The Brussels Post, 1888-1-13, Page 6PUT ASUNDER;
lady Castlemaine's Divorce 1
By BERTHA. M. CLAY,
AUTO= OV
Efftentell Lift," "The Horn. /Atoms,
motet,. A Struggle for ft
etc., etc., ett.
•not her normal act, but that she is in
an excited state, which will pass away
fend leave you both so happy that you
will forget all past troubles,"
In Heaven's name, Randal, what are
, you talking taiking about.
s "Wley, about your wife's health. She
'is trembling on the verge of unmet.
;You eau save her from it by these itt.
etant cares, this atmosphere of love mei
:approval, that 1 suggest. My fears
were first aroused by an abnormal date
of Lady Castlemaine's feelings wheu 1
'suggested to her the natural, even hale
py CMSO of her discomforts ; and when
',tow her in the park, walking alone,
evidently highly overwrought, I say I
feared some transient loss of mental
balance."
"Randal, speak out 1 What do you
mean by her health, and her mental '
balance ?"
You do not mean to tell mo that
you are still ignorant .that Heaven le
about to bless you with a child ?"
Lord Castleniaine leaped to his feet
with a loud cry. He turned his wild
eyes and haggard face to Randal. His
voice•was hoarse and broken.
"Randal t—have you not heard 2—
the eloped ten days ago I"
"Eloped I I could . strangle you for
the false, wicked word 1 cried Randal,
dashing at him as.if to take him by the
• throat. Then he fell back. "Lord Cas-
tlemaine, you look like a man just out
of his grave l"
"The grave of my joy—of my love I"
"Answer me, man 1" exclaimed Ran-
dal, taking him by the arm. "Where
Lady Castlemaine 2"
"Gone 1—fledl—el—" ' •
"Hush !—not that sacrilegious word I
Is your wife gone? Do you not know
.where she is ?" •
. "No. It is ten days cies—'
"Enough! And you have never had
search made for her ?—never followed
• he ?—never hunted these woods and
poolsanor sought to trace her ? You
accused her—that angel 1 that innocent,
lovely child I—abandoned her to her
!abel Oh, Heaventhat such a thing
could be I Lord Castlemaine, what I
feared has come—your poor wife was
mad 1 Mania had , seized her 1—she
tied. This especial mania often takes
the form of hate or fear of home and
-friends. Love is its antidote; and you
have deserted her—have let her go to
die alone--Castlemaine I"
',Randal, hear mcI You are mis-
taken. She admitted to me that she
had been meeting, alone, secretly, by
eoppointment, that reprobate, Colonel
.Lennox."
"Stay, Lord Castlemaine! Answer
.,icae carefully. Did you not charge her
with these things, severally? You were
ieslous and angry 2"
"Yes ; and she owned it."
"Owned it !" cried Randal, in scorn
and fury. •"The peer woman was mad 1
—she was out of her mind 1 If you
had asked her if she had killed her
Mother, or committed treason—if you
had asked as suspecting—she would have
paid 'yes.' If she bas gone, she went
alone, in frantic terror of everybody ;
and you are to blame; and Lady Cas-
tlemaine may be noviekstray pauper in
en alms -house, or shut up in an insane
.asylurn, or lying, dead in some wild, or
teendering, a mad woman, in the coun-
try I"
Lord Castlemaine's answer to this
terrible charge was a wild cry, as he
fill prostrate and senseless.
When, under ellandal's care, he strug-
egled back to consciousness, his first
words wore :
"Baudal, have her sought for !"
Before night a force of searchers was
exploring the 'Neath (estates and the
adjoining country, and the rural and
cosmopolitan police had been applied
• to, to seek the lost Lady Ca,stilemaine.
' Randal, hearing that Colonel Lennox
was the man accused, and that he had
dived at the organist's cottage, sifted
the evidence therm
"I find that on those two occasions
•slated, Miss Hyde was with Lady CM.
thimaine and the meeting seemed ordi.
• nary and accidental."
This was the next morning. Lord
Castlemaine, inspired by the effort to
think his wife guiltless, was again in
• the library with Dr. Randal.
"If you please, my lord," said a set.
,'ant, entering, "that poacher win, see
you—wants to see' you alone, he says."
"Bring him in I" cried Lord Code-
r:mine. "This man might have news."
Doctor Randal stopped flat to the ter-
race as the poacher entered.
"Well, what do you want ?" asked
Mord Castlemaine of his visitor.
