Marshall County Republican. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1856-1878, 1870-01-13
MY DAUGHTER MOLLY,S STORY,
PART L.

your objections, father?"
Molly's voice sounded defiant. but he
quivering mouth showed how much pain
had given her; and it is very hard to lool
at your own child, loving lovely girl O
seventeen, and feel that you are making hel
unhappy.
do not think it is because Molly is my
own child that L say she was lovely at seven,
teen. Other people thought so, too. She
had such a rare face; fair skina little
freckied; dark brown hair, which clustered
in boyish fashion over ner white temples
black-fringed. clear gray eyes-the long
fringes trembled now as neryously as the
closely shut scarlet lips. l knew the poor
child was trying to keep from crying, and !
felt an unnatural fyrant, sitting there in my
easy chair looking at her. 1t became nec-
essary to repeat my objections. to save my
self from yielding
81 give you two reasons just now, Molly.
/ think Mr. Wickham is too old for YOU:
and also, want to know a little more
about him before you promise to be his
wife"
''Oh, fatherI' She had been standing
by the door. I hoped this painful inter-
view was over, and she was going awav
quietly; but now she came back to my wri-
ting-table and pressed her clasped hands
upon il, as if to steady herself.
You know don't like young men; Nr.
Wickhsm is only forty; you are young
still, and you are forty-seven; and. father,
though you have only known him a few
weeks. remember saw good deal of him
at Brighton; he and L used to spend every
morning on the beach.
"TheE where was Mrs Jackson?" | ask
ed angrily; for my cousin Tom Jackson's
\ Il frr1c
with her to spend o month at Brighton,
she would never let her go out alone.
''Ah, she used to talk to Mr.. wickham,
too. Why, father, / told you all this, the
first day he called here after | came back:
she talked to him till she began to read,
but you know, when once cousin Emma
gets her head In book, she is not much
of a companion to anybody
This Is all irrelevant" / said. 81 must
still keep to what told you just now, Mol
ly; don't yet know enough of Mr. Wick
ham to consent TO your marriage with him
and until do know little more about
him, he must not come here, nv darling"
looked at her lovingly. But when a
father takes upon himself to thwart his
daughters affections, though his heart may
be running over with love for her, il is all
one; he is looked upon "a the most unnatu-
raj tyrant that ever existed-a creature
taking actual delight in promoting the
misery of others.
'1S il very, very hard, +" said Molly, ignor
ing the fond look that went with my last
words. Il must know best who will make
me happy"
There was such quaver in the sweet
voice, as she shut the door behind her.
that felt sure Molly would go straight up
20 hos l.
heart out; and though I was such an infex-
ible tyrant, yOnng ladies, leaned back in
my chair, and covered my face with my
hands. az thought of my darlings suffer
ing. Molly was all / Lad of darling now.
Her mother had been taken from me three
years before. and l had thought that the
poor lonely girl would be happier at school
than with such an utterly cast-dOxn, spirit
less wreck as this loss had left me; for nv
wife and / had never been separated, and it
was TO me now as if baif of myself half OF
my feelings at least, and my better iudg-
ment, Law buried in the quiet little church.
yard at Fuli.am.
''Oh, Mary, if i only bad you low, this
woald all be easy"
And then, it seemed to me, that if her
mother had lived this could never have
Happened to Mo..y. My own lost darling
would never have sat reading novels on the
beach, while blooming young creature
like that talked to a stranger.
No. said to myself firmly. 81 hate
prejudice, and think young people should
marry for love; bat consider an attach
ment safest when it springs mp in girls |
own home: especially when girl is mother
less, and has lost the only safe confidarte in |
such matters"
Still was very uncomfortable.
Tea-time came, and Molly did not come |
down to make Il. / grew more and ore
uneasy. got up. and began to walk up
and down the large old-fashioned room /
sat IN.
A room you never see in newly-built |
houses; but a room you will often find in |
the old unfrequented parts of London be-
tween Islington and Gray y's-inn. A square |
room. with a wide, shallow bow-window, |
the shutters of which were encrusted with |
richly carved woodwork carving to be found |
too on weinscoting and door panels and /
chimney piece; the ceiling was also richly |
decorated. A room that, even with scanty I
furnishing and meagre allowance ot light, |
lent far more OF dignity to our straitensd |
means than the small, smart, bran-new |
drawing room of a suburban villa could |
ever have given. / eould never tell why
/ have racked my memory for this link In |
nv poor child's sad story, and have never /
Deeh able to find it-but as paced up and
down my walk, bounded by the limits of |
the Turkey carpet, which did not reach /
nearly as far as the wainscoting, kept on /
looking at the ceiling. 1t was not very dis
tinct In the light given by our lamp in that |
space but still the festoons stretching from
one bunch of flowers TO another kept on at
tracing nv notice more and more.
More and more, till my neck ached from
the effort oflooking up at them- / stopped
short suddenly, and asked myself sternly
how 1 could let my attention wander in this
childish fashion, when had to consider so
important subject as the happiness of nv
child's life? And then i tried to recall the !
thought that was in my mind when first
began to walk up and down.
Before long it came back; but it certain
ly had no connection with the ornamented
ceiling, at least so it then seemed to NE.
My thought was this: That had not |
been quite truthful with Molly; that the |
strong motive power of my objection to Mr..
Wickham's suit was prejudice against the |
man himself. A prejudice conceived the |
instant saw him, and which the favorable |
after impression bis manner and converse
ton had produced had utterly failed to re-
HO'C. 4Ac ctioh Stot boit ~oous tdAb pIc-
iudice was that 1t seemed to have been in /
my mind beforeI saw him. II seemed to |
me as if must have known this man in
dream, or in some previous state of exist |
ence.
Molly had not talked about her new friend |
before he presented himself; so I could in |
no way account for my pre6isposition |
against him. ta
Mrs. jackson had lent him O book, and |
he called at our house to return it, having |
that our cousin was to pay rs |
visit on her way home.
1 thought 1t unnecessary to ask him up |
stairs when he heard that Mrs. jackson had
had left Us that morning; but he came up
and made himself very agreeable, and SO
excited my interest by the promised sight
of rare etching. that confess asked him
to dine with Us the next Sunday, and bring
his treasure with him.
Afterward, / imagine, he must have call
ed almost daily in my absence; but OF this