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FRANK LESLIE’S NEW YORK JOURNAL.
know the meaning ‘of the word, and the truth of
» what I am saying; but of course you will not listen
tomo! You never would when I used to tell you
- how unjust you were in preferring one child to an-
- other! You'can listen only to your anger now!”
-<. Leave me!” exclaimed her master, impatiently.
~~ “It is what I intend to do, sir!” replied Mary
age. .
> «: Of course the adjutant intended merely that she
: should quit the room: he had not the least idea of
parting with a person whose services were so neces-
sary to him.’ His first impulse was to ask the cause
- of such an unexpected resolution; but the suspi-
‘ cion that Therese had urged her to take it, in the
- hope of changing his resolution, restrained him.
- ‘Very well!” he said; “when you please! She
ill not move me!” so, .
“T never expected she would !”” answered the wo-
“man, drily; “ for your heart, master, 13 darker than
your sight! She failed to move me when she cried
“ and‘ prayed to me—her nurse, her servant—not to
“ abandon’ you'.in’ your solitude and sorrow ;. but I
‘had made up my mind to it: I don’t forget my pro-
mise!” . 7
“ Promise?”
> Yes,’ promise, sir! I told my poor, dear mis-
«tress, when she was dying, that I would be a mo-
‘ther to her child; that I would watch over her!. I
‘have done so; and will, please God!”. she added,
fervently. ‘She shall have someone to comfort
er in her.misery! But I'll look in now and then,
. just to see how you are getting on, and Iénd a hand,
‘or ”
I pity quite as much as I blame you!
~~’ You-are right!” said the adjutant, after a
‘pause. “It is only just that you should not ‘aban-
‘don the wretched girl your weakness has screened!”
~ At the words “ wretched girl” and ‘‘ weakness,”
Mary Page bit her lips in silence. . Oh, how she
* Ionged to tell the deceived and obstinate man the
* bitter, mortifying truth, that it was his idol Fanny,
“and not Therese, who had disgraced him;- but her
‘ promise td the latter restrained her... : 7
i © <“T shall leave everything tidy before I quit you,”
“she observed, “ and will drop i
in in the morning, to
see how you are getting on! I have sent for Nancy
Shalders, the charwoinan:’-she .knows the house
and your ways better than a stranger, an| ~"
~*~ +“ shall not need her!” interrupted the old man,
hastily ; then suddenly recollecting himself, he add-
ed: “Yes, yes, that will do for the present!" =
- ~ He rose from his seat and ‘returned once more to
his chaniber, leaving the repast upon the table un-
tasted.’ « . . .
=O
“the cottage where she had'spent the happy hours
. of her childhood.’ Her heart was almost broken.
~ _ Long and fervently did she pray at the door of her
~ stern parent's room:-she heard his restless step as
he paced the floor—for he had not retired to rest—
his sighs and groans ‘of anguish. © Poor girl! she
_ would have given worlds to have said, “ Father, God
* bless you!””. but the terror of his curse was on her.
She trembled Jest the sound of her voice should re-
new his fury and draw repeated maledictions on her
devoted head.’ -
"Bless him, Father of all!” she gentiy murmur-
ed; ‘bless. him, and sustain the poor blind man
_ under the load of his afflictions, for they aro heavy!
Pour the balm of thy consolation into his wounded
‘heart; soften it towards his child! Should she be
taken from him, be Thou the prop of his age, his
stay and hope!”
. Leaning on the arm of her nurse, she tottered
rather than walked from the house, and that same
hour took up her abode in the cottage so long in-
habited by the young organist.
Faithful to her promise, Mary Page visited the
‘eottage of her late master, to see everything arrang-
ed as usual : to her surprise, he was absent. When
.. She returned the following day, it was locked up.
_ The adjutant had hisposed of the furniture to the
landlord, in payment of his arrears of rent, and left
_ Farnsfield by the coach for London.
.. It was a sad blow for Thorese whon she heard
the news. . . *
. . ——_—. 3
CHAPTER Ix.
It is a compact signed and sealed in it—
- IN will cone of it; heaven doth avenge
‘ The broken trust which robs the orphan’s bread,
««.° And in its own good time pays back the deed
With most usurious interest. OLp Pray.
