The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1871-09-14

there was not in New York a gayer, more
sparkling girl than Eleanor Grant"
Eleanor Grant,"
eyes; John Grants daughter Do you
know her?"
"I-no-that is the name is familiar to
me, but to the lady who bears it | am a
stranger"
He gave no opportunity for further in
quiry, but addressed himself to the sur
geon's wife, and continued talking with
her until the group broke up. But when
he was alone, he leaned over the vessel
side, and the cigar he had lighted
dropped into the water.
"G0od God how unfortunate !" he
said to himself. "And it is too late now
for any remedy we are off, and this
companionship for weeks | can only es
cape by drowning myself. How shall I
ever get through with it?--h0w hold
back every wild and tender recollection
Of the past, aud meet her like q stranger :?
How like sorrowful queen she moved
away just now! Poor Eleanor Poor
child! Well might he say the world is
changed for her. Alone, friendless and
poor And might have prevented it
! all. Oh, Heavens! how she must hate
me!'
! Ard yet these two, so wide asunder
now, were lovers once-passiOnate lovers,
who lived only in the light of each others
presence. What had divided themp
! That which works more mischief between
| friends, which is the source of bittcrer
quarrels, than anything else in the world
| money.
1t was six years ago, when Eleanor
Grant was twenty-five, the beautiful, only
! daughter of one of richest merchants in
New York; Philip Armstrong was poor
young lawyer, just beginning to make
! his way in the profession which has since
proved fortune to him. They were en-
gagged with the full! consent OF everybody,
their marriage day was fixed, and they
would have been ranturously happy, but
for one cloud in their sky Philip was
both proud and sensitive. The idea that
he might eeven suspected by the world
Of having sought the wealthy keiress
from mcrcenary motives CALLED him to
the quick Then, too, he had the mans
natural desire to bestOW all upon the Wo-
man he loves; and he could not under
siand-few men do-that loving woman s
pleasure in such giving is equally keen.
Eleanor had set much value upon wealth !;
she really did care less for it than did
her lover; but now she took an innocent
pleasure in the thought, Of what her
money could DO for him. In the frank
ness of her nature she let this be seen,
never dreaming that he could misunder
stand it. But this morbid fancy saw in it
D secret eXultatlOn, sense OF superiority
IN the advantages she possessed over him.
It was cruel wrong to a nature SO gen,
erous as hers, and one which-to do him
justlce-he was only half capable Of com
hitting In his better moments he rec
ognized fully her singleness Of heart, and
hated himself for his mean suspicious.
But jealous fancy knows no reason, and
his morbid doubts more and more 6etfay
ed themselves. At first she did not com
prehend him at all; but, after several
Exhibitions Of his jealous sensitivencss,
the truth forced itself upon her Though
deeply hurt, she appeared to take 10
notice, choosing to regard 1t as q chance
outbreak of irritation or cynicism, caused
by come recent rough experience Of the
world, and strove by re.dOubling her
tenderness to soothe his annoyance. He
was completely disarmed, and went home
that night ashamed of his doubts, land ad0r-
ing her more than ever. But not long
after he CHANGED to hear q sneering COM
ment on the shrewd thing Armstrong was
dcing for himself in making sure of the
beiress. He was foolish enough to trust
himself in Eleanor's presence while still
!, smarting from this thrust. AS i'll luck
would have it, her mind was full of mat
fore Iot tn mr.
keeping, and she hastened to consult him
on some point involving considerable
outlay of money. He forgot both his
prudence and his good breeding. ''For
Heavens sake, Eleanor" he said, don't
ask me to begin spending your money IN
til we are married !! 1t is the misery Of
my life already, and cordially wish you
had not a penny"
Ii Eleanor had known the annoyance
under which his pride was still chatting
she might have forgiven even this; but
she did not know it, and her anger
famed up. She answered. haughtily:
II really ask your pardon, Sir, for
troubling you. had not supposed that
my money was consideration so much
more important to you than myself"
The word were scarcely uttered before
she burned to recall them. But she was
proud as we'll as he, and she rat silent
HIS face turned white to the very lips
He rose and took his hat from the table
His voice was husky and thick.
"If such be your belief, madam" he
said, "the sooner take my leave the bet.
} ter. Allow me to wish you good even
ing"
i She bowed coldly, but without speak
ing, and lie walked ont of the house.
After this they never met. Philip with
drew from society, and devoted himself
To his nrofession. Eleanor still shnnn and