-"My lord, I wants to go to Amerida,
and 1 -wants money to go. Hem I can-
not keep from poachin', an', though
yotfre easy on me, my lord, °Riots
might not 'be, an' I think I'd be safer
Aare game is free—me an' my gun.
• A hundred pone', my lord, would Make
•a man of me. .And SO I make bold to
• see if what I know is worth the hum
.dred poen'. It's 00M0 to my ears that
• there's a stir about him as lodged down
hove ; and I've got it all set down when
she mot him, whether by early mornin'
•:ter ha the even& ; for I meant, 111 ad-
mffe,le make het pay me so ranch as a
'poun' a time for keepin'
"White lady ?" hissed Lord Castle.
mine.
• ' "The han'soule lady with the black
eyes, ant black hair, ries' smilin' face• ,
that mostly wore tad roses on her
dress."
"Bid you ever see my—Lady Castle-
=eine?' gasped his lordship.
'Oh, yes; I Seed My lady often, when
I was laid up along of a eut faettlest
winter. She stopped eo Or
eight times, with things for Ate! --al.
waya somethie' for me in her little
baelme. Lord love you, eir, she didn't
care for my poachin—sho only laughed,
like it was a little joke."
i Then you losew the difference between
Lady Castlemaine and this other lady?"
I Certain. And this other lady—the
dark one—met the lodger from the cot'
titee—a millingtary figure of a man ;
and they didn't seem lovers; there was
no kissin', nor hand boldin', only just
welkin' up and down, aetalkin' ; so 1
lwas s'erised the night she ran away
with him."
"Who ran away ?" thuudered Lord
',Caatlemaine.
1 61 The dark ono, you know, as 1 WO
'you. I'll admit I was slippin' round
from behin' that broken cabin, to go!
!through the 'Nun's Gate' aud look at s
few traps, when out she come from the
cabin. That s'prised mo, for I had sot
her leave, a couple o' days before that
by train. Then out of the shade of the
trees the millingtary men stepped, and
the two walked every mortal step tc
Redmoss, and got on the Lun'uu train.
' For I see 'em, so be as I followed 'ma'
"Enough!" said Lord Castlemaine
"I may need you. Stay here until 3
•give you leave to go to America, and
you shall have two hundred pounds
Don't get yourself into trouble poach.
ing. Stop—I might give you a permit.'
"0h, my hid!" said the poacher it
Amoy, "don't do thee! You'd take el'
the pleasure clean out of getting game.'
"Mr. Grimheld, my lord!" cried *
servant, at the door.
The poacher vanisbed. The lawysi
entered.
"What news ?" demanded Lord Cas
tlemaine, eagerly.
"I entered suit—filed my evidence
But we haven't a case—"
Lord Castlemaine signed him to gc
on.
"The fact is, Colonel Lennox is ir
London. I've seen his counsel, and]
have seen himself, You say Lady Cas.
tlemaine disappeared on Friday, the
eleventh. That •night Colonel Lennox
slept at his pleb. He got in late, went
to Ised, breakfasted there—has been
there ever since. I have seen hien. He
says he never had the honor of being
more than, a transient •friend*of Lady
Castlemaing; never had the least rea-
son to suppose that she cared for him;
doesmot lenbw 'where she is ; has not
seen her since the fourth or fifth of the
month, I'll admit, he said, too, that
he admired Lady Castlemaine above
all women that he ever sew. He thought
she was not happy; that he was sure
you were a tyraut, and not worthy of
your wife; that Lady Castlemaine was
an angel, and ee model, of purity and
dignity—and so much the worse foe
him. Ho says lie saw her casually at
Reath, walking , about the estate, but
almost ale, aye with Miss Hyde. If you
want anything he is at your service;
but really, Otl his honor, he has no idea
of the whereabouts of Lady Castle -
maim)."
CHAPTER LIX.
WITHOUT A FRIEND.
Wheu Gertrude Castlemaine fled from
her house she was by no means a victim 1
of mania, as Doctor Randal supposed.
She was, however, in a highly excited
mental state, which debarred her of
reasonable and cool judgment, and pre.
seated all troubles to her in an exag-
gerated form. This nervous exaltation
intensified her natural faults —pride,
self-will, resentment.
If Gertrude had been in a normal
state of mind, she would have gone to
her mother at Eastdale, sent for her
friend and lawyer, Mr. Grimbeld, and,
by means of these two intermediaries,
the married couple might have come to
a clear aud friendly understanding.
