Weekly Mail

OCTAVE OF SHORT STORIES BY FAMOUS NOVELISTS. No. I. MY TWO WIVES. .0 BY GEORGE R. SIMS, Alitor of "Tales of To-day," "Dramas of Life," English Rose." Lights o' Lon- don," "now the Poor Live," Itogues 4Ld Vagabonds," &c." .d.LL RIGHTS RESERVED. — K01V FIRST PUBLISHED. Y father's name was William Smith. I bave reason to believe that he was proud of the name, for wheu I was born he insisted, it seems, upon perpetuating it, and accordingly it was settled that I was to be christened "William. 51 y mother — she told me the story herself years after- wards— strongly plecled. She declared that she had great faith J1 ttie fl0m tlie first. The doctor said I had a head, and my dear mother, who was romantic, made up her mind that I was to be a great man. Now, William is not an easy name (o render famous. ,ere are so many William Smiths that the jelebraled one would want to go about oihe^e<i in ord-r to distinguish hitn from the > After a deal of argument and not a few fearg, she succeeded in so far turning my ather from his ordinal purpose a9 to allow 1)36 to have a second name, and that second llatne she finally decided should be IIengist. William Jlengist Smith mi/jlt be somebody, a^d so William Hengist Smith I was duly listened. father died when I was seventeen. Up ttiat age 1 had enjoyed all the advantages being the son 0f a prosperously merchant. ^as ab.jut to go to Oxford when the death of A? father altered all my mother's plans for my u*-ure. j,^ehad been living in a fool's paradise. J father had speculated rashly and was on ,e verge of ruin. It was a knowledge of -,ls terrible position which oau^ed his fatal "luess. After the estate had been wound up it was that we were almost penniless. » mother's friends came to her assistance, +k they were not rich, and it was necessary i 1 should at once begin to earn my own lriR. I ^as what is known as a smart fellow, I wrote a capital hand-in fact, my pen- ^ailship was niv strong point. I could do ^ost anything with a pen in my schoolboy •Ts* I used frequently to amuse myself by i^talir.g the handwriting of my school- e'lo\vs and of the masters. I did this so ^Uccessful!y that it was oft- n very difficult to Ce^ct the forgery. -'be mas'.ers, who were made aware of my cO!iip]jshm'M,t, and to whom specimens of skill wei-c- occasionally shown, would shake pr heads, and say it was a dangerous gift. th Or course, I laughed. As if it irai likely .at I should ever do anything wrong. Alas, those who called my gift a fatal one right after all. I owe to it the great fortune of my life. pass from prosperity to comparative jj°Verty is to most of us a great trial. The eb and women who can shrug their shoulders d take a reverse of fortune with a smile are eiy few in number. accepted the position niv poverty forced obfn me' ^0atbed it. I longed for the tlayg of comfort and luxury, when almost j}'erything ] fancied was within my reach. ut I did very well as a clerk, and, being jMck at figures as well as a splendid penman, *oon began to rise in the office. When I was two and twenty 1 bad P,200 a ear. But what was that to a young man extravagant habits, who had quite as much lowed him when he was seventeen, and had forward to a splendid income and a life pleasure. My mother's health about this time began 0 decline, and she was ordered to live in the ^ouiitry. I could not accompany her, as 1 Quid have had to sacrifice my position in City, so J had to look about for a new 0toe, and at last 1 decided to go to a board- S-houae. It would be cheaper for me as a achelor than lodgings, and 1 should have 0l^e society and a certain amount of comfort, f selected a boarding house in Bloomsbury, ^d I soon hegan to be quite at home in it. J fellow boarders were two German clerks, French gentleman who described himself B. ail^gent, a middle-aged scientific author Wh *.f I >j ^j^ent most of his time at the British Useum. two old ladies—one the widow of a ,pnel (so she said), aud the other an old j^id who had been governess to a German ^j'lncesa, and was never tired of talking of b d distinguished society in which she I aoved-and a young lady, very charm- very pretty, and very self-possessed, j ° was supposed to be staying at the board- ah °use because lier relatives lived ,°*d, and »he had law business in London. ■This young lady was a Miss Ellis, and as we were the youngest members of the happy family, we soon became friendly. After dinner, in the drawing-room, we generally found ourselves together, and when Miss Ellis obliged the company with a little music, I usually went to the piano and turned over the leaves of the music for her. From being friendly we became confiden- tial. I imparted to Miss Ellis the story of my reverse of fortune, and she confided in me the fact that her business in London was con- nected with a disputed will. A relative of hers, an old gentleman, had died and left her the sum of £ 50,000. The family disputed the will on the ground that, while nursing him during his last illness, she had exercised undue influence. They further contended that he was not of sound mind at the time he made the bequest. She told me a long story to explain how it was her relatives were so bitter against her, and I, believing her, gave her my fullest sym- pathy. 