Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1877-08-17

friends with an unknown relative. His
manner was natural, his voice very gem
tie, and Fanny felt at once that he treated
her with as much Difference as If she had
had been peeress instead of poor lit
tie dressmaker. What he thought of her
she did not learn till long afterward;
but certain II is that the image of a
sweet, pale girl, in a brown dress, haunted
Walter Fenwick's mind for many day.
"Your uncle wants us to 90 and live
with him, Fanny" said Mrs. Kennaway,
tremulously. "Ilc is widowcr, and has
only housekceper to take care of him.
Shall VIC goS"
"Will you come and be my child,
Fanny" asked Mr., Fenwick. She turned
and looked steadfastly at him for mo.
ment, with her eyes full of tears. And
then, slowly and gratefully, she answered
Yes"
Only fortnight after Mr.. Fenwick's
visit, the inhabitants of George street ran
to their doors to catch last glimpse of
the Kcnnaways. The two women came
very quietly out of the little house and
entered the fly that waited for them and
their luggage. Mrs. Marks waved q
fearful farewell; her husband stood on
the pavement, smiling broadly to hide
his real feelings, and then the vehicle
ratified away, and the folks went in doors
again, saying that they supposed the rich
uncle was going to make lady of little
Fanny.
And how was it, meanwhile, with Will
lam Parr? His intimacy with those gay
friends, the Derrys, had come to an end
with the summer. Julia got tired of his
attentions, and snubbed him; her elders
said to each other that young PARIS fire.
quent visits were becoming quite a nui.
sance; even Tom at last gave him the
cold shoulder. They were heartless
set, he said to himself, feeling abomi-
nably ill used. And then it suddenly oc'
Cured to him that he was only getting
the very same measure that he had meted
to another.
alt serves me right for treating Fan
ny badly" he mused. "She was worth
hundred Julias. And she is such a
good, forgiving little thing, that almost
think she'd make it up with me if went
back to her again"
1t was chilly evening in late autumn
when William Parr once more took his
way to George street. A host of old rec
objections came crowding round him as
he drew near Fanny's home; he began
to wonder how he could have stayed
away from her so long, and to be eager
for the first glimpse of her sweet face
He knew just how she would look; his
fancy painted the glow and brightness
that would welcome him. There was a
light in her parlor--a warm, chcery beam,
that told him he would find her sitting
as usual at her sewing.
81 won't make dozen wretched eX.
cuses," thought the young man. "Tll
just ask her to forgive me, and tell her
that l could not live without her"
He knocked at the door, and stood
waiting with throbbing heart for Fan
ny to open it, A few seconds passed
away, then ne heard the inside latch lift
ed, and stood face to face with a tall
hard d-featured woman in widows cap.
"Is Miss Kennaway within?" he fall
tered.
"She doesn't live here" responded the
woman, shortly.
"Not live here" said William. "Then
where is she? Can you give me any in
formation?"
81 don't know anything about her
I've heard that some people named Ken
naway lived here before came, but
that's all can tell you"
William turned away from the dool
like one half stunned. 1t was all so diff
ferent from the pleasant and pathetic
scene he had been picturing that ht
could hardly believe in this stern reality
And then, as he still stood dreaming or
the pavement, he bethought him of Mrs
Marks. She had been the Kennaways
familiar friend, and would surely know
something about their change of resi-
dence.
AlasI Mrs. Marks house was quiet
and dark. The shutters were closed
not CLEAN of light could be seen with
in, and Williams knock remained unan
swered.
"That house is empty" said a girls
voice at his elbow, and looking around
he saw a decently-clad lassie with par
Gel under her arm. "The Marks are gone
away to live somewhere in the country,
she added.
"Can you tell me what has become
of Mrs. Kennaway and her daughter?'
William asked, eagerly.
"Thcy're gone to London. Some rich
gentleman found out they were his neal
relations, and he has taken them to live
with him."
Without another word William walked
away, hardly knowing what direction he
was taking. Until that moment he had
never realized how strong was the tic
that had bound him to little Fanny. He
had neglected her-trifled with himself
and his best feelings and well.nigh
broken her heart; but had he really
never ceased to love her? She was gone
she had quietly vanished out of his way
and made no sign.
Three years passed away. William
Parr had stepped into the place left va
cant by the death of a senior clerk, his
salary had been raised, and he hac
moved into better quarters. Perhaps il
he had sought to renew his intimacy will
the DerrYs he might not have been re
pulsed, but he was now a. sadder anC
wiser man. The sense of loss had never
entirely left him, nor had he as yet founC
anyone who could be what Fanny haC
been. No tidings of her had ever come
to her old lover; in the days of their in
tercourse she had been silent about he
uncle Fenwick, and William had no
even heard his name.
One day it happened that William Par
was dispatched to London to transac
some business for his employer. 1t wa
winter, but the weather was clear ant
sunshiny, and when he arrived at tn
great metropolitan station it wanted al
hour to noon. Among the numbers wait
ing on the platform one figure attracted
Williams eye at once; it was that of /
lady, richly dressed in velvet and sable
who was evidently looking out eagerl,
for some one in the train. As she caugh
a glimpse of the face she was watchin,
for, her own frightened and flushed in
way that William well remembered. Jus
so had she greeted him when he ha,
been wont to pay his evening visits t,
the little house in George street a lonl
time ago.
A quiet-looking gentleman steppe,
out of first-class carriage, and wa
about to draw her hand through his arm
n