Instead of this, Gertrude had brooded
over every unkind and arbitrary act of
her husband until she was filled with
anger, and desired neither to see him
nor speak to him; her sick fancy turn.
ed against all her friends, and she mor-
bidly desired to fly from all wham she
had ever known. And though she was
in a state of unreasoning antagonism to
those who had loved her best, and whom
she had loved, she was by no means in-
competent to plan her future and take
care of herself. Yet she was in a siu-
gular position.
Women accustomed to take care of
and wait upon themselves, and to tra-
vel alone, can soarcily understand the
feeling of loneliness and helplessness
that came upon Gertrude when sho
found herself at Calais, standing on the
deck of the Dover boat, knowing that
now she must choose her route and go
somewhere by herself, whon she had
never been from home before -without a
maid, a groom, and either mother,
governess or friend. She kept her grey
tissue veil doubled over her face; her
lips were firmly pressed together.
Lady Castlemaine was resolved to
work hor own plans, but it was very
hard.
The drivers on the quay were bellow-
ing
"More Macre I"
She signed to one of them, and he
came up on the deck, She told him te
take her to the railway station foi
Paris. He little imagined the great
value of the two small satchels she
gave him to carry.
At , the station ske sent the man to
buy. her a guideibook, and while in thee
tram she chose a small French hotel ill
Paris, where ib was unlikely that Eng,
lish people would be. '
Arrived there on Saturday afternoon,
she ordered her meals to be sent to her
room : and, &ugly, safe from pursuit,
and exhausted with watching, anxiety
and sorrow, she gave herself up to re-
quired rest.
At first the very desolation and si.
lenge seemed sweet to her. The room
was neat a.nd the best in the house.
Sho could ring for what she wanted,
but she only wanted to be lot elone,
flour after hoe she Tay with hands
clasped, resting, not even allowing her-
self to think.
•Finally, when exhaustion had passed,
came reantion, and also reaction of sem
timed, She tealizernet desolate con-
TNE BRUSSELS POST
dition. She mourned over her dna
love MI one mourns a prologs, lately
buried friend. She longed for hor
mother; sho pitied herself for her iso.
Wien and forlornness. You will think
film was out of her raincl, thus latueut.
ing what she might et right, yet stub-
bornly refusing to alter It. Well, she
was, perhaps, tn a measure. Grieved
and despondiug, atm lay on her coubh
00 Sunday afternoon, realizing that she
must soon make up her mind 08 to her
future outfits, when the sound of weep-
ing came to her cars:'
The room where she was had form-
erly occupied the eutire depth of the
first floor of the house, but had boon
divided to make front and baok chem.
bars, of unequal size. The partition
wall was cheap and thin, little more
Lady Castlemaine had the frontroom;
the weeping was of some ono in the
back room. It was a sound of passion-
• ate, horiebroken, unrestraine,ble woe,
as if some one had repressed sorrow
until all power of self-control was ex-
hausted, and now alone, and believing
that no one could hear or see the exhi-
bition of grief, yielded to its overwhelm-
iniaTi41°Leestlemaine could not shut out
from her ears this bitter crying. It
seemed like the voice of her desolation
and disappointment; some one was
weeping over the tomb of her buried
love, aud hope, and youth, and home.
Stid—still that bitter, wailing pain ; it
drove ber frantic; she could not endure
it ; her aching heart seemed joining its
moans with this unknown weeper.
She could restrain herself no more,
She rang the bell. The waiting maid
eatne.
. .
"Madame wants something 2"
Gertrude held up her hand.
"Listen 1"
"Alas! she weeps 1"
"You hear that pitiful crying? It
has gone on a long time."
"Indeed, yes, my lady; it is heart-
rending."
"And who is it, and why does she
en, 2"
is Mademoiselle Justine Rabat.
Poor soul, why should she not weep?
She is alone in the world; her aunt,
her last relation, she buried yesterday.
e has no home, no friends, no money.
It is her aunt's fault, for she was proud
and very siugular ; she would not find
a husband for her niece, nor would she
have any friends. Madame aims, she
expected to live for years, and meant
madeinoiselle to be devoted only to her.
