Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1880-06-04

But she, upon her part. repeated over ana
over the words Of young DR.. Blake, blush
ing again when she became conscious OF
the fact that she really had the tpmerity
| to dwell upon his genial but commonplace
cour esq.
! Miss 1urpin's work was delicate and ar
tistic, but not soul-absorbing, like the doc
tors, She could tint her photographs all
the better for this episode in her life. The
vines and tendrils took tender shapes I'M
der her deft little fingers; shy, sweet
melancholy helped to make the shadows
at least more and more perfect; under the
rosebuds grew the thorns; but there SEEM
| ed to Turk even in their cruelty subtle,
| mysterious charm. 1t was enough for
Miss Turpin to dream.
| But more and more imposing, grander
and grander grew this one figure of her
fancy around which grew the satellites of
health and wealth, popularity and fame
all that could rsnder life sweet and desira
| BILE
Perhaps it is detrimental to my heroine
| to say that she would have been quite con-
tent to have lived upon the fruits of her
own fancy for the remainder of her natu-
| raj life. Had circumstances compelled her
| to change her abode, and had she thus lost
sight of DR.. Blake, the dreams would have
gone along just the same, the fact of his
dying in neighboring hospital of weakness
and want, and the quenching of all mate
rial life in a pauper's grave not Interior
feripg in the least with Miss Turpln's airy
fabric. It would have been impossible to
convince Miss Turpin that he could reach
| so dire an extremity, had not the knowl-
edge been forced in upon her in a way that
she could not refuse.
! She absolutely heard the gruff voice of
Mr.. Shadrach upon the morning in ques-
ton, and the low, musical. but bitterly
hooking words of the doctor in reply.
She sat down upon the rug and clasped
both her hands. He was going away, then!
Until that moment she had not realized
the extent Of such disaster. She could
have borne, perhaps, to have been compell-
ed to go away herself, because the inevita-
of course; but to have the iron hand of
memorable necessity grasp this magnificent
young man was terrible. He had the fash
ing eyes, the lordly mien, the exultant
step-for thus had little Miss Turpin been
won't to classify the somewhat alluring
personal attractions IF young Blake-he
to become prey of an adverse destiny!
! Miss Turpin's breakfast that morning
was a failure. By dint of long practice
and an exceedingly gracious gift of house.
wifery she had always managed to get up
extraordinary little meals for herself. 1t
was as if a little sooty angel sat up aloft
in the chimney and assisted the culinary
efforts of the lone little woman. Her toast
was of brown the most golden. her coffee
was of Mocha the most delicious, her bit
of steak SO juicy and appetizing that some
times poor Blake. in the neighboring room,
with some chunks of brown bread floating
helplessly in a chalky fluid before him,
finding this sayory odor under his nostrils,
raised his clenched hands at the stern wall
between them in envy and despair.
But even the little angel in the chimney
became impatient with the behavior of
little Miss Turpin that morning. The lit
tie woman, usually SO practicable and Ca
pable. while straining her ear to listen to
faltering, stumbling steps in the next
! room, deliberately burned the toast and
t boiled the coffee, and the sooty wings
spread themselves, taking fight in disap-
pointment and disgust.
j, She held her breath as the familiar foot
3 step passed her door, and slowly one by
( one went by the worm. eaten stairs. Oh
where was he going? What would he do!
She had read sometimes of an evening
1 when working hours were over, the shaded
q lamp upon the table at her side, the Goals
lleaping and blazing in the refulgent CRATE
J. her little slippered feet upon the fender
;, she had read of people who, having neith-
$ er money, means nor content, had drifted
q into moment of frenzy and despair, anc
thus leaped the awful bar that separated
he known from the unknown, content to
risk any fate but that which awaited them
here. She had read thus of poor, strange
unfortunates, and her heart had ached II
u their behalf. But nowp Well, now her
heart had almost ceased to beat. She pu
away her work-of what avail was it, al
blo.ted and blurred by her tears or ruined
by her shaking brnsh2 All day she feared
and trembled; at nightfall some intuitiv'
IL hope caused her to brighten the fire, cool
dainty meal, and, placing the table op
Il posite the door, leave the cosy room opel
70 on the wind swept, gloomy corridor.
10 Then she waited and waited. The clocl
e struck at midnight; then one, two, tire
10 from neighboring belfry. The meal wa
s. CT Id, the fire burned low; the chill, gra.
g morning had almost dawned, when at las
p it came; yes-thank God! faltering ant
'e slow; but it was his footstep; none othe
q could quicken little Miss Turpin's pulse
al He reached the landing, the door Of he
d room. Why, truly he did pause-yes. ant
stagger in.
- Any other woman but this, perhaps
a would have recoiled with disgust and hor
= ror, and, above all, with fear, for the youn
"a man was evidently not himself. His hal
d damp and disheveled, hung in heavy dis
* order about his face and neck; his eye
N CLASSY and lurid, blazed upon hers; a re-
It. fame burned III his cheeks; slight foar
ne fecked his trembling lips.
He fell into the chair at the table, an
10 looked wonderfully upon the food befor
IL him; but that which would have been frar
. tlcally devoured six hours before was lik
- the ashes of bitterness to him now. Il
% had not tasted food for thirty-six hours
But it was not hunger that tortured hin
it was thirst an appalling thirst.
~ He drank the pitcher Of water from Mis-
Is Turein's hand and looked pleadingly fe