'lhe law is proverbially slow, and Miss Ellis, who had to collect evidence, found it necessary to remain a long time in town. So it came about that we were for nearly six months at the Bloomsbury boarding-house seeing each other daily. If I were to say that during this time I fell in love with Miss Ellis 1 shou d be saying that which is not strictly true. But she had a certain fascination for me and when I remembered that she would pro- bably be worth £ 50,000 I at last began to think that if I ever intended to marry this would be by no means a bad investment. The young lady was not slow to see that she had made an impression on me. She became more confidential than ever. became more confidential than ever. One Sunday afternoon, when we were alone in the drawing-room, she asked my advice. It seemed that she had found a letter among her papers from her dead relative. It was strong evidence in her case, and to her horror she discovered that he bad omitted to sign it. It had been written to her by an amanuensis employed by her relative, and she supposed that it bad besn placed before him to sign and accidentally put in the envelope and posted without the signature. She showed me the letter. It certainly was important, but valueless unsigned. I was very sorry for her. "And to think, she cried, with tears in her eyes, that through the accident I may lose £ 50,000." I said it was very terrible. She showed me then all the documents in her care. There was no doubt she was entitled to the money. It was only the selfish people who wanted everything for themselves who were en- deavouring to deprive her of her rights. One thing led to another, and then she told me how deeply grateful she was for my friendship. That when she left the boarding- house she should feel she had lost a dear friend. The daylight faded, the glow of the fire alone lit up the room. It was very quiet, very romantic, that still Sunday afternoon in the cosy drawing-room, and, somehow or other, I yielded to the influence of the scene, and laid my hand and heart at the feet of that pretty and persecuted young lady, the prospective possessor of £ 50,000. She said it was very sudden—she hadn't thought of it in that light—would I give her the ivght to think over the position ? Of course, I could only consent. But the next day she came to me and put the affair on quite a business footing. Yes—if 1 would help her to get her £ 50,000, she would be my wife." Of course, L replied that I would sacrifice my whole life to advance her welfare and her happiness. She didn't want me to sacrifice any thing- she only warned me, and ob, she put it so innocentty and so prettily, &he only wanted me to sign her dead relative's name to that unfortunate letter. I did it. I was a fool—a madman—a rascal, but I did it. I did it that night up in my own room with a copy of the old gentleman's signature in front of me. I did it skilfully and cleverly, and I showed it to her with a certain amount of pride. She said it was wonderful. I bad mixed my ink splendidly, and had made the signa- ture look as old as the body of the letter. She took it from me, and all that night I never closed my eyes. The moment 1 was quiet and by myself I saw the fully, the wickedness, the criminality of my act. In the morning I managed to get a few words with her alone. I Legged her to give me the letter back. She laughed at me—not mockingly—hut in a nice, innocent girlish way. How silly I was. She didn't intend to use "the letter. She wouldn't think of such a thing. Only 1 had told her how clever I was at imitating handwriting, and she thought she would try me. I accepted the explanation, but T should have been a great deal happier if she had given me the letter back. Still, I comforted myself with this thought. If the trial did not come on I would tell her that if she attempted to put that letter in evi- dence I would go to the other side, declare that I had done it as an experiment, and clear myself of any complicity in a criminal offence. That idea eased my mind, and I let matters go on and we continued our court- ship. About a fortnight afterwards Miss Ellis appeared at dinner quite radiant. She in- formed the company that her case was settled without coming into court. The opposition to the will had been withdrawn and a com- promise had been effected. She Was to take £ 30,000, and the other relatives were