The Carbon advocate. [volume] (Lehighton, Pa.) 1872-1924, 1879-01-25

vile, and she.and. .her brother were the
happiest of the happy. Mr.. Granvlll,
was in the habit of drinking wiEe, anC
the habit grew On him until he could
not live without his brandy. He wa!
OF a social disposition, and in time il
came to pass that he was grossly intOx
icatcd. OF course under such circum,
stances, one or two thngssmust happen
Mr. Granville did not reform, and ere
many years he died a drunkard's 5 death,
leaving his family in poverty and suf.
fering. Thomas, the son, who was
four years Older than Mary became very
dissipated; at the age of eighteen he was
killed in street fight in New York,
Mrs. Granville survived her son but
a few months, absolutely dying of a
broken heart. Poor Mary thus left IA.
therless and motherless without brother
or sister, at the age of fifteen, was
forced to earn the bread she ate, and
nObIy has she done it. IfyOu know her
Charley, you know of one the grandest
women that ever lived. But t-what is
the matter? Why bless me you look as
pale ss ghost"
l struggled with myself, and told
Jack l had swallowed lot CT cigar
smoke. arose and opened one of the
easements, and stepped out upon the
balcony, where the fresh air partially
restored me to my former self.
! At late hour Jack departed for the
hotel, ana when l had retired to my
chamber paced too and fro until long
past midnight. l cUuld no longer
misunderstan the motives which had
acinated Mary lin rejecting my hand.
She knew that was in the habit f
using wine, and on that evening when
first we met sine discovered that | had
drank enough to bring the false flush to
my cheek.
"Oh, my God! calculated as sank
into chair, wonder not that she
feared to trust her life in my keeping.
She suffered enough from the ac,ursed
cup. The night of sorrow had been
long enough upon her. She would be
worse than mad TO take a husband
whose opening pathway Of life LED to
the pit into which the loved ones of
other days had fallen.
1found no difficulty in answering the
question; why did she not tell me the
whole truth? She had shrunk from
wonnding my feelings. I knew how
sensitive she was, and l knew that she
had been afraid of offending me. PEI
haps she thought me proud and head.
strong; and perhaps sue imagined that
/ might look upon her course as the Of
fering of her hand in consideration of
my rpnOuncing the wne.cup, and that
l might spurn said offer.
On Friday Jack Stanton left me, and
on Saturday evening l called at Mary'S
boarding place. Mary herself answered
my summons. She started when she
saw me, and saw her hands move
quickly to her heart
"Mary," said spoaking.very calm
ly for had a mighty strength of will
to support me, 81 have not come to dis
tress you, | have come as a friend, and
humby ask that you will give me an
audience for few minutes"
She went into the rarlor and fol,
lowed her, closing the door behind me;
and when we were alone she sci the
lamp on the table and motioned
me to seat. No." said l 81 will
not set downyet. Give me your hands,
Mary"
Mechanically she put forth her hands,
and took them in my own. There
"as wandering look upon her face
and slight flush had CONG to her pale
checks.
MARY" l continued. speaking sI1w.
ly and softly-and l knew that moist
ure was gathering in my eyes-"you
mu answer me one question. An
sWer it as you please, and take my
solemn assurance that only ask it for
my good. Tell me-do you love me?
No, no, do not take your hands away
yet. Answer me if you can. Fear not
%, fear not; for / would rather 60
go forth into endless night than do you
wrong. Tell me, Mary; do you love
mep'
81 cannot speak falsely" she tremb-
lingly whispered; "fqr my own peace
perhaps l love you too we'll"
"Listen to me one moment" add.
ed, drawing Der nearer to me; and
when l have told you what have to
tell you, you shall be the Judge"
She did not free her hands, but she
gazed up eagerly in my face, and her
/ ~ sN9 HNNh'N WIN u iioE4Vlhl llSlbs
"YOu know John Stanton2" l said.
yea" she replied.
"He was my best friend while at
college. and our friendship has not
grown less. lie has been to see me,
and he told me the story of the trials
and suiferings of one of the schoolmates
OF his arier days. O, Mary, think
know very well why you refused my
hand. and l blame you not. It may be
that our paths may be different through
life; but you shall at least know that
he whom you have loved will so live
that he shall not be unworthy of your
Eihdest remembrance. l know that
my feet have hithrTto walked in the
path of danger, but henceforlh | am
free from the dread snare. Under the