But so it is; she was ill; it must be a
surgical operation. She has had that
•next room this six weeks, waiting. It
is done. Instead of living 4r years
she dies under the hands of the doc-
tors. Yestorder she was buried. Her
pension dies with her. Mademoiselle is
alone. She must go out as nursery
governess, or waiting -maid, or seams.
tress, what nob? She does not know
how to look for a plane. Wednesday
her paid week here will be out. She
bas no money. Alas 1 the world is en-
tirely full of pitiful things! She is a
most sweet young lady, I assur0ou,
madame. Such a nurse I She witelike
an angel to her cross aunt. She can
do anybhing. Oh, it goes to my soul to
hear her mourn I"
Gertrude sat up.
"I am going to her."
"She disturbs madame ?"
"I shall go and comfort her."
"Heaven will bless madame for an
aot of charity."
"Show me to the door of her room."
"It cannot be missed; it is next to
this; it is not looked."
Gertrude tapped at the door indicated.
There was no reply. The weeper did
not hear the gentle sound.
Then Gertrude opened the door and
drew near tho prostrate figure of a girl
Dti the bed, het face buried in the pil-
low, her frame shaken with her sobs,
"Justine," she said, softly. eJustine,
I have cot_ ' o comfort you. I hoard
you crying ; I asked about you. The
servant has told me all. I feel for you,
for L too, am lonely."
The girl started, sat up on the bed,
and pushed the heavy dark hair from
her flushed, tear -web facie.
Gertrude sat down by her on the boa,
and gently hold her hand.
This haughty Gertrude Castlemaine
coulcl be very tender and sweet when
her charitable heart was moved to pity.
"You have lost your aunt, your only
relative 9 You have no home and no
means, they tell me ?"
"It is true, madame. "I mourn my
munt, and I am so afraid of my future.
I must seek work, a home • and no one
is respected who has no frisods or re-
commenda,tions; and I do not know
where to turn for any. My aunt was
very singular; she would not allow us
any friends."
"I, too, am alone," said Gertrude.
11 have no home nor friends ; but I am
better off than you it having money to
live on. I will try and help you. One
consoles one s own sorrow in helping
others."
"Ob. you do not look like one who
should have sorrow," said Justine.
"You are so lovely, your life should bo
all joy."
"It has had its jay, and now it has
had its misory," said Gertrude. "(knee
to my loom. You add to your grief
staying here in this room where your
aunt suffered and died. Here therels
no sunshine tor brightness. The sun
shines in net, room. I am alone there.
Come there and tell mo your etery."
In a little time Justine was in Ger.
Grade's room, sitting on a low stool at
Certrude's feet, telling the simple, un-
eventful story of her orphaned life,
ending So pathetically in poverty as
isolation.
Justine wan twenty-three, somewhat
older than Gertxude in years, and very
much older in business capacity and
practical knowledge of lite, for the
French girl had grown up thinking and
acting for „hereelf Mad othem, and the
English gief had been petted and wait-
ed on from infancy.
flerbrude wag strongly drawn to Jus-
tine.
They had theit Supper together le
Otirtrucle's room, After Justine had
left her for the night, Gertrude rang for
the landlady, and made some further
enquiriee.
Tbe landlady had known the girl and
her aunt' for years, as they had stopped
ab hor home always during their visits
to Paris She said
"Her aunt was shamefully sellish.
She deumuded the girl's whole time.
She would not secure her a marriage,
Sho 'ma up no dot for her. She knew
that her pension would perish with her,
aud she made no savings; she spout all
on herself, though she knew she must
some day leave the girl destitute. If
she finds nothing to do, I shall lot her
stay here and help me, though I do not
need her."
"I think 1 will take her myself, if she
Will coma to Ino, for companion, nnrse,
maid, friend, seentstress, evervithiug."
"Madame, it would be most gracious,"
•Raid the landlady, impressed by Ger.
tivado's rich dross, great beauty, and
fluent French.
Gertrude sent for Justine to break-
fast with her, and made her proposal.
"Justine, 10111 •'English, but I have
come to live in France. I are married,
but misfortunes that I will not explain
have driven mo to leave my home. 1
have moans to live upou, and I wish to
sook out some very quiet place in
Southern Franco and live in peace,
since I can no longer expect happluese.
Even the name I give here of Madame
Band is nob my own name.Now,
knowing nothing of me or my histoey,
are you willing to come with mo, to help
me find a home, to live with me, wait
on nee, comfort me, bear with my
whims and ill -temper, trust me, know-
• ing nothing of me?"
"Madame," said Justine, earnestly,
"I would trust your face and your voice
anywhere."
"I may prove very wearisome and
disagreeable."
Justine shook her head as if that
were impossible.