to take £ 20,000. She had been magnanimous. Everybody congratulated her, and I was one of the first. That evening we had a little whispered con- versation, and Miss Ellis-Marion I called her now—led me to understand that as her case was settled she wanted to leave London, and so we might as well be married. The proposition for a hasty marriage coming from Marion rather startled me. She had not up to the present: betrayed any romantic symptoms, and after all our court- ship had not been a long one. I had a vague idea that it would be better for us to know a little more of each other before we took this irrevocable step, but Marion had an answer for every argument I put forward. She. answered me that though she had borne up through the long worry and anxiety, now that the matter was settled she was beginning to feel the reaction, and it was absolutely necessary for her to have a charge. She told me that she didn't care to go away and leave me at the boarding-house, and she confessed that she was anxious not to lose my society. The man who can resist a woman's argu- ments is not an everyday man, and I, alas, was only a very commonplace specimen of male humanity. So I consented, and it was arranged that I should take the necessary preliminary steps. I went to the registrar's office armed with the information Marion was good enough to give me with regard to herself and gave the usual notices and filled up the usual paper. I didn't like the look of that registry office at all. It was dreadfully cold and cheerless and prosaic, aud there wasn't an atom of romance about the deputy registrar. The registrar's clerk was good enough to inquire if I should bring my own witnesses, and when I said I didn't think so, he explained that the article was always kept on the pre- mises. I thanked him, and asked him to arrange with the witnesses retained on the establish- ment to be present, and then I returned and informed Marion that all was in order, and that at the expiration of the time required by the law all we had to do was to attend at the office and get the business through. Three weeks afterwards we left the board- ing-house one after the other. I left first, and waited at the corner of the street till Marion joined me. No one had the faintest suspicion that two of the boarders had just gone out to get married. The registry office was some little distance, and as we walked along our conversation was anything but romantic. Do what I would I couldn't help feeling that I was taking a false step, and yet I had not the courage to retreat. When we came to the door of the office I felt inclined to take to my heels and run away, but, mastering this feeling of cowardice, I followed the lady in. Marion was remarkably cool and collected for a young and blushing bride. She an- swered the few questions put to her in a firm voice, and when the ceremony—process would be a better word-was over we both signed our names, and the witnesses—one was the clerk, and the other was the charwoman ,who swept up the registrar's ofIice-signed theirs; and we were man and wife. I gave the witnesses five shillings each, and offering Marion my arm led her out into the street again. It had began to rain, and so I opened my umbrella, but the rain increased to such an I extent that we had to stand up in a doorway and wait until the shower had passed. Standing in that doorway, with the wind beating in our faces, I felt a little quaking at 111 w.'is looking at my own tomb. I was cleacl and buried, and- body lay beneath that marble slab in High]ale Cemetery." the heart. It seemed a bad beginning. It wasn't the sort of wedding morning that 1 had pictuivd in the days when I used to dream of being the proud possessor of a pretty wife. I had a wife, and she had £ 30,000, but. I couldn't for the life of me get up a bride- groom's smile or whisper loving words into my bride's ear. As soon as the shower had passed we hurried back to the boarding-house, packed up our belongings, and that afternoon we went away in separate cabs and met at ietoria, and went to Brighton for our honeymoon, leaving everybody in sublime ignorance of what had happened. Marion had desired a secret marriage, and I was not in a position to a'ter her determination. It was not a happy marriage. Little de- fects of character in my wife attracted my attention which I had not noticed before. I found tint she was not truthful, and certainly not scrupulous. And she had a hard, cold way with her, that disagreeably surprised me. 1 bad not looked for romance in my wife, but I had expected a certain amount of sym- pathy, and what, for lack of a better expres- sion, 1 will call goodfellowship. Marion, however, took no pains to deceive me as to her real character. 