Activate Javascript or update your browser for the full Digital Library experience.
Previous Page
–
Next Page
OCR
THE PEOPLE'S
HOME JOURNAL.
“ abet is no one to take your place?” she
asked ed presently.
it is so very important. The
house’ is crowded, you know. 1 sometimes won-
dor what ail those ‘elegant women think.”
“Tell me about it~the dancing, 1 mean.”
Lisa described her part minute ly.
“ T should like to see it. d Mr. Ash-
burton to take me, but his mother anid it was no
place f for = BE .
know as it is.”
Rita a.
She went away presently, } promising to return
soon, but there was a strange lobk in her largo,
peculiar exprevaion
bho hur-
‘They spoke of her father’s ge-
fortunes, but the merest mention
own.
three years had been very happy to Marguerite
Chantrey. They could not sigh over any lack of
et ‘one clinging, blosso:
een more to her than
Ashburton had to a nei borin
city to attend her sister’s silver wedding, an
isit. Miss Marsh, the governess,
had been called home by a sudden and severe
illness in her family, and Marguerite was hay-
ing a raro holida:
e went to her room now, and changed her
attire a a little, then, went down to the kitchen.
Wilso1 aid, “I am going to
spe onl ti serening ‘witha a friend—_perhaps Imay
Stay al alln
Miss Marguerite! and not even Miss
Marsh here to ask am afraid Mrs, Ashburton
would not like it.
Rite had thonght of this, also. Perhaps her
remaining out all night might offend Mrs. As!
art
sad You think I had better come home, then ?’
or do indecd. Let me send the carriage for
I shall come
you.
“No, that is not necessary.
and she danced
home in a carriage. Ly-by ;”
away.
not quite sure that itis right.’ enought
Mrs. Wilson. note ish I had as!
sionate life. The light feet were at home in
thee a onduleting and whirls, and that alow,
ating movement, in which thé
vey “goul d to grow Janguid with over-
whelming
drovping arms, and shoulders, and
ts in rose and v t, gold a:
slamour of beauty, a porpetaal dazzle’ wal at
itn. the naind. divappeared in her sea-green
jo:
rolonged burs' 1
eager, childish delight fumed tb thnil every
wa. Circles, widoning, narrowing, | her
She flew past him like a wild, hunted thing,
up the broad stairs to her own room, and locked
the door. He doubted! He believed she could
be base and vile and full of black deceit.- He
rgive, e could never, never love
. What mad folly! And to |
all He trust and confidence of his soul—to sta;
othing ; worse than that—watched, sus-
+ morning, Richard Ashburton ot 2
long whilo over his ute breakfast ty a
but for her you might never have looked upon
the face of your old friend. So went in he:
stead, and fate sent you there.
“Oh! if yoy had told me al Y* he groaned.
“You doubted me—before
was not your equal, to
he ld as pet | and Plaything, eee on he
the height of fri @ al and
reverencod- ah} i was 8 child’s darling Souy id
“1 you then, shall never love an-
thrill every guetite came not. He paced the ‘elegant thbrary other.
strange tumult and impatience, wonderin, “No,” she made an entroating gesture
are perfoctly marvelous to-night 1” de- that she’ hei 10 summons. at noon, | with her wasted qhands. “oa not worthy of
clared Mademoiselle’ Arline. id have | when they could wrest Re answer from her, the | 80 much. s I ne would have been.
been a great fool to 0 Tet you stay ren " wanted | door was forced open. No Marguerite was there. | But re caising: the ‘ad, purple eyes, full of their
my benetit night one of the stars of the | On the table lay a slip of paper, and he glanced | dying lights—* I want you to know that I kept
season. Why—i ‘ite Son awitch, child? It is not | at it fearfully. myse! f clean and pure—that I never forgot
jisa t @ gone back to the old life.” % ou came to save me, you have given
“No, it is not Lisa. Her grandmother is
dying, andI came to take her place,”
“ Call in © Lisa, he r I am Lisa to-night.” ~
Something in ue” child checked further in-
mademoiselle was in nowise of-
fended, since she distanced the slender, sylph-
like Lis:
The pla went on. Now it was a whirling, ra-
diating cielo a haunting crowd of lovely forme
and faces ; erless one, holding t
audience breathes * Ee seemed to Rite that the
could dance forever
At the last th was some wonderful poring
Rite, a cloud, with her own cloud of film
golden ‘hair Shot her, might have been the Per
inde:
She hardly lstened for thanks and compli-
ments, but huri off her stage trappings, and
hurried on hor ‘mortal arments with a bewil-
dering sensation. The hack awaited her, and
she sprang in, leaving hosts of questions unan-
swe ped
was out again ike a flash when she
reached Lisa’s. Up the steps, two at a bound.
