Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1878-12-27
) TAUNTON, VIRGINIA, FRIDAY, DECEMBER 81, 1878.
Katie, he exclaims, s'you don't mean

Woulu nave Deen your wife IN your pow
erty- oh! so gladly-and worked for you
with all my heart; but now-now that you
take the portion of that woman worse than
widowed, of those children worse than ia
therless, would die frst.''
The gentle eyes flashed, into the palt
cheeks an indignant glow leaped, and thu
soft, tender voice rang tas he had never
heard it before.
But tn S is ill nonsense, KATIE; he
led impatiently. "sIeer nonsense! Ash
{your father''-a smile crossed Katie's lips,
TASK anybody if this money is not fairly
mine. Rose Hatton. an obstinate, head
strong schoolgirl. elopes with scoundrel
who only seeks her fathers money, and
she is dsinherited, as she deserved. L am
his sist RS son, and to me what she re-
signed has fallen"
Her father forgave he before he died,
and would have made another will if an
other day hal been given him.
''L"ok here, Katle,'' says Hattcn, still
'impatienIly. 81 will seek out my cousin
Rose, and if she leaves her wretch of a
husband, I'll provide for her and the little
ones. Will that satisfy your"
| 81 know Rose Hatton," Katie answers
''She was proud and obstinate, and would
die of starvation sooner than accept as a
charity what is hers by right"
| He comes close and stands before her,
his eyes flashing angrily.
81 must eiGher choose between resigning
you or my uncle's fortune 20
"You must. D
eff l resign it, am paurer as before,
and your father will order me from his
doors. You will not disobey your father,
so in either case am to lose you.'
Il love you, Harry" she says, with
gasp. 81 would wait-''
"Thank you," he says, with a short
laugh; THAT is poor consolation. You are
a woman. and waiting may be easy to you
l am man and don't choose to wait.
Since must lose you in any case, I'll not
lose my money as well. Goodnight Miss
Englehart. [ wish you a very merry
Christmas.
"Harry !" she cries.
But he had gone, gone in fine fur
banging the street door after him, and i
is her father, white with passion, who
STANDS before her.
Twice the Christmas tide has come and
gone; twich the joyful anthem of ''Peace
on earth, to men good WILL" had sounded
down the stately aisles of st. Phillips, and
the third time is here. Once more it is
Christmas Eve; once more altar and pulpit
are wreathed with evergreens: once more
the voices of the choristers rise to the vaul-
ted roof: once more the slender brown
eyed organist sits at her post, her fingers
evoking wondrous music from those pearl |
white keys. But the face has graver
beauty, t g dark eyes sad ler light than
of old, and for the silks and sables of other
days er dress is deepest mourning, plain
of make and poor of texture.
The last piece is sung-something grand
and old and triumphant, and go ID night,
Miss Englehart,' one and all cry, as they
futter away and down the stairs, She |
smiles her farewell, but fingers after they
have gone, as is her custom, and as her
hands float over the KEYS and her eyes rest
on the music, she is thinking of another
Christmas Eve, three years ago, and of her
father and lover, who stood .by her side
that night.
She has lost them botb-the lover then,
never to hear Of or see since; the father
one year ago. A great financial cricis had
come, had involved shrewd lawyer Engle-
hart, and swamped him. He had broken
down under the blow, and IN less than
three months after was dead and buried.
He had never forgiven Katie Ter refusal
of Harry Hatton; he did not not even for
give her on his death bed.
''If you had not been fool with your
scruples and Whims,7 he had said to her I
bitterly, ''you need not have been beg
gar today. Harry Hatton is married long
ago, no doubt, to some wiser woman, and
when am gone you will have to earn your
living as best you may.''
They buried him, and Katherine had
earned her living bravely and we'll. For
years she had played the organ OF st. Phil
ip's as labor Of love. Now it became a
labor OF necessity. Her salary as organist,
and half a dozen piano pupils, gave her all
she needed, and life went on somehow,
and Christmas had come again.
She dreaded Christmas-the old pain aid
struggle seemed to come all back atresh
She did not regret what she had done.
Better loneliness and poverty than lll-got-
ten gain; better lose her lover forever than
become the wife of man capable OF
wrons ing the living aud the dead. She
had lost him. but she had not ceased to
love him. While she deplored his sin, her
pure prayers followed i'm in his reckless
wanderings over the world.
She left the organ at last, and slowly
quilted the church. Unlike that other
Christmas, no moon. or stars shone.
White, soft, ceaseless the snow fell. She
put up her umbrella and hurried home
The home of a boarding house-took her
belated and solitary supper, and ran up to
her own little sitting room. A fire burned
in the crate, and her pianO-SOle relic OF
former splendor-stood open with some
new music upon it, Before sitting down
to her long practice, she went to the win
dow and looked out. All the world was
white and still and ghostly and faster and
faster the snow Was falling. AS she stood, the
tall, dark figure OF man opened the gate,
and came piowing through the snow to the
front door,
Zone OF the boarders,' she thought,
debated as Was. How cross Mrs. W hlte
will be-
She left the window aAd went to the
piano. Before she eomMenced her prac-
Vice, and half uncOnSclOusly. she began !