‘ ¢ Tue sudden disappearance of her father from his
eottage was a sad blow to the broken spirits of The-
rese, who pined under his malediction,- although
- Peason and conscience both assured her it was un-
_ merited. Poor girl! it was a sad legacy she had
inherited from her sister ; a helpless orphan to toil
“Tt was almost midnight: when ‘poor ‘Therese left |’
and struggle for, and a fatal promise which had
blighted her existence in its freshest bloom.
The discovery could not’ have taken. place at a
more unfortunate moment, owing to the absence
of the benevolent physician. - Had Dr. Bennet been
in Farnsfield, she would at least have had some one
to advise and console her; or as she fondly imagined,
to have contrived some way to have ‘satisfied the
doubts of the adjutant, without compromising either
his living child or the memory of the dead.
Therese was sitting one evening, after she had
been about a week an inhabitant of her new abode,
pondering in melancholy mood over the past and
future. The infant cause of all her sorrow was qui-
etly sleeping in its cradle by her side, when Mary
Page came bustling into the room.
“ Have you heard the news ?” inquired the faith-
ful creature.
er young mistress looked up inquiringly.
* The rector is dead!” continued the. speaker ;
‘and, they say in the village, without having made
the least provision for his sister, who is now as poor
as we are!”
_“ Heaven help her then!” replied Therese, in ac-
cents of pity ; “it will be a sad change for her, for
she is no longer young and able to work!”
“‘ Heaven has punished her,” exclaimed the nurse,
“for her pride and wickedness to you! She had
never a kind word for the poor, and now poverty has
fallen upon her!”
“T can forgive her!”
“Tt ig more than I can!’ observed her humble
friend; ‘*but for hers’ and Mrs. Franklin’s evil
tongues, things would have gone on smoothly
enough! As for, the lawyer’s girls, no one pays
attention to what they say—their evil report is no
slander! I trust,” she added, bitterly, “ I shall yet
live to see her in a woollen’ gown of her own spin-
ning, instead of her silks and satins!”
. The intelligence proved but too true. - Dr: Stan-
dish had expired in an attack of apoplexy, leaving
his affairs in the greatest confusion. He was one
of those churchmen who live up to their incomes—
keeping open house—not for the needy, but the
rich; greedy and exacting of his dues from the
poor—ostentatiously extravagant to his equals. ‘He
was little loved whilst living; and even less regret-
ted when dead.
“T have better news even than that!’ continued
the speaker.
-. Better! Oh, Mary—Mary!” interrupted The-
rese, reprovingly, ‘you are too good to rejoice at
the death of a fellow-creature!””
“ Rejoice! well, nc, not exactly that!’ muttered
the domestic. ‘I.am not so glad that Dr. Standish
is dead, as.that his sister is reduced to poverty:
and. that I do rejoice at, and will rejoice at!” she
added, warmly. - ‘She deserves it, for her evil,
slanderous reports of you! She has broken my
poor deceived old master’s heart, and yours, and
mine, and all our-hearts, although not one of us
ever injured her!”
As it was one of those points on which it was
impossible to reason with her—for Mary Page was
governed in her opinions far more by her heart than
her head—her young mistress changed the subject,
and inquired what the good news was which she
had brought from the village.
“Dr. Bennet is expected hack every hour!” re-
plied the nurse; “he will soon find out what has| ar
become of my poor master, I warrant me! “I have
something else!” she added, with a smilo; ** Charles
Graham is in Farnsfield!” | -
‘* Have you seen him?” demanded Therese.
“No: but I heard him, as I crossed the green,
playing on the organ in the church.’ I could not
elp stopping to listen. Poor fellow! the music
sounded so mournfully that it hrought the tears into
my eyes!. There is no one can play like him: and
so allthe people say! I do wonder, miss, that you
could refuse him! “There, don’t be angry with me:
I know I ought not to speak so familiarly to you,
who aro a lady, and I only a poor ignorant servant!
But it is your own fault as much as mine,” she
added, “if I sometimes forget myself; for you were
always so kind and affectionate to your poor nurse!
“You did not tell him that I was living here ?”
“No, miss!”. answered Mary Page; “I trust. I
know my duty to you better than that! .. It was not
for you to appear to make up to the likes of him!”
In the love and pride she felt in her foster-child,
the speaker forgot the inrerest sho really felt for tho
young organist. .
