The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1879-08-09
THE PRESS.
For the Press.l
The COunterfeiter's Daugh-
ter.
BY REBECCA FORBES sTURGIs.

l gazed with dreamy eyes, change came
over the face of the landscape The smiling
hills were covered with stately forest trees,
and the CLEAN of cottage and church-spire
was obliterated from view. The little brook
in the valley was a deep, leaping stream,
alive with its finny inhabitants. The old
house was new, the furniture quaint every
thing had changed-time had rolled back to
give me glimpse into the mysteries of the
past.
SIT is that sneaking, parson again!' ex-
claimed quick, impatient voice, as the
tread of a mans foot broke the stiffness.
''Hushr' returned his companion in low,
imperative tone, ''Let him come; his visits
can do us no harm"
The speakers-father and son-drew back
and hid behind tree, while the young di-
vine, tall, athletic man, swiftly advanced.
At the first rap, the door was opened by
slight young girl, who blushed crimson as
she recognized her visitor.
''Good evening, Miss Abbie," he said in a
slightly hesitating manner, so different from
MS usual cool, unaDaShed air.
The salutation returned he entered the
house and the door closed again. After a
few moments embarrassed silence, he broke
forth impetuously, telling her of the object
of his visit. From the first time he had
heard Abbie St. Johns voice as she joined
in the reading of the psalm, he felt that he
had met his destiny. AS she was never alb
sent from her accustomed place at worship,
he soon became acquainted with her, and
had learned, as far as it was known, the his
tory of the st. John family. 1t was nothing
uncommon. The old man had come over
from England number of years before,
bringing with him his wife and two chill
dren, son and daughter. He had money.
He took up piece of land, cleared portion
and built thereon ahouse that, in those days,
was large and commodious. IT
His wife died shortly after and as he was
reserved, quiet individual he did not cul-
tivate the acquaintance Or friendship of his
neighbors. Little Abbie grew up alone, and
became her fathers housekeeper at a very
early age. She attended the one school that
was taught in the nearest settlement, and
won love from all that knew her.
But the elder ST. Johns manner being so
cold and forbidding, had deferred every one
from ever visiting her much, until the new
minister, Arthur Farnhams, came among
them. He did not care for Mr.. st. Johns
GOODNESS, for Ralph's rudeness; he loved
1o, 10 n,,+ &c
memorable night he put his fate to the test,
and Abbie promised to give her hand where
her heart had so long been.
An hour later he left the St. John home
and Abbe walked with him to the edge of
the road, then retreating, she re-entered the
honse and stole softly up to her chamber.
She did not wish to see her father or brother
that night. On the day after the morrow Ar
thur was to come and ask her fathers con-
sent to their union; until then she would
keep her happy secret.
She sat down by her window; she could
not sleep if she retired She heard the
changing to and barring of the blinds as they
closed the house for the night. Then Ralph
came softly up the steps, paused an instant
before her door, shot bolt into place, and
then retraced his steps.
81 wish Ralph and father were not so
cautious" she muttered, cor else would re-
member that am not a child any more"
From her earliest infancy the habit of
coming up and barring her into her own
room had been performed. When she re-
monstrated against it her father had told
her that it was only necessary precaution.
Indians were plenty, and they were afraid
that if they trusted her with her liberty she
might some night go down, while they were
asleep, go out, and then forget to close the
door. 1t was useless for her to expostulate,
her father would not omit the odious GUS
tom.
Tonight, as she sat by her window she
grew restless The moon shone so brightly
she wished she might get out of her room;
she was thirsty, she wanted drink. Oh,
how she hated bolts and bars!
81 would rather trust to chance" she
thought, ethan to them. There is no dan
ger here. Who knows but Ralph may not
have closed the door tightly?"
With that thought in her mind she arose
to try it, though she smiled at her own fool
ishness. Judge of her surprise when the
door yielded to her ha nd and swung open
slowly.
HE did not close it tight enough for the
bolt to fasten it," she thought exultingly.
II shall go down for drink now, and in
the morning laugh at him for bds careIest-
nessw
She crept noiselessly down the stairs. Her
fathers door stood open. There was rud-
dy glare on the ceiling! Was 1t fire? Her
heart gave one tumultuous throb and then
A strange sight met her eyes. Her fathers
bed was moved from its place, and two
boards, the whole length of the room, were
lifted from the foor-the light came from
the cellar. Still nearer she crept noiselessly.
and then stood staring down, horror-strick-
en-, fascinated by the spectacle which met
her gaze!
There was glowing brazier, and refn-
ing pot, a stamp, die, money-gold and sill
yer coin on the table and floor, and in an
open-mouthed bag!
She did not utter sound; she stood there
dumb with horror, for she understood only
too well what it all meant, and why she so
long had been prisoner in her room at
nights--her father and brother were coun-
teferitersl ..-
"Counterfeiters! Oh, Arthurp' that cry
came from her lips involuntarily as sudden
thought darted across her mind that her low
err was lost to her forever by this discov-
cry; he must not wed counterfeiter's
daughter!
"Hell and furiesr' shouted her father
glancing up and catching sight of her. Her
brother made no sound, but with a sullen
scowl, awful to see, sprang up the ladder
and dragged her down.
''Look, look" he cried furiously, as he
held her painting before the glowing Goals,
"look and be id! That sneaking parson
has set you on to dog us You shall not-I
will kill you firstw
''No, no." she cried, desperately, II am
shut out from him forever! I will never see