The Tiffin tribune. (Tiffin, Ohio) 1868-1887, 1877-05-03
The Sins of the Fathers.

A broad aTchWay, the gloom Of its
chill, murky shadow only Geepened
! by the flicker of the shattered gas
lamp that hangs from the center, its
silence only broken by the agonized
weeping of a poor girl who strived to
still the thrObbing of her temples by
pressing them against the clammy
stones while, little as one would inn
agine il, but few PAGES separated her
from the crowd and glare of the wide
streets-sucn scene is too common
after nightfall in the heart of a great
English manufacturing town. As
such it did not at first produce very
startling effect upon Leonard Vincent,
who, as he wss hurrying home by
short cuts from social gathering of
fellow students, was stopped at the
mouth of the archway by the sounds
of distress that fell upon his ear but
his interest was more vividly awak-
ened as he caught glimpse of the up
turned face family illImined by the
light which just then a guest of wind
blew into a flame. The dark, flash
ing eye, the long, black hair all un-
kempt aud streaming over the girls
shoulders, the face, lovely in its out
| lines, now weird with its look Of
agony and CHASTITY pale, made pic
ture such IS he had never looked on,
and held him for q moment as i'm
movable as though he had been gaz-
| ing upon the head of Medusa. 1t was
but moment, however, that he re-
mained irresolute. Stepping quietly
/ up to the sobbing girl, who was too
much absorbed in her own grief to
notice his presence, Vincent touched
/ her lightly on the shoulder. She in
stantly turned around to meet his
gaze, suppressing with q sudden and
violent effort any trace of her emo
| ton save the great tears, which she
could not at once check in their
course down her cheeks. The cheeks
were pale and somewhat sunken, as IL
| hunger as well as grief had begun to
mar her beauty, and, as she looked at
the young mans face a proud, impa-
tient gaze, her tightly compressed lips
trembling despite her efforts, she
aroused in him a feeling of the pro-
foundest compassion.
For some minutes they stood regard
ing each other in silence /; then, as he
Vincent began to address her, though
with difidence. "May ask the cause
of your grief? Do not think me
rude. ask because / might-it is
my wish to help yOu."
The young man, usually somewhat
brusque in his manner of addressing
his interiors in station, was himself
surprised at the tone be was led to
~ ha Il hafnwo
him, and the plain, much worn char
aeteT OF her dress, showed that she be-
lOnged to the lower class yet
he almost quailed before her look, and
felt ltunconsciOusIy that in nature she
was not beneath him.
The object of his compassion stood
for a moment as if undecided /; then,
the proud expression on her face still
unaltered, replied briefly and in a low
quick voice
81 wish to be alone. You are very
kind. do not need help"
Leonard Vincent smiled in spite of
his pity.
"You must allow me to doubt that"
he said. "Will you not trust me? 1t
is not from mere curiosity that l ask
your confidence. I feel sure can help
you, if you will let me.n
Again she replied quickly, but the
tone was not that OF her former
speech
"You are very kind. 1t is long since
1 have been spoken to kindly. But
need no help, indeed need none"
The young man again smiled as he
looked in her still unmOved face.
"You are very proud" ne said. "It |
is long since l met any one so proud. |
l am proud too. Will you not cOnide |
in 8 kindred spirit ?'
1t was now her turn to smile, and |
for = moment her countenance bright |
ened with look that was like the |
faint memory of happiness long past. |
1t was enough that there was a sign |
of relenting. Vincent continued to |
urge her, and, after few moments of |
hesitation, she seemed about to COM |
ply with his request.
"Why should trouble you with q |
miserable story? You know it all be- |
fore 1 begin. And yet, perhaps, you
seem as il you had y good home and
good parents; will tell you in a few
words. 1t will make me cry again /; !
that is good for my pride"
Then she told, briefly and plainly,
the story of her young days of q !
happy childhood in a little market
town in the south of England, of |
school days, and the joys of loving |
companions. All was happy till her
father, who had been a small farmer,
died, and her mother, a beautiful
woman, yielded to their rich land
lords entreaties, and married him. |
She had acted on an impulse Of pride, !
and her punishment was severe. Lsu-
"a Lindon, her only child, was
hated by her step-fatber, chiefly be-
cause she would not give up her old
rustic friends. The man, whose na-
ture was coarse and vulgar, abused
the poor girl dreadfully, till at length |
her life became intolerable to her.
HWhat could I do2 could not kill
myself for my poor mothers sake
so L resolved TO leave him. | came |
north, accompanied by girl Of my |
own age, who had always been my |
best friend. For few weeks we just |
managed to live on what we got for
sewing, and then poor Lizzie would |
not bear that hard life any longer, and |
left me. Do not ask me what has
become of her dare not think. / |
have seen her once since T; God grant |
may never see her again. And my
self? You see me am alive, and |
that is all, I can no longer earn |