1 made a violent effort to conceal my own disappointment, and to assume the character of a devoted husband, but she repelled my advances, not actively, but passively. When I tried to talk about our plans for the future she would turn the subject, and we had not been married two days before she let me see very plainly who was going to be master. I began to feel supremely uncomfortable, and I made up my mind that nothing but disaster could follow such a marriage. I went out by myself and walked about by the sea, cursing myself for my folly, and longing for some sympathetic ear into which I could pour my woes. I never felt more lonely in the whole course of my life than I did in the first few days of my honeymoon. I knew that a crisis must come sooner or later. I had a strong foreboding of evil, and my worst fears were soon realised. One day she left a letter on the table of our sitting-room. It was lying open, and 1 read it, and I learned something which astonished me. The compromise had been agreed to by the relatives in consequence of a letter having been submitted to them, a letter the testator had written to Miss Ellis, and which she had only recently found. It was the letter which I had signed. I taxed my wife with the deception she had practised on me. I was furious, but she only laughed. I swore that I would make a clean breast of it. Still she laughed. Nonsense," she said, •' you committed the forgery, not I. And you are my husband. A husband cannot give evidence against his wife." I was thunderstruck. She had married me to close my mouth. Still," I cried, I can go to the lawyers on the other side, They will be able then to take some action." Still she iaughed. You'll find yourself in a very awkward position, if you do," she said. I began to think the matter over. I saw she was right. I certainly should have some difliculty in maliing people. believe that I forged the signature and married her directly she got the money without being in any way a party to the plot. But I felt that I had been duped—made a cat's-paw. Then my long pent-up anger broke forth, and in a torrent of words 1 told the lady what I thought of her conduct. She listened to me with a contemptuous smile on her cruel thin lips. When I had exhausted myself she had her say. Speaking calmly and deliberately, she in- formed me that she was by no means sorry I had discovered the truth. It would save any further deception on her part, and perhaps it was as well that we thoroughly understood each other. She had no desire to claim my society any longer. In fact, she very much preferred to be her own mistress. No good would ever come of "scenes," and as we were not likely to become more friendly as time passed on, the best thing I could do was to go home again, and leave her to manage her own affairs. I quite agreed with her that henceforward there could be no common life for us, and tha.t evening I packed my portmanteau and took my departure, and so ended my honey- moon. I bad asked for a week's holiday, and so I went back to my berth in the City, and left my wife and her JE30,000 for good and all. I was determined to be so far clear as this -that if anything ever did come to light it should be proved that I had no share of the spoil—that directly 1 found out the truth 1 left the woman undisputed mistress of her fortune and continued to earn my own living. I saw my wife once after that. She wrote me to meet her in London. I kept the appointment and she proposed a compact. No one knew of our marriage. She would not bear my name and she would leave me free from all responsibility on her behalf. I was quite agreeable and so it was settled. free from all responsibility on her behalf. I was quite agreeable and so it was settled. But she insisted on a proper deed of separa- tion in which I agreed not to molest her. I accepted the condition, we went to a solicitor's, the deed was drawn up and signed, and we parted outside the oflice. From that moment I believe she went back into the world under her maiden name, and I—well, I grew mad with myself. I grew careless, reck- less, despondent, and I took to drink. I didn't take to it all at once. I began, as many men do when sorrow aiyi trouble come upon them, to hate being alone at night; and so, when the day's work was done, instead of going home .1 loafed about the streets, and went into bar parlours and drank, not for drinking's sake, ,but to still the gnawing pain at my heart. From taking a little now and then. I grew to take a good deal often. I acquired the tdste for drink. The drink habit grew on me, and fastened its fatal coils about me. I tried at first to resist it, but the resistance was a feeble one, and after the first struggle I gave myself up body aid soul to the great curse. I didn't wait till evening now to dull my brain with alcohol. 