Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1876-08-11
THE DAUGHTERS SACRIFICE.

No bark OF the stranger
Shall ever know.
THE DAUGHTERS SACRIFICE.
Mary Goldthwait was sitting by the well.
filed CRATE in her fathers drawing-room.
1t was on cold evening in winter, and
the wind howled mournfully around the
street corners and through the alleys. Ma
ry was pale, slim girl, but possessing a
beauty which even the most fastidious
could not have questioned. Her hair,
which was deep golden brown, lay neatly
waving upon brow as pure as snow, and
the soft, lustrous eyes, which seemed to
have the same deep golden hue, shed a
light from the soul which could only have
emanated from source of purity and
worth. She had seen eight and twenty
years OF life, and yet she remained maid
en-, beneath her fathers roof. A close cal
culator of physiognomy would have said
that Mary had some heart-grief that made
her look so pale. So she had, though per-
haps no one save herself, on earth, knew
all her heart-secrets. She had lost be-
loved mother when she was twenty, and
since that she had seen one brother andlone
elder sister laid away in the tomb. She
sat now with Aer small hands clasped over
her bosom, and her eyes turned downward
till the long lashes lay like golden pencil
lings upon her cheek.
Near her, in his great armchair, sat her
father. He was tall, slim man, whose
head was white, and whose face was deep
ly furrowed by the hand of time. There
were some kind marks upon his features,
and some cold ones but now he looked
troubled and very unhappy.
"Mary," he said, in continuation of a
conversation already commenced, ''for
eight and-and-twenty years have found a
home for you, and your every wish has
been promptly met and answered. Your
good has been my highest aim; and your
peace and happiness my only joy. You are
advancing in years, and soon your father
must leave you alone. But I-I-cannot
leave you at the mercy of the cold world
Now good home is open to you, and you
must accept it. Men might call me- selfish
could they know all my motives; but I am
sure you will not. A crisis has come a
volcano has grown up beneath my feet. In
a few more short days it must whelm me
in utter ruin, if be not saved. Mr.. Smith
has asked me for your hand. He has seen
you at school, and has watched you mar
rowly. He loves you, He is wealthy
more wealthy than your father was. And
he holds notes Of mine-notes to the a.
mount of a hundred thousand dollars"
"But your name is not alone on these
notes ?" grasped Mary.
"No-only the first of four ; but am
holden for the whole. Yet the quarter
part of this is more than sufficient to ruin
me-"
ssAnd Mr.. Smith makes my hand the
equivalent?s'
eyes. Or-I must say, he has not said
so. But he knows my situation, aud know
ing it, he has asked for the hand of my
child. All, Mary! 1t does seem that God
has kept your hand till now that it might
be the means of lifting your old father up
from ruin. You have even rejected suitors
whom I have favored but do not think
you have rejected a better man than Mr.
Smith,
All, that old man had forgotten one.-
He had forgotten bright-haired youth
who once laid his heart at Mary's feet
But there was long years ago, and his
mind went not back so far.
CHOW, what shall 1 tell Mr.. Smith?'
':My heart is all broken and torn" she
said, gazing sadly into her fathers face.
"but my hand is free. Tell Mr.. Smith
this: Tell him will give him my hand to
save my father, and forget not to tell him
that my heart is not in the trade, for !
would not deceive him."
ooh, you will love him, Mary. He has
promised that you shall have all you can
ask for, and know he will be kind.''
ct have said that will marry him." the
young maiden returned, "and so you may
tell him. But you will only cruelty deceive
him.did you tell him more. Tell him my
father has cared for and protected me
through weary life, and that now am
ready to save father from ruin. Tell him
this, and then he shall know ALL"
81 shall tell him to come tomorrow
evening, Mary, for so he wishes: Oh,
know you will be happy. He will make
you one of the best husbands. He is rich
very rich"
Tin what, my father?''
The old man started at these words, for
they were spoken very strangely.
Gin the goods of this world, and in-in-
honor and manhood" he replied.
Mary did not speak further, for she wish
ed not to worry her father. She knew that
his soul was already tortured by misfor-
tune and commercial calamity, and she
would not make her sacrifice for him I'M
grateful, by casting shade of reproach
upon him.
Ere long old Andrew Goldthwait allowed
his feeling to run in more pleasing chan
mel. The ruin which had stared him in
the face was to be averted. and in his soul
he believed that his child would not be one
whit worse off for the transaction. He
knew Mr.. Smith to be kind and honora-
BILE man. He fancied, too, that he
l. u l--