Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1880-09-26

| "Well did l everW exclaimed Miss
| Needles. 81 think that if Pelham could
stand the goings on of some of its old
| families, it would be able to endure any
thing that that poor little widow, scarce
| ly out of her teens, is likely to do. | tell
| you she is perfect lady, and amt a
going to stand right here in my own shop
| and hear her abused.
In the meantime the object of this
fierce discussion sat alone in her own
room; the little room that had always
been her own, and into which Hugh Bar
| ham never had come unasked.
It was indeed singular match that he
| had made, but to do him justice, his af-
lection and respect for his young wife
were such that he never held the relns Of
marital restraint very tightly.
Florence Yelverton had been the only
daughter of an artist and his we'll born
| wife. They had both died young, and
| at the age of sixteen Florence had been
left an orphan, disowned by her mothers
relatives on account of her father, and
entirely unknown to her fathers rela-
tives, because he had few, and these, be-
ing poor, he had lost sight of them in
| pursuing his career.
No creature could have been more de-
ISOLATE and lonely and miserable than
Florence was when Hugh Barham, who
had been an admirer of her fathers gent
| US, came to see her with offers of friend
ship. It was evident to him from the
outset, man of the world that he was,
that he could help her in no other way
but to marry her.
If he should attempt her guardianship
in any other way, it would only be to
her harm; and yet, looking upon her
helplessness and beauty, he dared not
leave her to the chance care of fate.
His wooing had been simple one.
ssFlorence,'' he had said, 81 can hardly
hope that you will be glad to look upon
me as suffer for your hand; but, nay
child, want to help you, and you are SO
young and 50 beautiful that the world
would never believe that my regard for
you is dislnterested one. If you will
be my wife. I am able to give you
handsome home and allthe luxuries OF life.
1t must be quiet life, on your ac-
count as well as my own. do not wish
to parade my good fortune in the face of
| the world, as though I had deserved it,
because well know have not. But we
will 60 to Pelham to live; there shall be
no talk about you that can manage to
prevent, you shall be free to follow your
own pursuits, and in great measure to
seek your own happiness; and it will GER
tainly be the labor of the remaining years
of my life to make you happy. On such
terms, can you accept a lover old enough
to be your father, but in spite of a poorly
spent life, far truer at heart than many
younger man?"
| Florence had looked at him steadily,
with child's directness of gaze, and felt
that he meant what he said, and had &C
cepted.
It was in the little boudoir attached
to her bedroom, that she sat alone, con-
templating her bereavement and her for
lorn condition.
SIT Is dreadful" she was thinking,
| ''for person like myself to be so utterly
alone in the world. I would give any
thing for just one friend.''
And then for the first time in her life
there came to her, as if it had been an
inspiration, the thought:
'But I have money now. How good
of my dear husband to leave me every
thing. have money, and with money I
can make friends.
There was a torlorn little echo in her
heart that the friends which money buys
are not like the friends of ones youth.
And then there came another whisper:
II am young, and my husband used to
say,sbeautiful. Perhaps shall win love-"
So when Mr.. Ashburton called that
evening, he was able to report that he
found Mrs Barnham in very composed
frame of mind; saddened indeed, by her
great bereavement, but resigned to the
will of God, and well disposed towards
the ordinances and sacraments of the
church.
The stately funeral was over at length.
The excitement Of it passed away, and
the months rolled on until the first year
OF her widowhood had passed.
Sitting in her own room, one morning,
meditating upon her future, and not, it
must be confessed, in the most cheerful
frame of mind, a card was handed her by
servant. 1t bore the name of Leicester.
"Why," she said to herself, 'that must
be my mothers brother; at least, know
she had brother of that name, but
thought he was dead.''
Then to the servant she said:
''Tell the gentleman that I shall be
down, directly"
But she did not hurry. Her mothers
relatives had been in no haste to find her,
and surely she might take her time in
making her toilet to meet them.
She had little pride in her appearance,
moreover, and put on calmly her best
gown, trimmed with the heaviest bands
Of Grape, and settled upon her pretty
head her very freshest and daintiest wild
owls cap; and, as Miss Needles had az
firmed, widows caps were becoming to
her.
In passing the great mirror at the
head of the room, she caught glimpse
of herself, and was satisfied.
But this Mr.. Leicester whom she met!
Evidently he was not her mothers
brother, for her uncle, as she hastily sur
missed, would have been sixty years of
age by this time, at the least; while the
gentleman who rose with great deal of
dignity and came forward to meet her,
Al -