The daily dispatch. [volume] (Richmond [Va.]) 1850-1884, 1862-11-01

was the consequence OF the night Of exposure,
and eie sunset the skill Of a ply sician had been
deemed requisite
Shy and diffident in his nature. Frank Gas
coigne spoke to none Of this early interview
with the governess; he did not even venture
70 continue the acquaintance 80 singularly
! commenced, but returned to his books, with
the vain idea that she would be to him but a
passing thought. But day after day that delicate
figure, lying in all the graceful abandonment
| of sleep, appeared before his mental vision
night after night did that sweet face look ont
upon him from the huge folos where he ought
only to have seen the severe features of philos-
ophy. He was soon awakened to more ac-
tive interest in the subject of his vague
| dreams.
AS he was descending from his quiet study
one morning, his steps were arrested on the
stairs by the accents Of childish voice in con
versation with his sister below.
Are you sure your sister il too ill to give
any more lessons T. asked Mrs. Gascoigne.
Yes, ma am" said the child, in tone of
deep sadness "the doctor says she may get
well, but he will not allow her to 60 out of the
| house this winter, and she must neither talk
nor sing"
IF that is the case, suppose there is no
use III waiting for her; shall be obliged to
find another goyerness, but it is excessively
provoking to lose Miss Noryce just when the
children are beginning to improve SO fast
|
Ever since the night of your party, ma
| dam
| For moment the woman OF fashion was 81
fenced, and she hesitated as she inquired, elias
she good ply sician7
Yes, madam; but he says she requires good
| nursing, rather than medicine
"Weli, that is fortunate, since your mother
| can give her all proper attention of that
| kind
IN y mother does all she cam said Susan,
| proudly, "but Isabel needs some of the com
forts which only money can procure. If you
would be so good, madam, as to pay my sister
| the money due for the unfinished quarter, we
| should be very glad
| Money, why don't owe your sister any
money. engaged her by the year, and paid
her quarterly; of course, if she gives up her
engagement i'll the middle Of the Term, she is
not entitled to any compensation
81 don't know anything about engagements
| my sister said you owed her fifty dollars, and
| we are very much in need of it, was the im
patient reply of the high-sprited Susan.
Mrs Gascclgne was excessively vexed. She
had only the day before spent three times that
| sum for new shawl, and she actually had not
the money.
| 1T is a pity your sister could not teach you
| politeness, or else find better messenger"
said she; ''here are twenty dollars-ali have
in my purse, and more thar Miss Noryce has
| any right to expect take it, and let me hear
no more dunninS on the subject -
"You will probably hear of her death, and
| you will then, erhaps, remember where she
| contracted her diseased! exclaimed the pas
sionate child, bursting into tears, as she indig-
nantly flung down the proifered bills and hur-
| ried from the door
lnsolent creaturei' exclaimed Mrs. Gas
| cOigne, as she entered the drawing room and
took up new novel; sit seems to me that the
poor are becoming more exac'ing every day;
| this comes Of charitable associations and So
! cleties-it is the utter destruction of humility
and a proper sense of their condition! | have
| never subscribed to one of them, and l never
| willw
| Frank Gascoigne had heard the whole con-
versation, and his heart was filled with Just
indignation; but he knew enough of the cha
racter of his brothers wife to be well aware
| of the uselessnessof eXpostulation. Susan had
| scarce had time To return home and tell her
| story, when a blank cover enclosing fifty
dollar bill was left at the door, with Mrs Gas
coignes compliments.
''lt is well she repented of her injustice"
said Susie, ga woman of her wealth should at
least possess common honesty!
''Susan, you are too unguarded in your
speech" murmured Isabel. "Alas how will
your impatient spirit entange you amid the
thorns and briars of your future life, if it be
not brought into subjection r.
Il wish l had a portion of your gentle aud
| quiet temper, dear Bell but when l see you
suffering, dying it may be, through that wo-
mans selIishness / could find it in my heart to
| hate herr
| But Susan became far better reconciled 10
! Mrs. GascOigne, when she found that her bro
ther was daily commissioned by her to inquire
after the wants of the gentle invalid. Not Il
morning passed but the tall figure of the Young
clergyman was seen standing at the door of
Mrs. Noryce's house; and Susan almost felt
she loved him for the kind and respectful man
ner in which he always addressed her anxious
/. mother
As Isabel gradually recovered, go as to be
| able to leave her bed Of pain, Mir Gascoigne
| was admitted into the little parlor, where sat
the pale and beautiful girl. His visits as a min
lister of the Gospel We're peculiarly acceptable
| to the family; and laying aside the pardonable
| preteXt of his sisters name, he now made no
! secret of his voluntary visits There was
| something 30 new and delightful to Isabel in
! this communion with refined and cultivated
| mind-something SO ballowed in the inter
| course between the sick maiden and the young
| preacher of hOlness-something so UNIV Worldly
| in the character of friendship made on the
| bed of Sickness II might be Of death, that she
allowed herslf to indulge, without restraint,
! the qualification it afforded her. She sought
! not to analyZe the feelings which had sprung
up in her heart; she only knew him as a true
! and tender friend who sat beside her in the
/ hour OF weakness, comforting her with his 6y NJ
| pathy, and disarning death of its terrors by
| the promises of the Book Of Truth.
! What is the matter with Susan this morn
! ingl" said Frank Gascoigne, as he entered the
! invalid's room one bright autumnal day; "she
seems quite oppressed with grief"
| 81 suppose she is distressed about NE" said
! Isabel, sadly; ''do you know that ny doom is
! fixed, and that have nothing now to look for
| ward to bnt a lingering death p
Isabel! Miss Noryce, what do you mean1"
exclaimed Frank.
"Does it surprise you, my friend, to learn
! that an illness of nearly years duration
| should end in consumption
| "But it will not, Isabel; you are young, and
may yet regain your health"
| change Of country and climate can save me
! death warrantt'
| Frank was thunderstruck. He had never
! looked into his own heart; he had never faith
omed the depth Of his feelings, and he hurried
! from the presence Of the gentle girl, whose
i soft eyes were fixed in strange surprise on his
! agitated face. But little reflection was neces-
i sary to decide such character as his. AS
! soon as he was convinced Of the nature of bis
I own emotions-as soon as he had examined
! the feelings which filled his noble heart, he
decided upon his future course. He was rich
and Independents; he had studied for the minis
try, and was already in orders; and where
could he find 80 fitting a helpmeet as the pa.
tient and sslfdenying Isabel I
/ "What OH earth has possessed you, my most
eccentric brother, to decide 80 suddenly upon