Cooper's Clarksburg register. [volume] (Clarksburg, Va. [W. Va.]) 1851-1861, 1855-11-21

LAuCe3 "ueu Iue HluO . SpEdus5 up ueLCcE
and stronger than ever, whirling up the
yesterdays snow, and shouting along the
street.
Wilton's companion stopped suddenly
and gasped, g Oh I cannot go any fur
ther. The wind takes away my breath.
It always does.''
"Don't be afraid, my child. I shall
take care of you. Hold your shawl be-
fore your face, and keep fast to me. There
it's going down. We will proceed"
What should have done if it had
not been for you? should never have
reached my home, never in the world. i"
And as the girl spoke, the gentleman
heard the throbbing of the little coward
heart against his arm.
" Y ou should never venture out alone
again on such night" replied Wilton.
" Have you no friend to come for you %
"No SIR" she answered mournfully; "my
mother died two years ago. She was the
only relation l had on earth.''
" Poor child p involuntary the gentle
mans hand closed over that which lay on
bis arm, for helplessness made her seem
to him child.
" And with whom do you live now ?"
"With Mrs. Mason, who was a friend
of my mothers after she came from Eng
land. We ewent there when was little
girl and papa lost his property, and died
there. l was only twelve when we came
back. 1t is four years. Mamma lived
two of these, and l was taking drawing
lessons, and expecting to teach, when she
was taken i'll. After she died, lived a
year with Mrs. Mason, and then the mo-
ney we brought from England was all
gone. I learned to do plain sewing Of
Mrs. Mason's niece. l am hoping some
time to lay by money enough to take
drawing lessons again."
This simple epitome of the past was
murmured among the wind pauses, in
low, sweet voice that seemed to Wilton
Hughes like music he had heard long
ago.
8" May enquire your mothers name?"
Mary Willis Arnold
Wilton stood still. 1t was the one
name burned into his soul. Just then the
wind beat up hoarser, madden than before.
He did not hear it, for the louder wind
that was driving through his heart.
The girl clung to him and shuddered.
1t was the first thing that aroused him.
"Don't be frightened" he said sooth-
ingly we are almost home. think,
from your description, your mother and l
were old acquaintances."
They were walking on again. She
looked up in unspeakable surprise. elf
you please sir, tell me your name ?"
Wilton Hughes! Did your mother
ever speak of it ?''
"Oh, yes! am SO glad How ve-
ry strange ! She left letter for you the
very day she died and told me to be sure
and keep it till found you. Here we
areat home! You will come in, Mr.
Hughes, and get the letter ?'
He did not answer her, but he follow
ed the light footsteps into small brown
house.
The girl entered the parlor. It was
plainly but decently furnished. An old
but very pIeasant-looking woman sat by
the small cylinder stove, and lamp was
burning on the table.
Lena, have been so worried about
you," said the old woman, and then stop
ped suddenly on seeing stranger.
It's mothers old friend, Mr.. Hughes.
You remember Mrs. Mason" said Lena
as she ushered the gentlemen into the par
lor.
Mrs Mason received him with raptu-
rous expressions of delight. But as Lena
threw off her bonnet, and came into the
light, he could only think of her. The
large hazel brown eyes, the fair pure fea
lures, were so like those his early man
hood had loved, that he longed to draw
the sewing girl to his heart, and rain down
kisses upon them. Lena's father had
given the proud curve to her lips in their
| repose but in all else she was like her
mother.
WiIton's eyes followed the girl as she
left the room, and he vainly tried to an
swer Mrs. Mason's inquiries with anything
but monosylables.
In moment Lena returned and laid
the letter in his hand. How it shook as he
opened it ! There were but a few words,
traced evidently by faltering hand. So
ran the letter /:
"My beloved Wilton: am dying to-
day, and few must be the words Gao say
to you. Ten years ago, holding my dy-
| ing fathers hand in mine, learned ALL
We are both the victims. Thank God
your heart was as true as my own. Will
| ton, my child is fatherless and motherless,
and have none with whom to leave her.
1 give her to you, though know not
where you are, whether married or single,
for 1 have never heard from you since
"I can hardly see the lines, and I
know the darkness that is coming over
them is death. Tomorrow shall be at
home and when this comes to you, you
will take care Of Lena, for the sake of