“Right, Mary!” said Therese; “ you were quite
Tight: it is :bettor that we should never mect
again!” ‘ .
Mary Page thought otherwise. Although love
had long’ ceased to trouble the peaceful current of
her existence, she had not forgotten the time when
she was young; and the mournful tone in which
her young mistress declared that it was better she
and Charles should never mect again, betrayed that
it was not without a pang she had arrived at such a
conclusion. .
To avoid receiving any directions from Therese
to prevent an interview, the faithful creature left
the room. As she entered the kitchen, she heard
the voice of the organist conversing with his former
landlady, the mistress of the cottage.
' “Here is Mrs. Page,”. said the woman, ‘she can
inform you.” - :
The young man eagerly advanced towards his old
acquaintance, and inquired after Therese.
“T have only just heard of the affliction and sor-
row,” he said, “ which have overwhelmed her!”
“And the disgrace!” added the nurse, in an
anxious tone—for she felt curious to ascertain the
opinion which the speaker entertained of her dear
mistress.
“There can be no disgrace without guilt!” he
replied, warmly ; “and if an angel were to accuse
her of that, I should disbelieve it! Do you think
she will see me?” . :
““ Why ‘not? Are you not one of her oldest
tiends 2”
Mary Page pointed to the door of the little parlor,
adding, that he knew the way well enough.
till it was not without considerable hesitation
that the anxious lover ventured into the presence
of the girl who had rejected him.
* Don’t be angry, Therese !” he said, as he gently
closed the door after him ; “do not drive me from
your presence! I heard that you were unhappy—
unfortunate—and I come to offer you the consola-
tion of a friend—a brother—to ask you once more
to share the humble home of the man who adores
you—whose life it is in your power to make a blank
or sunshine !”
Therese looked up with surprise; her heart was
deeply moved by so much confidence and faith.
“And you have heard ——”
“ Everything!” he exclaimed; “your : father’s
cruelty and injustice !” . .
The poor girl silently pointed to the cradle, in
which the innocent cause of her affliction was still
calmly sleeping. Charles Graham turned ghastly
ale
“It is not yours, Therese!” he said; “or, if
yours, you are a wife! I know the purity of your
heart and mind, for I have watched you from in-
fancy : no thonght of vice ere sullied them! . There
is some mystery : but mystery does not always im-
ply guilt! What it is, I seek not to fathom: and
yet I would give worlds to know!: ‘If there be in-
deed a barrier between us, Therese, if ‘you are
another’s—a word—a look—a: sign—and, though
my heart breaks, I will offend your ears no mcre |”?
“J am not a wife!” replied the daughter of the
adjutant, deeply moved.
‘Thank heaven!” exclaimed . the young man,
fervently ; “then I may still love you without sin?
You may still be mine!”
“My name, my fair name, Charles !’” interrupted
the poor girl, in a tone of the deepest affliction,
“is blighted! My father has thrust me from his
door! The world cries shame upon me! Those
who once loved me, shun me! Think’you I would
bring disgrace upon one so'true and good as you
et?
“ Disgrace!” he repeated, falling at her feet ;
“bliss unutterable! _ Why should we heed the
world’s opinion? Our hearts shall be our world,
and we will listen to no other voice! Therese, I
renew my offer! I implore you to accept it! Let
me be the husband of your. sorrows! They will
grow lighter by being shared—a father to that in-
nocent child in whom you take so deep an interest !
And never, never,” he added, emphatically, ‘* shall
a suspicion wrong your purity and truth! If I die
before the mystery is solved, Therese, it will be as
T have lived—with unbounded confidence in both!”
Daring the latter portion of the interview between
the lovers, Dr. Bennet—who- had heard, on his
arrival in Farnsfield, of. the misfortunes of his
protegée—entcred the room, and stood a silent spec-
tator of the conflict between Jove and what Therese
considered her duty. : :
“No, Charles, no!" she sobbed ;. “dearly as I
love you—and it is the first time my lips have con-
fessed as much—I cannot bring my heart to accept
80 vast a sacrifice! The world would blame—you
in time regret—and it mist not be! No, no! the
loss of your esteem would kill me!” .
“ You will never lose it!” observed the physician,
advancing, and taking her- by the hand; “these
scruples betray the sensitive delicacy of a soul tn
which guilt is a stranger!” : a