"2
2.
wesome (lence sited the room, and she
used on the
dis se “ crm ‘vere around her neck.
“ ry a see. It was—royall Why
should 1 not one the truth? I'm not tired, but
full of excitement, and throbbing with a linger-
ing sense of music. I shall nev
can never, never
you. Nott for won would I have missed
ked 8 ae ey kissed in silence,
then I don’t whale the grand folk. neat the | and she ran down-stairs, thé great sobs in her
child would note ‘do nything wrong." roat almost choking her. Oh! how atronge
She bought some jellics and luxuries, and | lite ow, and death, and gayely, and
icked her way back to the Gilapidated old | careloss: jostled each on every 8)
If she dared to tell this ever to Richard ‘Ashbur.
ouse, Lisa brightened at her coming, but
fours had changed avosomely in Thess few
hours. Now and then she muttered some wan-
8, oF emailed faintly in Linas taco.
rene “0 ‘he 19 might di dropped down upon
Lis ag ond wan aad piached, not
nfach | ne the lovely inerinaiden she wagto rep»
rosent later in the event
“Oh, 1 can’t gol”
ng.
with a cry of despair and
ey will kee
back my work's
een resolving all the
afternoon—you shall not go.”
Lisa Guestioned her with, ‘frightened eyes.
“You 1 dress me, and let me
Ican da fee, It see
he
my life is dancing. You ebali stay here and
atch; mi ail about it, and will not
alarmed at anything. ave ordered a hack to
come for me, a! 1 bring me back safoly. '
They will hardly know patil the, ja st moment
and ifl dance as wel
“But, OF
allap frst.”
as y
No, I xannob. I will give it
‘an. Iam almost wild for a faste
of ths 9 old lite, life, just a glimpse of the tie
glamour, and the long beats of the
music. Why it would be delicious for this one
01
“Rat your friends, tho Ashbirtons ?”
burton
“Mrs, takes her guests to all these
entertuinments If it is right for them to look
on, will it ong for 10 dance ?”
“My hea ‘T aches” said ‘Lisa, wearily. When
Lbogin to think ot the right and wrong, I get
confused. Some of the, ‘grand ladies do things
that we poor ‘girls shrink from, and yet they
fancy
“ flush, de dear. Let me bathe your poor, throb-
bing temples. No one expects me hae
pier ten, 89, do not give it a thonght. oT om
for y
"Fito averruled. She had such a pretty,
perious way, and to-night, in her glowing saith
and energy, she
was strongo
fine ringlets,
‘Some strange enchan|
She was going to have ono
wo lovely you will be! There's no
rouge Tike that! But it genie s wrong to let y
8. Ifany evil should beta!
Bot my mother kee os pur ure and sweet
throngh years of it? Ne ither shall I be en-
chanted ; I know what it is behind the scenes.”
‘Then she dressed herself in al
cloudy, airy robe, and covered the glory with a
great waterproof. ‘They hee ard the hac! in the
street below. She sed granpy’s cold, wrin-
klod faco and passiv ot
"Don't leave me, Liss,” tho faint voice mur-
mared, and it made Marguerite strong,
“*Good-by, Lisa,” path a kiss; “T will do
0 said.”
ihey were scold-
ing about Lisa, and she hurried into the dress-
ng-room, ‘Th tondant a8 ‘new, and a trifle
onfused an: e hurry, she
mid
slipped into hor diarbapous "garments, and ri
across to © with a question as to her
own identity.
eo aadienes waited. This creature, rising
from the sea foam with the cloud of golden
ched some wandering chord
in Rite’s nature. ‘Every pulee started into pas-
8
ful bewilderment, shripking at every
than poor over-
wi
ton, and have him solve all her perplexities !
She never should, to be
She was tir shivered a little in
the broad vestibule, with its costly doors and
marble tiling, like a 4 oF a exquisite 4 mosaic,
Kite Would comesmd Tet
The door wae opened te ebard ‘Ashburton.
Pale and stern, his lips compressed to a scarlet
ling, hi his, pyes steady with a relentless light.
‘ith a scarlet flush, quickly inding to
atte would have glided by him, but he barred
her with his arm, and led her into the dimly
lighted drawing-ro
“Where have you been, Marguerite?
His voice was atecly and incisive, fio the axe
ofan exocul utioner.
“Di to-night,” she pleaded in piti-
nerve.
01
“Tknow, I could not be ‘mistaken in that |”
fico and that shining air. , Were you among
the dancers at —— to-night?”
im an indignant
de ial. Te we would believe her i atust the
| va of bis own senses.
