The Portland daily press., 1875-01-16

Of her room; but the key was turned. ana
the footsteps glided away down the nall. The
merry fire was tired OF flashing and spark
linz and nlayipg with the dark, and the room
was growing cold. when en- lifted her
head. and. as strength came TO hers began
putting off the pretty ornaments from her
neck and hair. The whole world seemed
changed to her, Just as her room had changed
with the dying fire.
She took off her bright dress, and all her
yellow hair was falling about her shoulders,
when she sat down on the floor again before
the smou!dering embers, and let the scene OF
that evenings sorrow pass before her mind.
Let it! She could not cease to see her ia
TIERS determined face, could not shut from
her ears one word that he had spoken, when
be drew her tenderly toward him.
s'Helen, my darling" he had said, "a great
trouble has come to you. Try to be brave.
Oh, if you mother were living now, she
would help you better than l can. My little
girl, my Helen, the man you love, the man
whom I would have let you marry, Isis an
Internal rascal. Helen!'
She slipped from his protecting arm and
stood alone. Then she saw that there were
tears in his eyes.
81 don't think I know what you mean.
have never heard you speak SO. Is 1t about
Henry? Is it my dear Henry?"
she can never be anything to you again,
my daughter. He is a villain. Oh, my pre-
cious child, my little girl, try to be brave.
Don't break down."
He was walking wildly up and down the
room. She was standing perfectly still.
81 am trying so hard to understand what
you say to me, father. VINO says tnlsT why
do you believe it?'
81 know it. Money with which I trusted
him has gone to the four winds. He is a
gambler. He is worse than that"
"What has he done?" She sat down on
chair that was near.
He has forged my name"
"Where is hep"
"He has left the country; he has run away.
I must have been terribly blind and foolish
not to understand that man. Your mother
would have known. Nothing will be done,
nothing will be known OF all this put tha 70. l
have broken the engagement. 1t my lite
could have saved you from sorrow, / would
have given it, LIZ
The poor old father was perfectly unnamed
by this blow that had fallen upon his child.
She was still calm, and had shed no tear, but
the look of anguish on her face seemed to
proclaim broken heart.
She came and leaned over her father where
he sat with his head bowed down upon his
hands. She raised his face and kissed him. :.
'.Father," she said, 81 shall bear this; it
will not kill me-" ia. B
Then she had left him, and seeking her
own room had locked herself in. ~
She was brave. She tried to let no one see
that she suffered; but it was tragedy in
which she was cast for the heroint's part.
And her fathel, who watched her closely, saw
that she was growing pale and wan and SO
at last he did the only thing he could think OF
he sent her to Europe. 4I.f 80 1
She was gone three months with her aunt
and cousins.
julia and Jane thinking that experience
must make her advice valuable, confided to
her constantly their miserable little firta-
tions. Two other cousins who were in the
party. John and James, both fell in love with
Helen, and proposed each one to make her
his wife. Then she wrote to her father:
'sLet me come home: l am weak and tool
ish girl to let this trouble SO change my nature;
but nothing that used to care for gives me
pleasure now feel tired and old" 5ft5 9
When she was again in her own home, she
said, 81 suppose you wanted to find what
they call distraction for me, and was nearly
misunderstanding to smile. tits OF no
use, papa. The words of that dreadful old
song are ALWAYS singing themselves in my
ears to their stupid old tune:
ssFrom sport to sport they hurry me 80
To Danish my regret, Eg #
And when they win smile from me, ~ y
They think that forget
She began to sing it, but she broke down,
and cried instead. Then her father knew
that his experiment had not succeeded.
Helen was a girl who would have done we'll
auy duty to which she directed her attention.
1t had fallen to her lot to be woman of the
world, and she had devoted herself to gay
society. Perhaps the trial through which
| had passed shook some of the chaff out of
| her nature, leaving what was stronger and
more useful; for when she came back to the
| life which she had left, she was no longer
satisfied with it, and she became con-
scious of longing for some decided oc-
cupation, Until now her life had been per-
fectly smooth and bright. She had never
known want or sorrow, or disappointment.
She had never been very angry ever, for her
| temper was naturally sweet, and her father
! had stood between her and whatever might
| harass her. He had also striven to shield
| her from a knowledge of the misery and the
| suffering of the world. He loved her better
| than his life, and he was foolish and senti-
mental about her. He thought he could
| keep her fair pure face always as fair and
happy. that not even a shadow from the sor-
| row that belongs to humanity should fall
| upon her brow and now he had tailed in
! this, and his daughter was outgrowng his
/ wisdom, seeking for paths beyond the beds OF
| flowers wherein he would have her walk for
| ever, he looked on in amazement, with no
resource to offer but the amazement that he
had given her always.
| "You want something to do, my dear?
Well, suppose you take riding lessons; that
| will be good exercise, I'm sure" ia
She arranged for herself course OF read
| ing-a volume of Macaulay's England to be
| taken every week. The task was soon ac-
| complished She revived her drawing les
| sons and her singing lessons, and for a time
| she practiced faithfully; but Helen was not
| of a nature so essentially artistic that art of
| itself could form an aim for her, She loved
| pictures, and she had them about her; she
| loved music-but all as adornments to her
| life, not as necessities. Thus there was no
| real object in anything she did; she had to
| create for herself forced interest in all that
| she undertook, and she felt that her time
| was wasted.
Miss Hetty Malcolm was one OF the best
| women in the world. She was little lady
| with that sort OF peaceful, gentle beauty that
comes to all good women who have passed
| their youth. She went about the city in her
| quiet brown dress, and no heels on her boots,
| doing good every where-sometmes with
| deeds, sometimes with money, sometimes on
| Nv with kind words. She had known Helen's
mother, and she loved Helen, and knew all
about the trouble that had come to her, and
she partly Guessed, too at the unrest and
longing that the girl felt.
"Helen." said She, 81 wish that you loved
little children-that you liked to be with
them and to amuse them."
81 don't, Miss Hetty. They bother me,
and make me cross"
"Have ever told you about the hospital
that my nephew has under his care? There
are sometimes fifty little children. There is
great deal of suffering and pain among
them, but they are so patient and sweet, 1t
does me good to be near them. And then
they are SO well and tenderly cared for! VIII