Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1875-07-02

Radnor sought to make his child as good
scholar as he was. Mrs. Courtney, a thor
ough musician, trained the little fingers
over the ivory keys, and taught the sweet
young voice its modulations while old
Karl, the only indoor man servant, Ger
man, had the little lady in the saddle as
soon as she could sit erect. Altogether,
she grew up as carefully trained and ac-
complished young lady as the world ev-
er saw. But that same world was to her
far-away place, of whose kingdoms and
republics she read in history-whose loves
and hates were subjects for the poets pen,
but of which she never thought TO know
aught save from hear-say-whose tempta-
tions, trials, daily struggles, tolls, pleasures
and pains, were unmeaning words on her
ears. Far more unsophsticated than ma
ny child of ten years, was Elise Radnor
in her early womanhood.
1t was her eighteenth birthday. She sat
in the simple room called her own, read
ing from a book that had been her morn
ing's present, beautifully bound Goethe.
1t was her fathers gin; her aunts was
dressing ease, inlaid with silver. Elise
was far better looking than she had herself
any idea of. Her figure was slender and
graceful her face, refined by inborn court
esy, gentleness, and intellect, was one of
rare sweetness, its eyes expressing genius,
the soft brown hair shading it like halo.
A chld's face yet, but promising TO be one
simply perfect in its maturity.
She was thus sitting, poring rapidly ovor
the quaint German characters that she
loved so well, when summons came for
her from the library, and she went at once.
They were waiting TO receive her, her
father and aunt, that gentleman and lady
now growing into years; tall aud stately
both, and very much like each other-not
in the least like Elise. OF the blonde type,
their snowy locks, blue eyes, and gentle
faces, carrying the pain of their buried
sorrows, were strikingly unlike the brill
liant girl, whose youth contrasted with
their memory haunted age. Something
solemn in their aspect struck Elise, and
her usual buoyant step was stayed. She
saw with n kind of dread that some expla-
nation was going to be entered on-an ex-
PLANTATION that thrilled every vein within
her. Seated between her father and aunt,
they told her that it was judged by them
time, now she was eighteen, to speak TO
her OF her mother, of whom she had new
ee heard. Elise had supposed her dead.
1t was a sad story. Mr.. Radnor was
nearly middle-aGed man when he had
welded his wife, girl young and lovely
as Elise. He was in extensive business as
merchant, and very wealthy. having a
young wife did not love him; she had
loved a cousin who was poor, and the mar
riage was forced on her by her parents.
But of that Mr.. Radnor had known moth
ing. The death of his partner in India
had caused Mr.. Rsdnor 10 undertake a
voyage there soon afer the birth of Elise.
The vessel was wrecked, and all souls were
supposed to have perished.
Alas it was somewhat the same story
that has siuce been given TO the world by
the poet Tennyson, in the poem of "Enoch
Arden" Mr.. Radnor and few more Of
the passengers escaped on raft to an un-
inhabited island. Months elapsed before
they were landed in China, to which coun-
try the rescuing ship was bound, and be-
fore Mr.. Radnor could communicate with
home. Some subtle instinct of i'll, or
dread, lay upon him; and he returned
home without the delay Of day, neglect
ing his business in India, neglecting all.
When he reached home and stood before
his wife, he found she had been for four
months the wife of her cousin. The shock
was greater than she could bear 1t acted
upon a mind never very well balanced an
attack Of brain fever came on, and ii leit
her hopelessly insane.
Mr.. RadnOr gave up business and buried
himself at Leahold. His visits twice a
year had been to The asylum that contain
ed his poor raving wife. The cousin was
dead.
"My darling" he said TO Elise, "I would
have spared you all these details, but that
you would inevitably learn them when you
60 out into the world, and you cannot be
kept in this secluded spot forever. Cir
cum stances have hurried the explanation.
The poor bliGhted life is drawing to a close;
and as your mothers strength fails her
reason is returning. have had letter
from the resident doctor this morning; he
says that a few days must see the ending,
and her one haunting desire, her sole cry
is that she may see you, her child. We
must go to ber, Elise"
"Yes papa, we must go TO her." was the
echoing answer But it came in dull,
dry, hard voice, as If the strange story
were pressing too heavily on the heart and
brain. Another moment and the girl had
burst into a storm Of hysterical, irrepressi-
BILE tears.
They started on the journey. No need TO
tell OF the painful interview with the poor
woman, then dying. Elise saw her own
face reflected in the one, worn and wasted
by disease, lying on its snowy pillow.
They waited for the funeral, taking up
their abode in the neighborlng hotel; and
on the following day prepared to return to
Leahold. No one knew what this had been
to Elise, or how passionately she felt the
early wrong, unconscious though 1t had
been, dealt out TO her father by his wife.
The unthinking love of her childhood was
increased hundred-fold. 1t was her moth
er who had crushed his noble heart; and
she resolved that all the devotion of her
life should be given TO atone for it.
All being ready for their departure, they
were in the hall of the hotel, waiting while
the luggage was placed on the carriage that
would convey them TO the station, when,
to the extreme surprise of Elise, she saw
her father, for the first time in her recol-
lection, greet friend. A gentleman had
entered, and two names were called out
upon impulse.
Godfrey Huntington r.
"Thomas Radnorr
Elsie looked up to see face as old as her