Margu norite Chantrey would have cut off her
3 | right hand sooner than utter an
He thought she stood there bold and dofiant.
AL how Of friends misjndge us because
mes too late. It seemed to
ite that she should fall on the floor at his very
feet, an m swam round to her tired and
excited, brain,
” he said, ‘the old life that we have
striven to lead you to forget has a stronger
claim upon you than gratitude. It is as my
ther predicted,”
ere are mo! he lives of some
omen when a sudden revelation wees them uP
toa heaven of perfect love and trust. I tplunge
Marj rguerite @ ink lack dei espair. Child
as as they had ys considered her, e knew
ab ous. Toved Richard ‘Ashburton “with @
as
r
of life: ‘Yes, she might & a well Tay her
soul bi are % the crowd before w whom, Herodias-
ke e, she had danced to-night, as to this man.
And yet—most torturing knowledge of ail—she
loved hint
"You w you were to give up all old asso-
ciations, : bist out that past life. Marguerite,
pains me to say it, but there has been a course
of duplicity persovered in that one would hardly
redit in such a mere child. For this plan must
pave been in your mind for months, and you
V8 taken the first opportunity to put it Into
ereunee What can you say to my mother? Is
this a fitting reward er Lin iness ?”
He had already judged and c:
there was a curious flickering o: of fhe
the mouth. One wild impulse sed her soul
to fliog herself at his fect and plead for a little
tenderness.
She raised her eyes. How cold and
he was! Perhaps, indeed, he would not believe
her, And now the whole affair looked most un-
real to her.
“Let me
anguish. “ You ar
Crnell What have I dove? Have we not
both tried to lead you to forgot the poverty and
yo and evilof the past? Have we not care:
yon tenderly, surrounded you with luxary
rt ‘the old life is atronger thaa it all. But yo you
will have to choose between, and renounce one
ol” she exclaimed, with a cry of
8 cruel r
or the other,
ii
itiless
That + wae all they The search he
instituted proved ust
Lalways folt a Tito. airaid, ” confessed Mrs.
Ashburton, in hor smooth and stately tone.
of it in her blood—an alien,
eppay il ments Poor Paull What pity he
fa have wrecked himself!”
knew of her.
fs diseppomtment in her ad proved so deep
‘oolish, ang g and Qi
been, and,
out.
had been grave before, but now a shadow
seomed to hang about him. abs
ia there was some pity in in her nature ae well as
“He could not understand the wrong it
his children to give them sue
Richard - Ashburton had lain at
town,
Pout be to
er.”
contagion. His strong
conquered the disease, and
sunshine was doing the rest.
«I owe m: Doctor Biagi,”
said, thankfully, one morning, thinking of we
tle, swarthy Italian doctor rubbed his
hands toget
“Tt was a hard fight, signor, but the eredit is
not alk mine, Yet the signora bade me never
mention it.
“The signora ?” with a puzzled expression.
“There were no nurses, ‘you know—but the
signora came one evening, and never left you
until the danger was past. - A bei cautiful woman,
with long, gole Hen a acd
Richard Ashbur flushed een iy, and a
strange thrill shot ‘rough his languid frame.
he ood old di fancied that he under-
stood e story. d seen much of love and
orgettlness| in his day, of heroic self-abnega-
tion and lat die ose and the woman who
hui ‘rear ‘le over, 8 couch
throngh the ee matches must have loved
with the strength of a pure, high #0
is she n
‘The doctor jglanced at him steadily. But for
gne e thing he would never have mentioned the
Me she | is ill,” he replied, slowly.
“Il? With the fe’ ver? Good heavens!” and
ho duriod his ‘eo in pillow.
“She saved your Tite,” tad the little doctor,
in his straightforward ’m nner. ‘And tl
fever has not been overs, she has Wittia
strength, If you would like to send a
“Aehbar ston knew what that meant.
@ answered, with a strange hash 2
vis ten, wT would like to send a me
When are you going? Is it fer?”
“ Half'a league, perhaps. I shall go out again
at fon)
“ Cail then,” was the brief respons:
Doctor Biagi was not wrong when ‘he fancied
that Mr, Ashburton intended to go pimsolf. He
made no objection after examining his pulse.
A little vine-embowered cottage, with a sturdy
peasant woman for mistress. Within, the slen
der form of a watcher, with an anxious yet
It was my fault—she
would not send—she does not kuow! But I
could not bear to have her—’
sob. knew
me next, perhaps best un-
uttered. For thor ong he ha a thought of Mar-
fucrite as lost, he had never dreamed to see
er die.
“How Jong have you been with her
“Avear only, J never dared to send.”
