The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1875-04-30

He had entered unheard. His coun-
tenance was calm, but also stern, as he
addressed first the father, then the daugh-
ter.
"Mr. Western" he said, "control
yourself. Miss Western; am 1 to con-
slider you refuse my proposition to make
you my wife ?"
Mr.. Massin," replied Lucie, tremb-
ling very much as she rose, "though
deeply sensible of the great honor you
would do me-for which, indeed, L am
grateful must decline. Not only is
such position far too exalted for one of
my station, but, as probably you just
now heard, my love is already given. 1
am sorry to cause you pain-very, Ve1y
sorry, for you have been so kind, and
and l would not, could help it, be the
cause of GRIEF to any one"
She averted her head, unable to sup
press her tears.
"This is your irrevocable replys" he
asked.
SIT is"
"That is enough, 4" he rejoined, quit
ting the room, and taking the farmer
with him. "Not word further" he
said, getting on his horse. "You shall
hear from me this evening""
The Squire was true to his promise.
AS Lucie sat in her own room, exhausted
with suffering, she heard her fathers
step on the stair. A second after he
entered the apartment. His healthy face
was pale and wrathful, his tones hoarse,
as, casting letter on the table, he said /:
Read that.
Amazed, suspecting more trouble,
Lucie complied, and read with horror.
The writing consisted only of few
matter-of-fact lines, stating that, unless
Lucie consented to marry Gerald Massin,
the farmer must consider his lease can
celed, as the Squire would desire the
land for himself.
a" He is villain - cried Lucie, start
ing up Indignantly.
Villain or not" exclaimed the far
mer, sinking into chair, and dropping
his head on the table with a groan, "I
am ruined-I have worked and toiled in
Northumberland and you, my own
daughter, Lucie, are the cause /; for you
might have, and yet could, save me-"
"Oh father-father, do not say thatw
she cried, falling on his neck "you
break my heart All if you only knew
how l love Claud I cannot be false to
him."
$50, then-marry him !" calculated
the farmer wrathfully. "Be happy, and
leave me to ruin beggary. What do
you carel Go, say -
He thrust her angrily from him.
With cry of despair, she fell insensi-
BILE to the floor.
Two months passed, and the support
Lucie had looked for in Claud Percival's s
presence did not arrive. Not line had
she had from him neither did he come.
She was weighed down by misery and
doubt-doubt whether she. was doing
right to sacrifice her father, to whom she
owed her birth, for her own happiness,
or even Claud's. She looked at the far
mer she noted his gloom, his indiffer-
stirred abroad in the farm, which already
he had received notice to quit. 1t might
be his death, and she-yes, she could not
deny it-would be the cause.
That idea conquered her.
One evening, crossing to him, putting
her hand on his, she said:
"Father, tell Gerald Massin 1 will
marry him."
What Lucie I" cried John Western,
starting erect, "you will?"
"I will save you from ruin, father.
Say no more. Let me be alone," she
sighed, and carried her tears and break
ing heart to her own room.
Gay and many were the preparations
for the master Of Holme Manor's we'd
ding. In all that part of Edenshire
in Lucie's breast. Gladly would she
have acquainted Claud with what had
happened but she was unaware of his
address and now she dreaded his COM
ing. She felt his look of horror and dis
tress would kill her. But he made no
sign.
4
The wedding-day arrived. Wishing
for death, she attired herself in her
bridal clothes, and descended to the
parlor, where she expected Farmer Wes-
tern to be awaiting her.
1t was not he, however, who stood by
the window-not he who, turning, caused
her, with wild shrek, to sink, half
fainting, to the floor.
1t was Claud Percival, the artist.
They were his arms which clasped her;
it was he who Iaised her to chair it
was his anxious face, rs he knelt by her
side, that her eyes first rested upon.
"Oh, heavens !" she gasped "why
did either live for this Go--go, Claud'
In pity, leave me"
"No, Lucie," he reioined, clasping
her hand, 81 have been fool--an idiot;
yet in thus seeing you, bitterly am |
punished for what / have done. Will
you ever pardon me when you hear 2"
Pardon youl 1t is II who need
that2" she sobbed. "Oh, Gland il
was to save my father This is my
wedding day."
CT know it, darling"
"Know it ! and you speak thus9"
eyes," he smiled. You have promised
to marry the master of Holme Manor,
and am he"
"You |" she shrieked.
I" Yes ; be composed, sweet love, and
listen. A year back, before l knew 1
should be its owner, came here inco0-
nito to visit the place. saw you, Lucie
Il loved-the affection of the poor
artist was returned. When, unexpected
ly, found myself its owner and rich, an
idea-I see now foolish one by those