The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1872-12-21

and with heavy heart is now bound 70
the home of her childhood. Thick, blind
ing tears fall from her eyes as she think
how many changes have occurred since sht
left her native shores--a gleesome girl o
eighteen, ten years later a broken hearted
woman in weeds. Alas! Time changes al
things. 1t is confirmed by the lamentablt
experience of our mature years and remem
bered III the reflections of our old age. The
| hoar-god with his scythe, his hour glass,
his wrinkles and his wings awakens us tt
a sense of his power when he interferes
with the enjoyments which were springine
up in freshness and verdure in our own
hearts; when he points to blighted friend
ship, extenguished sympathies and blasted
love. Every young man and woman at
twenty have formed opinions which they
imagine TO temptation can shake, conneX-
! ions which no circumstance can ever severe.
/ Thy have launched out into life's sea with
companions whose thoughts and feelings
agree with their own in every particular,
and together they intend to defy the cor
rupting influence of cold society. Ten
years later all this appears either very
ludicrous or very sad, according to the
temper of the thinkers mind. Sitting
thus brooding over her sorrows, Lady
Flora thinks that perhaps the sunlight may
be warm without-anything for a change;
but herthoughts alas! they will never leave
her. Throwing q shawl about her grace
full shoulders she ascends to the main deck
and commence pacing back and forth, al
though the steamer is rocking considera-
bly,. How lovely the water is with the
sunshine sparkling on the foamy lips Of
the waves, and the shore looks now in the
distance only hazy blue line. Will she
ever see England's cliffs again? She stays
her steps aud leans against the railing,
whilst sad farewell is waited from her
fearful eyes and trembling lips to the land
of her adoption. Oh, that little tomb.
How could she leave it among cold, I'M
needing strangers? Will the day ever
dawn when the tiny, dimpled angel that
had nestled in her arms for short season,
will be forgotten? Ask any mother whose
heart has been dethroned of Il rosy little
monarch and she will tell you, though the
grave be white with the SHOWS of many
winters, there never has dawned day that
she has not felt an aching void in her heart,
and missed the touch of the warm little
fipucrS whose DreSence iS NOW only g, NOM
Dry. With sigh, Lady Summertield turns
to resume her lovely walk when, with her
foot she touches sleeping child with tears
on the rosy cheek. She notices that the
little ones dress is poor and vaguely Won
ders if she is the steward S daughter. The
interest is only momentary, however, and
she is about to resume her lonely walk,
when she becomes conscious of being
scanned by a pair of very bright eyes, be-
longing to the little girl at her feet. A
pang shoots through her heart, for the
expression is very like her dead Arthur's
had been.
evil you please give me something to
eat -
Lady Summerfield opened her eyes wide
1t this naire request.
Why don't you go to your mother,
dear?''
81 have no mamma, but I am going to
find her though" said the child confident
ly.
Chow come you here ?" inquired Lady
Summerfeld, in increased wonder.
The child's lip quivered as she answered
=" | ran away from Monsieur Delacheaux.
You wont send me back? l have suffered
so much and want my dear mamma. She
was a pretty lady like you and had spark
ling ring too. But wont Monsieur be angry
and storm when he finds me gone? was
to have been the leading fairy tonight"
The tears were dried by mischievious
sparkle that lighted up her eyes as she
thought of her enemy's discontinue.
Lady Summerfield listened with interest
and by degrees succeeded in drawing out
the childs entire story-every word of
which bore the impress of truth.
Little Marguerite said she was ballet
girl in one of the city-theatres and had be-
come sick of the dreadful life she led
She remembered being with a pretty lady
whom she called mamma, then taking a
walk by the water with her nurse, who left
her playing in the sand for a few minutes,
probably to gossip with some of her heed
less companions, when big man, with a
fierce ,nustache, came along, picked her
mp in his arms and carried her away to the
great city where he taught her how to
dance. Sometimes he would whip her
badly when the tired feet refused to per-
form the imposed task, and often sent her
supperless to bed. She knew he would be
very angry and perhaps beat her to death
if he succeeded in getting her back, for
she was called the wonder of the age, and
he could not afford to lose the finest dancer
in the troupe. Last night she had been
kept on the stage later than usual from
repeated oncores and with knowledge
that she had excelled, expected praise from
master; but received only the usual blows.
Her childish heart swelied with indigna-
tion, aud she vowed to run away and never
return. In the dim light of the early
morning she had seen the large steamer at
the wharf, and succeeded in crossing the
gangway. without attracting notice.
Lady Summerfield took the little tear
stained face between her soft palms, think
ing deeply. Why not take this homeless
little wanderer into her own lonely heart
| and lavish the tenderness of her pent up
affection on one who would probably help
to heal her wounded heart and give her
something to live for? The decision was
quickly made.
She would keep and educate her as her
own daughter, and the child's lost name
should be replaced by her own. But what
if the true parents should ever claim her ?
Vol, it was not likely that they would for
they v'ero probably English people and
now Magurite was bound with hsr tor
| America. And if they ever did she would
have the satisfaction of having done a
noble deed, even if the scheme bore DC