•
' "And yen will cast your lot in with
mine 9"
"And bless and thank madame with
all.my heart."
"Then that ie settled. I will tell you
my plan. I must, here in Paris, get my
English money changed to French, and
ethen I meet make a good many pur-
chases of clothes. You must help me,
for lam not used to going about alone.
Probably, you. too, have business to do
for yourself."
"I have some bills to pay, madame,
and a few old jewels of My aunt's to
sell, and to complete a little mourning
garb, if madame will kindly grant me
to -day."
By all means," said Gertrude; "and
as you will bo 10 black, Justiue, and I
must purchase clothing, I think I too,
will buy black; it will suit my altered
fortunes and my buried happiness and
love."
Gertrude was quite interested in Jus -
tine's negotiations in old jewels. The
girl might some time have business of
that kind to do for her. She found that
Justine was a thorough Frenchwoman
in business—quick, accurate, shrewd
turning all to the best account.
Justine went with her new mistress
or rather friend—for the two lived on
the footing of companions, not of mis-
tress and maid—to exchange the Eng-
lish money for French, and that evening
Gertrude took Justine more into her
confidence, showing her the store of
jewels.
Justine was astonished at the glitter-
ing treasure. She had just been remon-
strating at the amount of money Ger.
trude carried with her. Bob all these
gems 1
"Madame, this le rash! It is so un-
wise 1"
"Bob what can I do with it, Justine ?"
"We should express it to a banker,
madame, taking the express company'
receipt, and having the company take
& receipt, and give you some identifi-
eation."
"But, to do that, 1 must know where
I am to be."
"And whore does madame wish to
be 2"
"In some place very quiet, entirely,
French, not invaded by English, at the
South of France, where I shall have
sun to cheer me even in winter; some-
where where I can have books and
flowers, and where we oan live quite
unmolested."
"Why, then, should not madame go
with me to the very little cottage, now
vacant, and well furnishedovhere my
'tent and I lived for three years? As
1 am kuown near there, it will MVO us
trouble • but as I had no intimates, VG
shall ebe moleeted."
"And where, then, is that cottage,
Yustiue 2"
"Near Oareaseonne, in a: lady."
CHAPTER LX.
"THE PLEASANT LAND OP FRANCIE."
Smitten with her sudden suspicion of,
Isabel, Gertrude had not only rejected,
the name which she and Isabel had
chosen for her flight, but the had re.
solved on taking some other direction
in France than the one that Isabel had,
planned in the gracious Burgundian
district of the Coto d'Or.
Gertrude had made up her mind to
hide herself from all her former
and she was resolved that Isabel should
not now be able to betray her course.
There was in this intention, in this
strong passion for concealment, some-
thing of nutdnese.
Gertrude's mind might have lot bal.
ansa at this juneture had it not been
for the gentle companionship of Jo,
tine. The history of this girl had
diverted Gertrade to other interests
than her own. To heal the wounds of
other hearts always pours a balm upon
our own
Jestine, fall of gratitude, repaid Ger-
toude's kindness with passionete dove.
tion. Love soothed the wounded heart,
co givon to loving. Then, too, Justine
thowod a capacity for business and
helpfulness that caused Gertrude to
rely on ber; she was the staff that
Gertrude needed, ited, finally, the no.
ossify of going about Paris, and making
nerehaste and preparations for her
J,,w.13, 1888,
fame distracted Gertrudoie attention
from her miseries and lately.past mien
adventures. When Gertrude and Jas.
tine Were uot going about in it More, or
walking in quiet streets, they Must dio-
cese what they were to buy and do, and
these thiugs forced Gertrude's mind
from dangerous Antrosperitions and re-
ininollrieternureai
Gneisted in her intention of
buying black clothing, of a style suited
to a lady of middle circumstances. She
was no loneer, in hor own mina, Lady
Castlemaine. Justine helped hoe 10
these unusual purchases.
"I am skilful with my needle," the
said, "I will make up all these things
for you, I atu like an artist in modes,
and in the cottage I told you of there
an angel of a sowing machine. Maclaine
will see what wonders I will do. I will
read to madame, and I will sing to her,
and I have a little guitar to accompany
my songs, My one idea shall be to
comfort madame and indicate to her
my gratitude. dadame shall see that
laiiNivrayo.psoling bounty was not thrown
Then there Was the cottage to talk
about. Justine had written to the land.
lord to continuo hor the lease as her
aunt had had it.