Let
ieee Eeelde. Ricbard Ashburton entered
tho chamber of death, and thero lay Marguerite,
ly white and wastod, but with more than mor-
auty.
“0 mye child! my darling!”
Marguerite mo’ ved her eyes lowly, t then ut-
terin: low, passionate cry if she
would he have shut ‘ont tthe Bi
tnd peri in his arms, and kissed the pale,
mbling lips, and downca st oyelids, still radi-
ant t with, fol ‘irouze ringe.
nderer,” he said, “ my precious
darling, you can never know my ‘at find-
i zon late, Oh! why id you leave
need not have
been ashamed of the truth.
jad ed. d if you could understand my soul
this moment, and believe that the old dream
ot those days has pover utterly faded—”
ream!” She raised her white, wan face,
into which there came ‘som mething of a F moth
ing flush. “It was be at then. for your motl
e i or sal the
always ros as ‘aura, ol
i x old life “et
me, and my love for Lisa he Bt tro ng. She once
stood betwoon my father and starvation, and
nd stern to her that night, pitiless, indeed, for Be face, slowly turain me to ae
was, indeed, the truth and honor of her soul, | sive,
ing to
with some vabimunt of fascination, it was noth- | and elegence that
ing for which she need be disowned or thrust ta
other, with a| to be true to
than a bright, winsome child. | mot a little, fragm ent o
amid the ruins of this gray old world
arm
ough work,
our life for mine! O Marguerite! is it too
ate? Can no love and no repentange bring
youl hack? Ah Godt this is bitter.”
bes Her voice began to waver
atrastgely, and the du:
her dreamy eyes *T thi you for some happy
years. I was glad to do it—al last. Your
life is grander and broader thdn my poor, pale
g thorns. Ask G Gol to
Three years had come and one since Mar- rs, stray al
nario ‘baptrey had left her of luxury | forgive—for your 8% -
and uuty—for what? Richard Ashburton often He gathered her into his arms, and the wa
asked himself the question. He had been cold | tears of et, dro) ped upon her
tured marble.
ne ton der, fluttering kiss, and t e old lite was
laid her in a quiet grave, which Lisa
will nieve tend. Whether this bright, impul-
and tender soul was wasted, God
‘hs shbu urton frets a little amid her state
‘ichard does not marry. She
wellnigh forgotten the Jeughing, wayward
‘irl who once mage the house brig!
ene will never forget. Is it so iahge a a thin ing
the woman a man hi
can bes
Mri
o renter love, left
AT THE DOOR.
BY JOSEPHINE POLLARD.
IWEARDA knooking at my door,
But I was bu
And could not rise to let them in,” ¢
‘And so I sald, nor thought it sin,
“avell, let
I waited for the rattattat
11s summons to re
‘And meant to answer it Straightway,
Anologizing for delay,
anguage terse and neat,
But not a gound tle stitness broke,
And there 1 sat
Andjwondered ‘who had tried my goon,
And" Nrished that I had ad gone before
It might have been a —— child,
With hunger sore distressed;
them knock again I? ~
night nase been a cut
My hos pitaiity to claim,
an honored guest,
ae V Tsaid, “it serves me right,
r being such a dunce!
‘The loss is mine ! ‘and those inclined
Te frown at fate, should bear in mind
t Good-luck knocks but once 1”
Betsey’s Investment,
BY JOSIAH ALLEN’S WIFE,
EE! 0. soiteraey J had a hard day’s
a inreah @ Bie, now went a fat
ing to the misters ns ‘and had all the work to
, and jest before dinner who should come in
|; Betsey Bobbet to spend the day. I see she
r gloomy, and before long she spoke
and says shi
“Jo iah ‘Allon wife, T feel awful depressted
oe Wi hat is the matter?” says I in a cheerful
ne.
"T feel lonely,” says she, “moro lonely than
Thave felt for ye
ain says kindly but firmly, “What is the
atter Betsoy ?””
ae had . dream last night Josiah Allens
wil
“What was it?” says I in a sympathetic ac-
cent, for she did look melanchdlly and sad in-
eed.
“TI dreamed I was married. ” says she in a
heart broken tone. “And I t ou Bosih Al-
jens wifo” end sho laid her wan upon my arm
in her tion, “I tell you it ae hard
thor ‘arent that to wake P ein to the cold
realities and cares of this life, it was hard” she
repeat na, and a en gent; flow ved down, and
‘opped onto her Alpaca lap.
Tene she needed eonsolation, 80 says Tina
reasurein’ tone—‘* be sure husbands are
handy on 4th of July’s, and funeral processions,
i joo! ‘8 kinder lonesome
” along alone, but they are awful
creeturs Betsey, when
adn’t time
contrary
n they are a mind to