The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1852-12-30
For the National Bra
STORY OF DOMESTIC LIFE,
BY CATHARINE LEDYARD.

STORY OF Do MESTIC LIFE.
BY CATHARINE LEDYARD.
CHAP y-Continued
Her father was in the hall when she re-
turned home.
why, child" he said, chow could you VEN
ture out in the storm It is the most mpru-
dent thing ever heard Of"
Fanny sent for me- she answered
81 forgot about that-how did you find
her -
Much better than expected; she talked
with Inc long time but suppose she is very
low, notwithstanding. Mrs. Allward told me
that the Doctor said she could not last more
than few days at farthest"
Poor Fanny it makes me sad to think of
her." said Mr. Lndley. "Do you make haste
and change your wet things or we shall have
you sick, too"
Grace obeyed, and in the quiet of her own
room thought over what had passed; but re-
Election was of no service to her She could
form no conousions make no resolves Mean
while it grew dark, and she was summoned to
tea.
"Say that | have headache, Calista, and
prefer to remain here or, stay, perhaps cup
of tea will do me good. will come in few
minutes"
She was quiet and distracted during the
meal
"You look really ill, dear" said her mother,
kindly; the weather was very bad to-day,
and | am afraid you have taken cold There
is a little fire kndled in your room, and think
you had better 90 to bed immediately
Grace withdrew, glad of any excuse for being
alone. Seated by the bedside, she leaned her
burning forehead on the pillow, and strove to
collect her scattered thoughts into some def
mite aim or purpose. At one time she would
almost resolve TO confess all, and entreat her
parents forgiveness but ever in the way stood
those deceitful words ale is all to me now
that he ever will be- What madnessit seemed
to have uttered them! Yet she had even con-
graduated herself on that one bold stroke,
which had silenced her fathers inquiries, and
warded from her oil suspicion. II il were not
for that single falsehood But how could she
acknowledge that? Not was impossible.
But again, what if Fanny should betray her
if her father should know all, without her in
tervention She would then have not even the
merit of repentance. Yet after all, it might
be that her last words had frightened Family
out of her purpose; and in that case all would
be well. It would be great pity to lay her.
self open, by hasty confession, to the contempt
and anger which she felt assured would be her
portion when the truth was known Fanny
cannot last long" she thought; the Doctor
said only few days and when she is gone
there is no danger. 1t is better to wait--yes
will watt feeling of horror came over
her at the idea of thus specializing on her
| friends death but she banished it, by remem.
bering that it made no difference about the
matter Fanny would not die day sooner in
consequence and, at any rate it was no more
| than natural that she should think of her OWL
interest
While she sat thus trying TO reconcile to hel
| judgment--not her conscience-the course she
had resolved upon, the hall door opened; voices
were heard and u moment afterward hel
father passed out she knew his step, as il
| echoed on the pavement. A feeling Of despair
came over her she was sure that Fanny haC
sent for him and, if so, what hope was left
She tried to compose herself, by thinking tina
perhaps friend had called for him or i
might be message on business-he often wen
out in the evening; but it was in vain. Unable
longer to endure suspense, she went down
hoping to learn from her mother the cause o.
his absence Mrs. Lindloy had retired for the
night; sbo had been unwell all day Calista
said, and, as the evening went on, felt too i'll
to sit up. Grace was obliged to return, unsat
is6ed and anxious.
1t is all settled now" she said. with a des.
perate effort at calmness If Fanny has sent
for him, it is too late to help it, She took IN
book, and tried TO read but always between
har ha L. !. r
pale, wasted girl, telling in a low voice her
story of wrong and falsehood, while stern
man sat by, and listened in austerest silence.
The hours went on the clock struck late
into the night, and still Grace watched and
waited
At last there was sound as Of KEY grating
in the lock. Yes her father had come--she
heard his steps along the hall and On the stair
oase-they neared her Room.
Another moment, and the door opened-he
was there One look at his face told that be
knew all, and with a choking terror in her
breath she sunk back in the chair
Nothing like a scene followed that despair.
ing silencc-when people are in earnest, they
make no parade Of their emotion-they do not
vent their anger Or their grief in well-turned
sentences--few words suffice their need So ii
was now
Grace remained motionless, her eyes fixed
on the ground her whole nature concentrated
into shame and terror Her father looked at
her, and his face grew more cold and stern.
"Gracep he said and at the words her
heart gave a sudden leap, 81 have heard
strange things tonight; Fanny was not terri
fed by your parting words, it seems, and she
has told me all--your marriage--your cores
pondence- She did her best TO
excuse you---to make your fault appear par
donable-but it was difficult task, and need
ed more skill than she possessed. Perhaps you
could handle the subject more successfully"
Grace looked at him in wonder this was not
what she expected.
al have been gone long time" he continu-
cd: "you must have found IL tedious, waiting
here alone II is rs well, however you are al
ready up, and can proceed immediately 10
packing your trunks. The Cumberland stage
goes through ut three o'clock tomorrow morn
ing or this morning rather--I have engaged
your passage in it, Here is money sufficient 10
take you 70 n; after that, your husband
will care for you, no doubt. will be at your
door ten minutes before the time, and shall ex-
poet TO find you entirely ready
He left the room-Grace sat stupefed with
astonishment Could this be all
No, he was neutrality-suspicious. he had re-
lcnted--if he only would reproach her only
show some feoiing