its efficacy. Res'pectfullv, P. O Box 62 .!. A. Nelms, M. D. A CURE IN EVERY CASE. H. R.C Cos.: Gentlemen—l pronounce your Rheu matic Cure a success beyond question. I have tried the great remedy in three css y and find a rure in every ease. I pronounce it good. Very respectfully, Dr. W . L. Clay. 432 Walnut St , Louisville, Ivy. FROM TIIE AUTHOR OF UNCLE REMUS. Atlanta, Ga., March 3. 1888. H. R. C. Cos.: Gentlemen—l take pleasure in saying that your Hunnicutt A Rheumatic Cure is the best I have ever seen. My mother, who bad been suffering with rheumatism for thirty years, was entire y relieved by a few bottles Yours truly, Joul Chandler Harris A PROMINENT ATLANTA LAWYER’S TESTIMONY. Atlanta, Ga.. Dec. 28,1887. Hunhicutt Rheumatic Cure Cos.: Gents—l have taken your Hunnicutt’s Rheumatic Cure for inflammatory Rheurha-' tism with, great benefit. It is, in my opinion, the best medicine for rheuma tism I ever took. Jno. D. Cunningham, Ex-Judge U. S. Court of Ala a u. s. marshal tells iiis experience. Atlanta, Ga , Feb. 4, ISBB. Hunnicutt Rheumatic Cure Cos.: Gentlemen —It affords me pleasure to add ray testimony to that of the many who indorse your Hunnicutt's Rheumatic Cure I had been a constant sufferer from rheumatism for years, when ! determined to try your cure, and to my surprise and delight one bottle was all I found neces sary to relieve me of all symptoms of rheumatism, and I deem it but justice not only to those who originated this cure, but to all others who may be suffering from the same cause, f o say this much in confirmation of what is claimed for thig medicine. Yours respectfully, John W. Nelms. Price—sl per b< ttle 83x bottles $5. Prepared onl3 r at Laboratory of Hunnicutt Rheumatic Cure Cos.. Atlanta, Ga. QJpFor sale by all Druggists Send for book of valuable information and testimonials of well known citizens, Road Notice. GEORGIA—Bartow County: B. T. Bibb and others have made application for a public road commenei g at Cassrille road at or near the old MoDow place, now owned by Mr. Balenger. and passing’ on by the places of Green and Robert Loveless and intersecting with Kingston road between the residence of B. F. and .Tames Shaw. This being- an old neighbor hood road, or settlement road, has in part bees in years past, a public road, but for many years has not been recognized as such, which has been marked out by the commissioners and a report made on oath by them. All persons are notified that said new road will on and after the first Tuesday in August next, by the Commissioners of Roads and Revenue of sa id county be finally granted if no new cause be shown to the contrary. This June 28, INKS. •T. C. MILAM, Clerk Commissioners Roads and Revenue, Road Notice. GEORG IA —B art ow county. B. T. Bibb, E. B. Earle and other* have made application for a public road, beginning at the water station on the \V. & A. R. 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