The morning star and Catholic messenger. [volume] (New Orleans [La.]) 1868-1881, 1875-11-28

aco1stomed to the gloom, I saw that no was q
martial looking man, with eyes SO Keen tnat
| sickness could hardly dull them, and o bearing
that indicated the stern will, the clear intel
| lect, and the lofty bonhome of an old Flemish
| gentilhomwe He looked at me with. curious
and prolonged interest, then said, in voice
| full Of bygone courtesy:
"'Wili monsieur be seated have made no
mistake in the nameT
"'No,' l answered, wondering what inc
question meant.
"'Then, monsieur, 1 have important news
for you. The daughter of your brother-,-
Il was already bewildered, and looked up.
He continued, taking my surprise for interest:
The daughter of your poor brother is now
great heiress, and 1 hold her fortune in trust
for her-do not interrupt me- he said, eagerly
preventing me from speaking, it tires me, and
I I must say all this at once. do not know II
you know of her being taken from her parents
when n child of course you recoliect that'
there was great fracas, and poor Marie's
father disnherited her OF once. When the
child was born-I was her godfather, by the
ged of the grandfather to help and forgive
them, the more your brother was making
his poor wife very unhappy. He refused, and,
| an old college friend of mine), he was obstinate
on this point. The child grew, aud the parents
were on worse terms every year Marles
father held out against every inducement;
your poor-brother- forgive nae, monsieur-fell
| into. bad company, and made his home perfect
hell; bis wife was broken. hearted, but would
|
was for her child. Il proposed to her to take
the responsibility myself of putting the little
one out of reach of this dreadful example
of divided household, and she consented. The
| father stormed and raved when he found the
| child was gone, but for once his wife opposed
him, and refused to let him know her where
abouts. Every year l interceded with the
I grandfather, who consented to support the
| little girl, but would never promise to leave
her q competency at his death. One day, sud
denly, your poor brother died.
/ MI rO+ hnl,N ,forft hn r1yvl on
g. Oh be resumed, did you not know bow
he died Pardon me, monsieur, rememo Der
now that none of his English kin followed him
to the grave, but had heard your name be-
fore'
$50 Monsieur began, fearing that he might
| be led on to talk of family secrets such as he
might not wish to share with a stranger, you
have told me strange tale; but allow me to
undeoeive you
"sHow did you deceive me p he asked i'm
patiently, and 1, remem beripg the old DANES
| warning not to excite him, was puzzled how to
act. In the meanwhile he went on:
| 80 En- bien! The mother then went to Eng.
land. to the school where her child was and
saw her, but she did not long survive the wear
and tear of her wretched life, and the grief her
husbands death caused her-for, poor woman,
"J Just like q woman, God bless herv Imur-
INJURED involuntarily. The old man bent his
head in cordial assent, but Immediately re-
sumed: Her father blessed her before she
died, and promised to care for the little girl.
He then drew up this will here he laid his
hand on thick packet on the desk and en-.
trusted it to me. The child was nine years old
then, and that was fifteen years ago. She was
to be told nothing till her twenty-frst BIRTH
day, and to be brought up in England, nm
conscious of anything save that she was the
some years, and then my old friend died. 1
continued to send regular remittances to the
little girls temporary guardians; the bulk OF
chest perhaps it was foolish fancy, but did
not care to have it in a common bank. The
war came aud passed over the flower of our
land, and you see, monsieur, what it has left OF
my former self. Well, after time, five OF six
years ago, 1 ceased hearing from my little
ward was unable to get up and search for
her; all that establishments and correspond
ence could do did, and my chief endeavor was
to find you. l thought, if anything were
likely, this was; she would go to you, he.
fathers STEP brother, a different man, as
always heard her mother say, from what hel
own unhappy parent had been.'
But | said. allow me to correct mis-
take, monsieur; l never had step-brother, OIL
brother either
r "What the old man exclaimed nervously
you meant Do not joke about S ~;
aud wavy, your figure tall and stall wart-tha
was the portrait of my poor little wards uncle
, different man, of different blood, as we'll o
different name, from her father
} "'Do not tell me any names, monsieur"
insisted, until have told you who am
, {" He looked at me, still agitated, bis browt
! knitted, and his lips qaivered. told him my
name, birth, country, profession, and assured
3 him that 1, an only son, had never heard of any
story like his. He seemed thunder-struck, anC
could hardly take in the idea; but, recollectini
himself, said Pardon me, monsieur, but
> have, then, caused you great Inconvenience
His politeness now seemed overwhelming
he was in despair; he was desole. What coult
be do = How could he apologize :, quieted hin
! as best l could by protesting the utmost ir
: difference about the delay. and begged him
though would solicit no other confidence, tC
8 consider my lips as sealed, and, if he wished it
/. my services as entirely at his disposal.
He smiled curiously, then said: The bes
apology can make is to tell you the whole
9 Your name and initials misled me. Having
3 heard that you were in Bruges, 1 sent my mes
9 senger, who, it seems. only reached you as 20,
1 were on the point of starting for Ostend.
thought it was my wards uncle had found
and, never having seen him, could not tell i
you were the wrong man. l must continue tx
l try and find him ; if fail-never mind, wan
s to tell You her name. She is Philippa Dun
!, combe, and, when saw her last, she was
8 dark child, quick, peculiar, and resolute. 1t i
i so long sgo that could give You NO idea o