CHAPTER XIX.

A FATAL STEP.

"Mr. Wilmer, here is a letter for you," said Paul, entering his employer's room.

"Where did you get this?" Scott asked, looking at the envelope.

"It was given me by your wife to deliver to you."

Scott was just preparing to go to the office, and was standing by the mantel gazing down as though in a deep study. He had broken the seal and read the letter. Then, while a deathly pallor overspread his fine features, he sank into a chair and laid his head on the boy's shoulders.

"Oh, Paul," he groaned, "has it come to this? Poor, foolish girl. Oh, what a terrible mistake we both made in our marriage.

"Poor, foolish, weak woman. Poor girl, her punishment will come sooner or later, and God knows I pity her."

Paul passed his hand over Scott's brow with a tender, loving caress, then his finger-tips rested lightly on the rings of hair which clustered around his brow, and softly the great tears fell and dropped on Scott's hand.

"What, crying, my boy? Tears are only for women; not for a brave boy like you."

"I know it," Paul said, wiping his eyes, "but you are so cruelly wronged. I know you must be, or you would not look so white. Oh, I hope the woman who has ruined your happiness will never see a happy day."

"Hush, Paul," said Scott quickly. "Sin brings its own reward, and remember that she _was_ my wife. God help her, and bring her the happiness she is seeking. Please bring mother and June."

Paul left the room and soon returned, accompanied by Mrs. Wilmer and June.

"What is it, my son?" Mrs. Wilmer asked, noticing the white, sad look on Scott's face.

"Mother, please be seated and read this aloud, if you can, that June and Paul may know its contents."

Mrs. Wilmer read the letter, which ran as follows:

"SCOTT: I am going away. I have learned, after a long time, that we both made a great mistake, and the best way to undo the wrong is to try to do justice to ourselves by finding companions more suitable to our natures. You will see for yourself that it was the one great mistake of our lives--at least of mine. I have found my affinity, and hope that some day you will be happier with yours than you ever were with Irene Mapleton. I suppose you will heap all sorts of abuse upon me for bringing disgrace upon the Wilmer name, as you no doubt will call it, but I could not live as we were, and that last cruel reprimand decided me. I am going to a heart that is filled with a deep and lasting love. I suppose you will hardly have time to search for me, and I assure you it will be quite useless to do so, as nothing can induce me to return.

"IRENE MAPLETON."

Mrs. Wilmer handed the letter to Scott, as in a trembling voice she said:

"Oh, Scott, my poor boy."

"Poor Scott," said June, and "Poor Scott" seemed to ring involuntarily from Paul's lips.

"Poor Scott!" screamed Bob, who had perched himself on the mantel.

Scott smiled.

"Yes, 'poor Scott' will be the cry everywhere, and what a hero Colonel Brunswick will be," said June. "Oh, I could almost hate her for her cruelty."

"Don't, June," said Scott.

"It is time I was at the office," continued he.

"How can you think of attending to business, when your mind is so troubled?" Mrs. Wilmer asked.

"Our lives must go on, and our duty be performed, whether we carry a load or go empty handed," Scott replied.

"What a brave man you are, and how any woman can throw away such happiness I cannot tell," said Mrs. Wilmer, wiping away her tears.

June looked out at the dreary sky. How her heart ached as she watched the floating clouds. She went to the family parlor and rang a few chords on the harp, but it sounded mournful and out of tune. She walked to the window, then back to the harp. "I don't wonder you are out of tune," she said. "Everything around seems to be, and all through one weak and discordant string."

Guy stepped in to inquire for Scott. He had grown almost like one of the family, and was allowed the privilege of coming when he chose, regardless of form.

Quickly noticing June's tear stained eyes, he asked if she were in trouble.

June sighed. How could she tell him of Scott's disgrace. She knew, however, that she must, for if she did not, the unpleasant task fell on Scott. She hardly knew how to begin, and after several unsuccessful efforts she burst into tears.

"What is it, June, dear?" Guy asked in surprise, and then before he realized it himself his arm was around her waist, and her head was brought down on his shoulder. "What are all these tears for?"

As soon as June could command her voice she told him all. Guy fully sympathized with her, telling her there was no use crying over what could not be helped.

"But, June, you should not make yourself unhappy. Few men have more courage than Scott, and few are as capable of mastering difficulties, and doubtless he will in time conquer his grief by his wonderful determination."

"Yes, he will conquer just because he must. I never knew a grander nature than that of my brother."

Guy turned to leave the room, then as if taken by a sudden impulse, he took a step nearer to June, saying:

"Miss June, will you allow me to call some evening soon and have a talk with you?"

"Certainly. Come and talk as long as you please," June answered.

"Then dry your eyes and see if you cannot be as brave in this trouble as your brother."

A half sad smile passed over June's lips as she said:

"Oh, I shall never be brave like Scott; few people are."

"I wish I were like Scott."

June's lily white face fairly blazed with crimson, and Guy, seeing her confusion, begged her pardon.

If Mr. Linton were just like him, she thought she could have received his attentions with a great deal more pleasure. Mr. Linton had written to her that he should see her in New York, but she hoped he would remain at home; she had no desire to see him now, especially since the unpleasant affair of the elopement.

"Guy," she said, glad of the opportunity to broach a new subject, "I have been thinking of asking your sister Carrie to come and spend the remainder of the winter with me. I know she is lonely without you, and I am lonely, too."

"Not without me, certainly," Guy said in a mocking way.

"Oh, no, certainly not; but I shall miss Rene, even though she was not a bit suited to my taste," and here again June's eyes filled with tears.

"There, you are losing your courage again. If you wish me to use my influence to have Carrie come, you must be sensible and stop that crying."

Guy took his leave, wondering if in all the world there was such a dear, sensible girl as June Wilmer. He had no remembrance of ever having seen more than one, and she was the pretty little gypsy-like girl his Aunt Platts had adopted, and though she was quite as sensible, she was not one bit like June, and with all her aptitude, she lacked the polish that gave that brilliancy to June's character. He wondered what had become of her.