Iowa voter. [volume] (Knoxville, Iowa) 1867-1874, 1870-06-23


a half seemed like terrible, oppressive
nightmare, which gradually wore off as
thought and memory came slowly and re-
luctantly back. He was now poor, friend
less, and in strange country. He Was
not used to manual labor, and what little,
unskilled a. he was, he accomplished,
barely paid for the food he ate. he was
ragged and utterly penniless. In this con-
dition he joined party going to the
mines, hoping to earn sufficient to take
him back to England, for, a. memory re-
turned, he was almost wild to get back to
his wife and child, the moro so a. their
marriage had been clandestine one, he
being still in his minority when it was
contaminated. and his father having wide
ly different plans for him. He now cursed
his own weakness in notlong since reveal
ing the truth to his father, for, however
bitterly offended he might be, he did not
doubt but he would provide for his wife
and child, and visions of them, destitute
and suffering, haunted him perpetually.
he had amassed enough to take him home
handsomely, when he was taken sick with
q fever, and every dollar went, besides
leaving him in q state which untitled him
for work for months. At last he
began again, and, after repeated
failures and successes, had again
got nearly ready to sail for England, when
new gang of miners came into camp,
and among them Tom Dorrance, whom
he knew at once, and he eagerly inquired
for his wife and child. Alas! it was q sad
blow to his long deferred hope and antici-
pations, the story Dorrance had to tell Of
the wreck of the LIE Brun and the death
of his wife, to which was added the intel
ligence of his fathers death. He eX-
perienced sudden revulslon of feeling.
England lost all attraction for him-indeed
he shuddered at thought Of it, and made
up his mind to stay where he was, since
there was nothing to call him back All
this time he had passed by his middle
name Albertson. He had been successful
afterward, and measurably content until
a year ago. when he had heard that his
cousin Gilbert had taken all his fortune
and gone to America. At first he did not
mind so much, then by degrees it came to
him that Dorrance had never said his
child was drowned, he had inferred that.
He spent two months hunting him up,
and at last found that he had been dead
two years. Then he resolved to settle up
his business as speedily as possible-for he
had been in business these last five years
and return to England, and from thence
to America. Possibly, he thought his
child, if living, might be in his cousins
family.
Arriving In England ne IOund DeyrleS
had accompanied Gilbert MontfOrd to
America. He felt suddenly possessed of
an overwhelming desire to confront this
fellow, who was living on his property,
after sending him, as he supposed, to his
death. He landed in New York the last
day Of October He then learned through
accident that Captain Waite was in Mich
Igan and came out to see him, as before
stated Learning nothing satisfactory, he
resolved to 60 to Plymouth, the scene Of
the wreck, and see If anything definite
could be ascertained. There he learned
the story of Viola's abduction, and subse-
quent death, from some relatives of the
Anderson's. He at once came West again
as far as Michigan City, where he believed
his child was buried, and gave this Briefly
tifty dollars to get stone put up over the
lonely little grave. He had then gone.on
to Chicago, stopped day or two, but find
ing no one who knew Mr.. Montford
whereabouts, he had returned to New
York. Since then he had travelled con-
Two days before he had taken up by
CuhHCCy w OoSSin PopSh, 0uA uoN cSSAA
his death In il. He had started immedi-
ately and had got as far as Kalamazoo,
when Captain Waite had intercepted him
with his wonderful and blessed surprise.
Two days afterward the bell at Mont
ford house was rung by q gentleman,
whom Susan Dale startled a little at be-
holding, and then showed into the parlOr
while she went to call Victor, to whom
she contided the fact that somebody, as
like Stella Blake as could be, was in the
parlor."
"A lady'-a young ladys" he asked,
surprised.
80 no A gentleman-a tall handsome
gentleman mebbe it's her father, though
he looks young"
"She had no father" Victor said, grave
ly, hurrying down with strange feeling
of curiosity and wonder quite unusual to
him.
Among the rubbish stored in the Office
room was score of portraits of the Mont
fords and their wives and children, and
among them was one Of John Montford,
and one of his son Harry, then boy Of
eighteen. The portraits were In the bot
tom of an old trunk, and Victor had found
them only the day before, and their Inca
mcnts were fresh in his mind. He started
upon opening Tue pdIloI uoOI, duu AoI
an instant his head SWAN, and he had to
hold TO the door TO steady himself Had
the portrait of Harry Montford stepped
out Of the canvas and taken on flesh and
blood, and few added yearsf
Who-who are you, sirs" he asked,
abruptly, Pardon me, but you are 80 like
portrait of one who is dead, forgive
my rudeness," he added alphabetically,
recovering something of his natural ease.
You are Victor Montford : Well, I
am Harry Montford, your fathers cousin,
and not dead, ss you see" said the gentle
man, taking the hand of his young kins-
man with q warm SMILE"
"Not-not deadp exclaimed Victor, his
fair face flushing and paling.
Don't you see. my dear Victor? Par
don my familiarity, but came from my
girls bedside this morning, and she told
me that Of you that makes me proud and
happy TO know you, and to know that tho
old Montford blood has asserted itself in
you !" he said this with warm grasp Of
the hand and look of earnest admiration
in his eyes.
81 have done nothing but simple JUS
81. 7 oopld not ho vo Nouo 1oaa and hQ0y1