Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1857-04-22

u6r easy Cuoh1 hOi hOoo SuoAAiNhSo StA ~ NNA-~~
son back.
He was portly, pompous-looking man, with
a shrewd, self-satisfied kind of physiognomy-a
fine, well, unreseryed elderly gentleman, on the
whole.
81 thank you. 1 don't want anything, Mr..
Reade, unless"
swell, speak out, my dear"
Didn't you promise nue. q new diamond pin
last week2" ,5t 81
She looked up from the figures on the rug
with a smile dimpling her mouth which few
husbands would have resisted.
. so did, dear child and see you want it
tonight for the party. Well, you shall have it
tor two kisses" ,..@r-s.
mo, sban't either, for I've pins enough al
ready but" crossing her hands coaxingly on
his arm, 81 want the money very much for some
thing else. It's great secret so don't please
ask me anything about it, only say may have
it.n
"a thousand dollars to throw away on q Sc,
cret! Extravsgant, Alice"
Mr.. Reade drew In his breath, but there was
a smile lurking in his eyes, and his wife knew
all was right. .a -,
''Send up the check before eleven, please, Mr..
Reade," were the words that followed the mil
lionaire down stairs.
It was high chamber in dilspidated brick
row. and miserably destitute. A few ashes were
smoulding on the hearth, and by their side sat o
sbiyerinp, starving mother and her child.
0Mother, Mother, won't papa come home pref
ty soon and bring me cake?" asked the boy.
81 hope so, dear little boy. Oh, The only can
sell one of the pictures" 1t was pitiful, the sob
in the woman's voice, the tone half hopeful, half
despairiDg, in which she spoke this. She was
young and very pretty still, even in her pale,
pinched lace, and the sorrow that looked out OF
her large blue eyes.
There was no great force of character in her
face, it is true. You felt it was not one to meet
calmly, de6antly, the great trial hours ofte but
it was sweet, womanly, and oh, so very sorrow
full! The boy, Of some five summers, was not
like his mother. The tone of his face, from the
broad forehead to his small full mouth was
stronger and deeper. Even his large hazel eyes
and brown hair were Of his fathers.
And then think of the husband and father,
with his sensitive, asthetic nature, and his proud,
high spirit reduced to this Oh, Lucius Biante,
it might have been weakness and sin, but it was
hardly strange that you had gone out from the
old chamber that day, with these words in your
heart, success or suicide !"
The boy drew closer to his mother and she
put her arms tenderly about him, but he did not
speak for fear the tears would come. With all
his rare gifts, the artist father had never painted
so touching picture. ..,4
Another hour went by, and there was the
Quick ring of feet on the old staircase, and some
thing in the sound which gave new spring OF
hone to the hearts that beat low by the dying
ashes. The door burst open, and Lucius Brante
rushed wildly in and threw heavy purse into
his wife's lap. Was the man mad For he
clasped her and the frightened child one moment
in his arms and threw them up, triumphantly
laughing and shouting while the tears ran down
his proud face as they would down the face OF
little child. =.
"What does it mean, Luciusl Speak to meW
gasped the young wife, shaking from head to
foot.
~ have saved you, Helen Newell Thank
God-thank God! There is thousand dollars
in that purse. Oh, it seems to me as if must
be dreaming, as if this great, sudden good could
not be true |"
aAnd who was it bought them, Lucius 2" ask
ed the wife through her glad tears.
"The mans name blessings on IT'D was Wat
kins. He bought four of my pictures, selecting
them from all the others in the collection, and
paid me two hundred and fifty dollars apiece!-
BE was plain, ordinary looking sort OF man,
too, apparently not much of q connoisseur In
paintings either. But could have fallen down
at his feet and worshipped him."
s,Papa, papa, did you bring me the cake u
and the soft cheek of the child was pressed up
to his fathers. -,
'sNo DEAR" gathering him to his heart, "but
will get you dozen now; and Newell and NAM
ma shall never be hungry again. We Will have
a fire. and such supper as we haven't had for
wears God has sent His angel when the dark
ness was deepest. Let us thank him; !" and they
knelt down there, on the old hearth bricks, in
the gathering night darkness, and the prayer OF
the artist seemed heart hallelujah that must
have reached up through the song OF seraph and
arehangel to the Death White Thronef
swell, Watkins, my good man. did you get
the pictures 7"
Alice Reade asked the question with breath
less eagerness as she met the servant at the
door,
"Yes, ma'am. Here they are, safe and sound,
four of 'em," said the man, bustling mysterious
ly :sto the apartment, and depositing the large
package on the table-for Watkins was an espe-
ccial fayorite with both his master and mistress.
sand did you see the artists"
"Yes, ma'am, and paid the thousand dollars
into his own hands. He seemed struck ouinp
with astonishment. He's had some hard tussei
with life, I think Somehow it did me good TO
pay down the money!" added the shrewd but
kind hearted man.
"You remember my charge2 And he thought
they were purchased for yourselfS"
GIn course he did. could have got 'em for
a twentieth part of the money, but you said ne
L - or1 1oo cot pnu W Drinp
Will you have 'em hung in the parlor 7"
"No: will take care of them. Not even Mr..
Reade must know that have purchased them.
You understands
There was significant answer in the mans
face as he bowed himself out of the room.
Alice's aunt was dying.
"Alice, Alice, come nearer to mel" said tne
diving woman, and she drew down her niece's
head almost to her lips.
Alice Reade's face grew white as the death
stricken one beneath it; while the struggling
disiointed sentences came over Mrs. Henley's
lips.
"That letter-you remember9 Luoius Brante
did not write it. He knew nothing of it, He
was not false to you. | wrote it that you might
marry" A sudden conyulsiOn left her
speechless, but her dying eyes prayed "Forgive
me - h
This last year had made Alice Reade better
woman, and her white lips answered the ques
ton of those dim eyes with solemn earnestness.
"May God forgive you, Aunt Jane, freely as
dol" and, taking that forgiveness with it, the
soul of Jane Henley went out from that gorgeous
death chamber to its God.
Five years had passed. The Florence sunset
looked ssrenely into the studio of the artist, and
the light Florence winds moved up the valleys.
81: is very beautiful" said the lady, breaking
the long silence which had followed a longer
conversation, as she turned her deep eyes from
the purple clouds to her companions face.
"Yes, Alice; very beautiful. Do you remem-
Der how we used to watch them at the kitchen