1 drank spirits morning, noon, and night. Whenever I could slip out of the office for a few minutes I went off and had a drink." It bad become a necessity with me now. I had to drink to enable me to do my work, and then I did the work badly. A year after my marriage I was dismissed from my situation, and I thought a change would do me good. I felt it was my one ohance of shaking off the fatal habit which was breaking down my health, and ruining me body and soul. With a desperate effort I managed, after a time, to wean myself from drink. I tried several times but broke down, but at last I succeeded. Then I said to myself that I would see the world. My mother bad just died, and the little capital that came to her from the wreck of my father's business was mine. It was only a few hundred pounds, but it was enough to take me to Australia, and so to Australia I went. The only person to whom I communicated my address when I settled down in the Colonies was the solicitor who had drawn up our deed of separation. I thought it as well to let somebody know it in case of accidents. I obtained a situation over there in the name of William Smith. I dropped the Hengist, beoause in Australia it was in the way, and I didn't want it. After I had been there about two years I fell madly in love with a young lady, the daughter of the people who kept the house where I lodged. Then I began to feel the bitter- ness of my position. My love was re- turned. Then I did another mad wicked thing. I never intended to go back to Kngland again. My wife and I were separated for ever dead to each other. She had talien her maiden name again, and so I married: married my sweet little Cora, and lived with her as happy as the conscience I could not entirely stifle would allow me to be. It is ditlicult for a man who has not been placed in my position to understand how 1 could bring myself to act as I did. To understand it you must take into con- sideration all the circumstances, and remember that 1 had never had any love for the woman who had marred my life by making me her dupe. I had never known one moment of the happiness of married life with her, and I rebelled against the idea of growing old, robbed by her trickery of the solace of a loving woman's companionship. My position was a desperate one—the step I took to remedy it was a desperate one. But I persuaded myself that I was another man, that the husband of Marion Ellis had dis- appeared from the world, and that the husband of Cora Williamson had nothing in common with him. And per&uading myself thus, I refused any longer to be miserable, and deter- mined to make the best of my life and let my terrible secret die if need be with me. After my marriage I settled down, and my good star seemed to be in the ascendant. With a little capital Cora 8 father lent me I went "I into business, speculated and prospered, and at the end of another two years I was fairly well off.

F R Y'S PURE CONCENTRATED C 0 C 0 A. From W. H. STANLEY, M.D., 4c. I consider it a very delicious Cocoa. It is highly concentrated, and therefore econo- mical as a Family Food. It is the drink par excellence for Children, and gives no trouble in making." ——— u. PARIS EXHIBITION, 1889, GOLD MEDAIt AWARDED TO J. S. FRY and SONS.

The True Sphere of Woman. Mr. Fre lerie H orison on Satur Jay delivered a discourse on "ComtJ and Sjci il Kef ra*" in New* ton-hall, London. During the course of it lie s:ud ign(rtiice was going about claiming a life of toil fiT women, for which all true mothers knew that by the law s of nature they were utterly un- fitted. I'iifl rower of a mother lay in her heart and affection. The devotion of a mother to her offspring wa.s a greater power than any exercised by man. Tl.e most degraded woman was in tbus superior to the most heroic man—abnormal cases apart. In this central feature of woman's nature women were always and everywhere incoutestably pre-eminent. He had taken the mother's character as the most conspicuous and fundamental pnrt of tbo whole. Their true function was to educate not merely children, but men to train to a higher civilisation not merely the rising generation, but; the actual society, and to do this by diffusing the spirit of affection, of fidelity, and purity-not by writing books or preaching sermons, but by manifesting them in eicli home by the magic ol the voice, &c. The repetition of this common- place might sound like a jest, but it was necfslary ti repeat what gloss soijlnstry bad forgotten and was beginning to dtnv- The higher duties of life could only be performed y women, and by them so long as it was recognised to be their true and essei tial function. It was impossible for them to play their own part and that of men as well. They must ba women or abortive men. What society had to do was to promote the good of the falllilr, and in the family woman was as completely supremo as man in th? State.

