Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1874-01-29

"Please to tell me, just as nv father
would have done, what | ought to dol" be
answered, gravely: THAT will depend
my dear young lady, on what your obiec
| is-whether to keep all you can legally
| for yourself
ooh, no! mop interrupted poor Annie
with almost passionate emphasis, Il only
want to be honest, and, if I can, to save
other people from suffering by Robert"
Then there is no doubt that the house.
| which is not yours by bona-fde sale. but
only by a conveyance intended to put il
out of the reach of the creditors, to whom
it had been exhibited as part of their
security, ought to be given up with your
| brothers other property, and that your
! claim on his assets should be put on q
par with the claims of other creditors,'
'And how should [ do this-I am so
| ignorantf"
You must choose some person to act
for you, and give him a power of
attorney"
"And would you o Mr.. Phenix, for
my fathers sake-would you act for me ?''
II will for your own sake; but now tell
me where you are going, and on what YOU
are to live till this business is arranged ?''
az don't know exactly. Sarah told me
I could 60 to her fathers with her. till
things settled down, but then she thought
| that-that-"
"That you would sell the house and
furniture, and be a rich heiress still; but
| now that your riches are about to take to
themselves wings, what can you do?"
81 think l could be governess, per.
| haps, or a teacher Of little children in a.
| school, or I could embroider, or color
photographs.
Poor Annie's heart grew faint the ra-
| dance all faded from her eyes and the
| color from her face, as she enumerated
thus her little accomplishments. They
seemed so very little, and such a long
dull tract of lonely, toilsome life seemed
to stretch out before her, while lowering
above it cleaned and glistened in mock
| ing brightness the life of love and ioy
which would have been hers as Randolph
Bryan's wife-a life never now to be hers,
q" for his father will never consent to his
| wedding one who brings with her neither
riches nor good name"
"Poor child! you are faint-rest your
self and I will call Mrs. Phenix"
| But Annie would not be DELAYED; ac-
! ton, she felt, was the best medicine for
| her grief The arrangements were soon
J Mr.. Phenix her agent-her trunks were
| packed-and then came the important
question, "Where shall go?'' Sarah had
| departed in a rage with what she termed
| the absurdity of Annie's proceedings, ac-
| cusing her of unsisterly insensibility, and
assuring her that neither Robert nor she
would interfere with her hereafter, since
she had found another adviser. Annie
was not wholly destitute, for there still
remained III her purse nearly three hun
| dred dollars of the last money which
Robert had paid her, as dividend on her
shares of certain stock With this sum
she might have lived with tolerable COM
fort for some months at E., but in New
York she would be more likely to obtain
such employment as she could honestly
| engage to perform. But where could she
hope to find home at once cheap and re-
spectable-she who had never entered a
clearinghouse in her life? Her painful
| thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. Phe-
nix, whose kind heart had been stirred by
her husbands narration of his morning
interview with Annie. "Come to us, my
| child, for the present, you want quiet;
| things will shape themselves by and by
we will help you to look for employ
ment;" and so these good Samaritans
poured oil and wine into thu wounds they
knew Of-there was one they knew not of,
which was draining the life-blood from
the young heart. Annie had accepted
separation from Randolph Bryan; as a
consequence less of her poverty than of
the disgrace which had fallen on her
name, she had accepted it with mute des-
pair. "My father values an honorable
name more than millions of gold" were
words that rang in her ears even in her
dreams.
Randolph Bryan had fastened home on
wings supplied by love and hope His
father would be angry, doubtless, at his
marrying a Northern girl, but he could
not refuse him what he would see was so
necessary to his happiness, and he would
love Annie as soon as he saw her. She
was just what his father most admired in
woman. AS usual, hope had told fiat
tering tale. Mr.. Bryan utterly refused to
listen to his son. Randolph grew angry,
said willful words, and so threw darker
shadow around Annie's image in his
fathers mind. Thus, one morning, in the
second week after Randolph's return,
found the father and son sitting in almost
silent estrangement over their late and
luxurious breakfast The mailbag was
brought in, and, opening it, Mr.. Bryan
tossed contemptuously to his son a letter
bearing the New York pOst-mark. Ran
dolph tore it open, and sat in utter be-
wilderment over the few lines in which
Annie, with quietude that seemed to
him GOODNESS, released him from every
claim he had given her upon him. Poor
Childi how she had striven to suppress
the CRY of her heart as she wrote; there
was inst the one crushing fdct-he WAS
nothing to her now; what need of cries :?
she could die silently. Randolph, too,
was stunned He, too, saw only the fact
they were parted-wherefore !? He look
ed to his father, and saw him reading
eagerly a New York journal, while the
flush of anger was on his brow, and his
eyes cleaned like live Goals, as throwing
the paper to his son, he said:
"Read that, sir, and see with what you
would lave allied u.s."
Randolph read an account of the dis
honorable failure of Messrs. Braine 81
Bell-an account which certainly did not
extenuate aught. He read, and his heart
grew lighter. This, then, was Annie's
reason: She would not link him with dis
honor.
Father" he said. placing Annie's let
ter before Mr.. Bryan, "read that, and do
my poor Annie justice.t
Mr.. BRYAN read, and was silent
Father, | ask YOU as a gentleman,
what answer should [ make to such a let
| ter?''
Slowly, reluctantly, doubtless, MI. Bryan
answered, but decidedly: =.
"You must 90, my son, and bring her
back with you. You had best set out to-