When Shadows Die by Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth

Abel Force went into the little room he had engaged, adjoining the sick chamber of his wife.

It was no more than a closet, and had evidently been used as a dressing room attached to the large chamber before the exigencies of war had rendered space in the house too valuable for the little place to be used for any purpose but a bedroom.

It was furnished very simply, with an iron bedstead, a washstand with a glass above it, a single chair, and half a dozen wooden pegs on the door to hang clothes.

Mr. Force turned the back of the only chair to the window that was opposite the door and overlooked the yard; and he sat down and drew the packet he had taken from his wife's room, and again looked at the superscription.

Yes, it was directed in a firm hand to:

"Abel Force, Esq."

It was tied up with cord and sealed with wax.

But under the cord a little note had been slipped, and this also was addressed-but in a weak and tremulous hand-to:

"Abel Force, Esq."

He opened the note to read it. It was without date; yet he felt sure that it must have been written on that very morning before the sudden fall of the woman had prevented her flight.

The note ran as follows:

"The hour has come when I must drop the mask of deceit and show myself in my true colors-a living lie, a hypocrite, though never, never happy in falsehood and hypocrisy. Your love and trust have wounded and tortured me; the reverence of children has humiliated me. No, never for a moment happy or at ease in my disguise. It is almost a relief now to throw it off and reveal myself as I am, even though the revelation must banish me from your presence and my children's forever in this world, and perhaps in the next. Yet, I repeat, it is a relief to throw off the disguise which has suffocated me like a heavy cloak these many years; and has been more than that-has been like Medea's robe of fire for the last few years since Anglesea's first visit to us.

"The inclosed packet contains a manuscript that was written at intervals during this time, and with a view to the chance of just such a crisis as has now come. I leave it for you to read. I do not ask you to pardon me, for I know there is no such thing as pardon for me in this world. I do not even ask you to judge charitably of me-charity is for the sinner, not for the hypocrite. I only ask you to read the story that you may understand the fiendish hold one human being had upon my body, soul and spirit-my very life here and hereafter; and, after having read it, I, who have no right to ask you anything, dare still to ask you this-to ask, to plead, to pray that you will be kind to one who is the guiltless victim of others' guilt, and to save him, if you can. And now, farewell! And oh! my whole heart goes out in this cry. Oh, God! Oh, God! though I cannot be pardoned-yet, oh! hear my prayer, and save and bless my husband and my children!"

That was all.

Abel Force dropped his head upon his breast, and remained in deep thought for a few moments. Then, with a heavy sigh, he aroused himself, drew a match case from his pocket, lighted a match, set fire to the little note and held it down upon the stone window sill, with the point of his penknife, until it was consumed to ashes.

Then he went to lock his door, to prevent intrusion; but he found that he had already taken that precaution.

Finally, he returned to his chair, cut the cords of the packet, broke the seal, and read as follows:

"THE STORY OF A WITHERED HEART

"You have often heard how lonely, loveless and neglected was my childhood and youth. You are reminded of these facts now, not in excuse of what followed, but as the causes of the effects that destroyed my life.

"You know that I was born at Enderby Castle, where the first years of my infancy passed.