The news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1877-1900, 1880-12-25


| What ID the matter, Jauo2" sho in
cures, her heart standing still with some
vague feelings Of apprehension.
Your father, missl"
"Well?"
ties very i'll, miss"
Ahs is goodnatured evasion of James,
VINO loes not care to say Rupert Harte has
oeen brought home helplessly intoxicated.
Alton waits to hear no more. A burn
ing ntsh of shame passes over her face.
ana she hurriedly rushes up tho stairs and
enters he sitting groom.
upon the sofa lies her fatherin a state
OF stuptr, his neckcloth removed whilst a
taii mail-a total stranger-stands by him.
lie raies his hat as Alison enters tho
apartment. ''
II haveto apologize for my seeming IN
truslon, Se says, In grave, pleasant
voice; but found this gentleman taken
Ill III the steet, and have taken the liberty
OF bringing him home"
| "Ihank you," says poor Alison, the
wave OF shated color again rushing over
her face. ''rhis is my father. shall at
tend to him n,w."
AS she is speaking, tho gentleman
glances at roagh sketch which hangs over
the sofa.
lie is about thirty years of age, tall and
"a Dad shouldeHd, with a russell brown
beard, good, Mndly brown eyes. aud q
handsome mouth, which shows beneath his
| short moustache.
u am sure do not know how to thank
you, murmurs Alison, as he bows gravely
in reply to her former words.
You can thank me-" he says, with a
little smile, :'by telling me if you are the
painter OF the sweet Devonshire landscape
which is In this years Academy. That is
the rough sketch of it Ifancyf'
And he indicates the sketch over tho
II am Alison Harte, and the painter Of
the picture she replies, simply sBut
looki There is something dreadful the
matter with my father"
His face has become of curious ashen
color, whilst thin white line appears
around his thin lips.
The gentleman gives one glance at him,
and then says
II shall go and fetch doctor.
But the rider on the Pale Horse has
come, and by the dawn of ,he midsummer
day Alison Harte is an orphan.
The summers glorious radiance has fled:
Autumn Is throwing her russet mantle over
valley and uplar d, and Alison Harte, gath
erlng her slender resources together, has
come to Antwerp-the city of Rubens-
there to study the works of the great mas
ter.
She feels very lonely. Her eccentric
uncle John she has offended because she
VII! not accept his proposal utterly to give
up her art, and to become his housekeeper
in the dull old Dcvonshire manor house.
II cDry Staunt0n. tha man who had
brought her father homo on that mdsum-
n1er Eve, she had seen very often, and
then his visits suddenly ceased, and left an
aching void In her life which Allison VIC uld
not acknowledge even to herself.
"a letter for you, Miss Harte," SAYS the
servant of the pension where she boards.
as she arrives home from the studio one
afternoon.
1t is ofiicial-looking, and it is bordered
with black. Alison takes it to her room,
leisurely opens it, her amazement growing
greater and greater as she proceeds
1t is from firm of well-Known London
solicitors. Her uncle, John Mellish, of
Moorsfelds, is dead, and he has left her
sole heircss to his property on the condi-
ton that she marries the only son of his
old friend, Jacob Hemworth, whose prop.
erty joins Moorfields.
There is to be no appeal from this decl-
sion-if Alison refuses the property goes
to Jacob Hemworth's son.
Alison is indignant She knows. her
uncle was always eccentric, but she has
not been prepared for this. No, she can
not marry man she does not know any
thing about. Her pure womanhood re-
volts againt the idea Of giving her hand
without her heart. and of late it has occur.
red to her that her heart has gone out Of
her own keeping.
Alison Harte sits down and writes to the
lawyers, quietly informing them that she
does not care for property hampercd with
such conditions.
A week passes away, Alison is too re-
ticent to make many friends, and, there.
fore, has not spoken of the lawyers letter
to anyone. She devotes herself as usual
to her work, and returns late one after.
noon, very weary and tagged, to find Henry
Staunton waiting to see her.
She can scarcely restrain her emotion at
the sight of friend.
He takes her two hands in his, and, look
Ing down at her, says, in concerned
tone
"You arc looking tired. Why, you
/
look as though you could " blown away,
you seem so fragile"
Alison looks lip at !. nctively
| she feels rest and sheu G grasp
of his strong hands, and 40 looks al
him for that one brief instan' there Ia q
look In his kind eyes which she cannot
mistake.
'Alison," he whispers, bending over her,
II have come for you. Can you love mt
sufficiently to be my wife7"
A start and a quick flush Is the only re-
sponse. 1t is enough for Henry Staunton,
and he folds her in his strong, sholterine
arms.
"And 80, Allson," he says, tantalizing
~, "you were fond of me all along2"
''What do you mean 2" she inquires.
"Did You not refuse Mooresfelds because
It was burdened with Jacob Hemsworth',
son 2"
''How do you know7"
II know good many things," he Gays
looking down at her sweet face, "mort
than you do, for you did not know that
am Jacob ,Hensworth's son; but / i6vet
1