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King Country Chronicle, Volume VII, Issue 612, 18 October 1913, Page 7

mmm have ecrriVed •'• •! \ *:th the tender passion visretty womau married a v. ho adored her. :-he liked him \ .••••;,• nine!) ; in fact, she swore she iu'.'cd him ; at any rate, for some tin:- she eared for him more than •3h» had ever liked anyone else. For scire yearn these two were held u;> lo the world as an ideal couple, and. then up crept the serpent in the shape of a discovery by the husband Di letters, fervid epistles, addressed to his wife. Heart-broken, he spoke to her, told her that lie had found and read the Letters, adding that he loved her so, if sho would break with this man whom he did not know, and promise never again to communicate with him that he would forgive and endeavour to forget the dreadful episode. ' He cannot love you as I do ; let him pass out of your life," pleaded the man. "There is nothing that heart of woman could desire that I will not give you, only tryi to care for me as you .done in the past, and I will try to deserve your love.' "I do care for yo'.i just as much now as ever I have done," she replied. "I have always been very fond o? you ; you are a perfect deal'., and the best man I have ever met, but " ihii: you love me no longer," he interrupted. "My feelings towards you ate now as they ever have been, warmer if anything, but I have discovered that I never did love you." ' That must mean that you love this other man ?" "Yes." For a few moments there was silence ; tears of pity filled her eyes, he was suffering so. " Come away with me," he begged at last. "Come right far away ; give me another chance to gain your love. I care for you so. I am not asking you to come because we are legally bound together, I am praying of you to do so just because I love you, and so great a love as I have for you must bring some return." "My friend," she spoke gently, "I shall do. as you ask. YO.l are too good a man, too .uoble for me to refuse your request ; but before we go I must tell you that I know it is useless, for now I have learnwl what love really is. This other man is not to be compared with you ; he is not good, not noble, not kind ; he does and says things that make me shudder with horror, aud still I love him ; he is meau, moan to look at/ mean in his thoughts and deeds. I am laying bare my heart and soul to you,'and : .l tell you that I have gone on my knees and prayed for this love to leave me> a nd yet I know, with alk my praying, with all the misery it has caused and will cause me, I could not live without it. All my life I have been accustomed to luxury ; every wish of mine has been gratified. I know if I go to this man we will live in poverty and in squalor, and yet I kiiow I would be happier with than without liiin." "This is a mad infatuation. Come away with me ; wc will never mention this dreadful thing a>::aia, and in time we will both forgut it." "I will try, ; but you must remember that I am not a silly girl. I am a grown woman, nearly thirtyyears of age. and have lived in the world all my life." And so these two journeyed away, straying the world over wherever her fancy dictated, and he hoped she was forgetting. But. as she had told him, she loved and the parting had to come. The call of her heart took her back to England, and there she l.ade her husband good-bye. After tho divorce she went to Paris to live, and there, she has remained ever since. A friend of hers, who has known her all her life, has just returned from Paris, and is tilled with amazement at what she saw. "My dear, I went to call on the poor girl," she reported, "and, will you believe me, the crazy thing is perfectly happy. Can you picture her darning that creature's socks, running out to effect economical little purchases i'or his supper, helping the one 'bonne' that they can afford to have in only for a few hours every day to do the .housework ? The picture should be perfectly appalling, and yet somehow it is not, because if ever a woman was happy, she is. He is too terrible for words, a very coarse, underbred little horror, so different from that first husband of hers, who still hopelessly adores her. Well, if that is love, preserve me ■from it is my earnest wish ; and yet —and yet when I think——" And that is love. —Elizabeth of 11., in the "World."