Connecticut western news., 1880-02-25

Manor. The relatives and heirs had allowed her to stay so long out of regard to her feelings, and because they would rather she had proposed to go, and they were sosry that she had obliged them to remind her that, by the late Philip Beaufort's will, the property was to go to the son of Bernard, and, in case he died childless, to be divided between the two cous;ss. the elder having the manor for 4aFys-Ae eldest son of the younger to sllhert it ct his death.
 The ehhdless widow rose.up and went out of the sorrowful home that had been hers but @ year and half. No sympathy nor kindness were offered her now. They paid her the moderate provision that had been assured her, and said s'goed-bye," s' with no invitation to remain or to visit them. She was no longer necessary. to them, and they could resent her past coldness.
 Mrs. Beaufort did not return to America, as they had expected. She took cottage near, and lived in it. She could not leave the neighborhood where her darling's body lay, and where his innocent soul had taken wing. Shut up in this secluded house, which to her was not home, she abandoned herself to grief. But after year had passed, she was obliged to rouse herself. Her health was failing, and the good vicar, one of her faithful friends, could no longer refrain from reproof. Mrs. Beaufort was not selfish, and she was not irreligious. At the call she lifted her head, looked about the world outside her retreat, and saw work enough to do. At that sight, her energy awoke, and she laid aside her lamentations. But no one could see her white, sad face, without being con- vinced that life held no charm for her. And so four years passed. The Beauforts of the manor had taken no notice of her but some of the county families still visited her, and she had many friends. Her means were small, but all the poor blessed her ; for her kind word and helping hand were better than gold.
 No one saw the lonely night when she wept, and kissed those locks of gold hair, and gazed at the miniature of her boys face. o..
 One day. the wid ow had been out on an errand of mercy, and was ,strolling slowly homeward in the soft, rich light of June sunset. The blossoming hedges were full of singing birds, the trees bent over, the air was silent and laden with sweet odors.
 As she walked slowly along the road, Q strange gladness stirred in her heart i; for something pleasant had happened that morning. She had met the vicar that afternoon in her visiting not the first time, by any means ; for MT. Vernon was kind to the poor, and was also kind friend to this bereaved lady. But something new had shown itself in his manner or if not new, it was, at least, shown in decided manner that seemed new. The Reverend MT. Vernon had married early in life. and his wife had lived but few years. His best friends thought that the less said about this lady the better. The gentleman had been drawn into the marriage at an age when he should have been at his studies, and it was 8 happy thing for him that the companionship had been brief. He had not cared to repeat the experiment. With Q large circle of ad- miring friends. and quiet, we'll. kept home, he said to himself that he would be foolish to change. And he had not wished to- change till now. His sympath } had been aroused by the sorrows of the lovely Mrs. Beaufort, and his ten derness by the beauty of her character. But not till within few weeks had he known how deep that tenderness and sympathy were, nor how sweet it would be to have that fair face and form tc adorn his home, and be ever in hil sight.
 To-day, for the first time, the trutl had broken out. It was but 8 word Seeing her look paler than usual, th' handsome clergyman had asked anxi ously, "Are you ill, Alice?"
 It was the first time he had called he. by that name, and the color flashed ove his face as he saw the answering blush the sweet, sudden smile, the quick ul look into his eyes, then the dropping ! glance.
 "No. not ill.," she stammered. :"
 am very well"
 Others came near, and both inter rupted and relieved them. Enough hat been said for that time. But when the, parted, MT. Vernon took her hand il gentle clasp, and asked permission t come to see her soon, and thanked he
 earnestly when permission was accorded That was all, but it was enough t change all the world for this tender lonely heart.
 , "How good he is to think of me, wh have nothing, when so many younge and richer ladies would gladly have hi preference l" "There is little boy waiting to SC you, ma'am," the servant said when sh , entered the cottage. "He has lette for you" .fa
 "Who is he ?" Mrs. Beaufort asked. "He is stranger, ma'am, and prett
 lad. I think he is 8 sailor like, but
 gentleman's son."
 . "You can send him to me-" Mir Beaufort said.
 f She entered the parlor, and in fe' { moments the messenger stood befol l. ~la.>. I >A l. aaa.k