Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1878-12-15

L
that he died, indeed, under very pain
full circumstances"
dead, is he2 Well, heaven forgive
him He has been my bitter, remorse-
less Zoe, Dr.. Herbert. He knew our state
OF poverty and want-knew that we were
well-nigh starving. Ny poor wife, there,
went to him not a month ago, forced her
way into his presence-for he had sternly
re used to see her since her marriage
with me, poor artist-and on her knees
begged his forgiveness and help! He re-
fused both, cursed her to her face, pray
ing Heaven that the child that should be
born us might prove as undutiful to her
as she had been to him. The excitement
and grief was too much for my darling,
and she was taken ill that night; and you
know the rest, doctor.''
And he groaned and hid his face in his
hands.
''Mr. Hollingsworth left packet in my
care for your wife" | said, after a pause.
"In your charge!-then you knew him %
cried Connington, in surprise.
81 met MIR. HolIingsworth but once"
answered, land but few moments be-
fore his death, which was terrible one"
"How so?" he asked, anxiouslv.
'He died by his own hand,' replied,
in low voice.
'.Horrible!" said Connington, in tones
Of deep distress" but tell me alp
And I told him of my first and only
interview with his father-1n- law, and its
tragical ending.
This packet, I trust, may contain
something to your advantage" I said,
| producing the letter.
"Not here" he said, hastily reading
his wife's name on the cover. Let me 90
and prepare her for the news, then let
her have the letter. Harsh and cruel
as he has been to her, she still loves him
ocarly, and this will be- terrible shock
| to her."
Half an hour atterward he returned,
and took me up stairs. There were traces
OF tears on Mrs. Connington's face as [
entered the room, and her hand trembled
sadly as she took the letter from me, and
when her eyes fell On the well-known
writing Of her father, a smothered sob
broke from her. As she opened the
packet, bank-note fell to the floor
it was for a thousand pounds, and
there were five more of the same in the
letter, which ran thus:
"Ny Daughter:-I am ruined man,
and about to die! loved you dearly
far more dearly than you imagined. You
were my idol-the one thing existed for
and when you left me, for while my
love was turned to hate. I have been
cruel and unforgivlng, and, before die,
| would atone to you for it, as far as lies
in my power. What l enclose is yours
by right--should be yours, for it was
your mothers fortune, and all I have
saved from the wreck Of my property.
Farewell! May Heaven bless you and
| yours. Forgive and forget me. Your
father. j. HoLLlNGswRorH.
A deep silence took place as Gerald
Connington read the last words OF the
self doomed man aloud, broken only by
the sobs of his wife, whose grief for her
father. cut off from the earth by his own
hand, knew no bounds. She forgot, for
the time, his hardness and pride, the
misery his unforgiving temper had
caused her-forgot that he would have
sacrificed her herrt's love on the altar OF
Mammon, and had urged her, by entrea-
ties and threats, to give UP the man she
loved, and marry one whose only qualifi-
cation as husband seemed to be the
possession of untold wealth.
No! she could only remember now his
many kindnesses, his care Of her, his in
dulgences of her smallest caprices, his
fatherly tenderness and pride in her
when she was at home in her early child
hood; and the poor suicide had one who
mourned for him with heartfelt sorrow,
little as he had deserved it. Il
A few months afterward I went to visit
the Conningtons in their house st Chisel-
hurst. Mrs. Connington, dressed in deep
mourning, still bore traces on her deli
cate. pale countenance of the trials
and troubles through which she had
passed; but, nevertheless, saw that she
was happy. The baby slept peacefully
IN his nurses arms, who, followed by a
tidy, trim nursemaid, in whom I had at
first some difficulty in recognizing the
squalid one, carried him up and down
beneath the shade Of the flowing chest
nut trees: while Connington palette and
| brushes in hand, put the finishing touches
| to picture which week or two later
was on the wall of the Academy.
The garden was ablaze with early
flowers. Lilacs scented the air, and the
lilies and primroses crowded the bord-
ers. 1t was pretty, peaceful, homelike
scene, and rejoiced at my good friends
altered condition.
Connington is rising artist now, like
ly soon to be at the head Of his profession,
and we are close friends.
UAb uorb II h., -. -
day, II feel we owe all this happiness to
you. What would have become of us if
you had refused to follow me that win
ter's afternoon? We should all have per-
ished before you could have hunted US
up and made over to us Hollingsworth's
tardy bounty. By the way, you have not
seen my sketch for the Dudley. Come
in and give me your opinion of It. call
it Almost Gomez
1t was wonderful lifelike picture. l
recognized it at once; the raftered, low
rooted room, over which the fire shed an
uncertain light; the bed with the sick
woman lying on it; the ragged child; the
doctor ben ding over the patient; all re-
called the scene of that night. I drew
back with shudder. 1t was too real
too painful.
"a wonderful success, Connington, I
said. lit will make your fortune"
And it did.
A Tramp Romance.