"It is a quiet piece," said Justine;
"no ono will ask questions. I know,
merely to speak to, a few people there,
so we shall be known in the neighbor-
hood as respectable. Tbere is a good
elderly woman near who attended to
the heavy work for my aunt and me,
and she does well in the ausine ; but I
can make marvelous dainty dithes, and
madame shall not suffer if her appetite
is capricious. The cottage," continued
Justine, "is in a deep dell, perfectly
sheltered from the west winds that visit
Carcassonne. It has a lovely little gar-
den, with arbors, roses, almond tress;
the cottage is bowored in vines, and
stands back from the road; all around
are olives, vines, almond, apple and
other fruit orchards. The little child•
ren lead forth flocks of sheep, goate,
and geese to restate on 'the slopes of
the Pyrenees. • The mountains lift high
about the valley; the mountain people
are honest, innocent, industrious, and
tearTlTiehtdallYaeyLb remain° ridor.etd1 eiyn 1:fat r iGs e rf rnr ad ew eesen'k
Justine out to buy sonseEnglish papers
Justine brought back several.
Gertrude looked them over with fever
isle haste. In 'Truth,' always fond o
startling paragraphs, she found, as a
sens&temal item:
"It is whispered that Lord Rudolph,
Earl Castlemaine, has entered suit be.
fore the London Divorce Court for a
divorce from his wife, Lady Gertrude
Cravou Castlemaino. The reason for
this proceeding bas not yet transpired,
It is expected to create a sensation, as
Lady Gertrude was for two years the
leading beauty of London society, and
until lately Lord Castlemaine and his
wife have seemed passionately devoted
to each other."
Poor Gertrude! All hope was then
ended for her in England. Her name
was already defiled by envious, scandal -
loving tongues. Nothing less than di-
voroe and her infinite disgrace world
satisfy the revenge of her offended has.
baud and Isabel—Isabel, who had been
her friend, to whom she had confided
all her hopes, fears, loves joys, tom
bles—Isabel, whose counsels she had
followed—Isabel. who had aided all her
intimacy with Colonel Lennox, knew
well how innocent it was, and who, if
she had chosen, could have borne teeth-
mony to Gertrude's integrity, and to
her lonely flight—Isabel had kept silent,
and had not sought to stay her ruin.
Vainly endeavoring to control her
agony, overwhelmed by the puree;
vengeance of her husband, the pc
of her friend, and the holpleosiu
her mother to ward off this blot
fate, Gertrude broke into hysterica.
sobbing., and at last went iuto long and
euccessme faintieg fits.
Justine here showed herself worthy
of confidence. She took care of Ger-
trude with ekill and discretion. Mad-
ame was over -fatigued.
"Maclaine was suffering sorrow and
loss of dear friends," she explained to
the landlady and physician.
But Justine had seen that it was
something in 'Truth' that had affected
Gertrude's spirits and brought on her
weeping.
Justine read English well, spoke it a
little.
When she watched by the side of the
sleeping Gertrude that night, she care.
fully examined the pages of 'Truth,'
end was not long in fiuding and noting
the importance of the item which had
overpowered her friend.
Justine was a loyal, loving Emil. She
felt sure at once that Weis lovely mourn-
er was no guilty woman; sho was the
victim of cruelty or misconception ;
and Justine's whole soul rose up to
comfort and help her. She thought
that now they sbould go as speedily as
possible to the quiet home whites they
had chosen, - There this tired aptit
could rest ; and if the time came when
Gertrude should tell her story to JIM -
tine, she would by that time have
learned the disposition of this charmin
and unhappy creature, and .could tell
better what to advise. Now it was her
duty to console. and encourage, to be
nurse and Wend,
She laid away the papere, and as
Gertrude never seized for them again,
she finally cub out , the paragraph from
'Truth' and hid it in a sealed enveleepe
in the writing -desk..
Two days later, as September gave
way to Cotobet, Gertrude and Justine
reached their cottage home, not tar
from Carcassonne. Neat and simple to
its arrangements, no greater contrast
tonic' be imagieed than between this
severely plaiu abode mid the dories of
Reath Abbey, or of Eastdalo Path,
lees it was the coetrast' batsmen the
life that Certitude now led and her life
es the heitess of Craven, or the Crain.
tem of Centime& e
Her only friend and attendant was
Wile quiet, eneophisticated French girt;
her only pleasures wore walking in the
stinny, flowee-slitesve pathways about
(te 3111 CONTIMMO.)
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