Iggp CMTBS PAFBB A¥ fOS fOP MW FLMS fBS 8SOOHO INSIDE THE FIRST HALF.

We had a sweet little home and I was supremely happy. Cora was a devoted wife, and from the first hour of our marriage we never had an angry word. Sometimes in the silence of the night I would wake up and think of the other woman and the other life. But I never lei the thought linger. I drove it away, and at Lst brought myself almost to believe that the past was a dream—a nightmare—a something which was only the creation of my own imagination* The good luck which had set in after my marriage with Cora continued, and at last a big successful coup made me the possessor of what might without exaggeration be called a fortune. At any rate, I was placed beyond the necessity of work, and had leisure to enjoy j life and to devote myself to my wife's society and my own amusement. Then there came upon me an intense long- ing to go over to England for a while-to see the old country once again. My wife was very anxious to go. It had been the dream of her life to see Europe. Where was the danger. I was only Mr. William Smith. Mr. and Mrs. Smith could stay at any hotel without attracting attention to their names, and the other woman was hardly likely to meet us, or even to know of Cora's existence. We were separated. She was Miss Mills, a spinster, and, if the worst came to the worst, she couldn't betray me without the story of why I left her coming out, and that might be awkward for the £ 30,000. She would have to account for her taking her maiden name. She would have to inflict such an injury upon me by taking proceedings that she would be sure that I should not spare her in return. She had told me at the time we separated that all she desired was to beft free. Was she likely, even if by a remote chance she learned of my marriage, to sacrifice her free- dom and proclaim herself my wife. She bad never loved me-there could be nl jealousy. She had everything to gain bJ holding her tongue, everything to lose bj making me her enemy. Again my fatai habit of arranging matters to suit my OWE views came into play. I convinced myaell that there was no earthly chance of Marion crossing my path or assuming a hostile atti- tude. And so at last we sailed for Kngland. In London we went to the Langham Hotel. I showed my wife all the sights of the great city, and she was delighted. One day I thought I should like to show her my mother's grave, so I took her to Highgate, where we had buried my mother beside my father in the family grave he had purchased years before the crash came. I had some difficulty in finding the tomb, eo I left my wife on the gravel path while I wen wandering about. I found it at last. A feeling of sorrow came over me as ) gazed on the spot where my parents hat lain in the grave side by side so long while had been far away in a strange land beyon( the seas. The tears came into my eyes, and the mis before them prevented me seeing very clearlj at first. I saw my father's name, and immediately under it my mother's Also of Janr, Wife of the ab ve, Who entered into her rest August, 188—. Poor mother! I made up my mind to come again to the cemetery before I left, and lay a wreath of immortelles upon her tomb. It would be at least a sign of my having remembered her when I was far away. I was just turning away to go and bring my wife to the grave when I saw that there was a further inscription underneath my mother's. I looked at it for a moment- then I started back whh a wild cry of astonishment. Did my eyes deceive—was I the victim of some extraordinary illusion? No; there were the big black letters upon the marble slab before me. Also of Williiun Hcugist Smith, S'in of the above, Who dLd September the —, 188—, Aged 24, And is here iutcrieJ. Son of the above. I was their only son. My name was William Hengist Smith. W I was looking at my own tomb. I was dead and buried, and my body lay beneath that marble slab in Highgate Cemetery. (To be concluded.)