Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1881-08-07
RESSIE FENNEMORE'S FAULT.

Close the window, my dear; the night
air seems chilly to an old body like me,
who hasn't your swift young blood, you
know, to keep her warm. Close the Win
dow. and sit down on this footstool here
at my feet. You have seen the best of
the sunset; now you may watch its last
effect, as | often do when l feel lonely in
this great house and have nothing better
to amuse me.
Look at that picture opposite. My pic
ture it is-Miss Ressies present on my
last birthday-that might always have
her with me, she said, and not grieve so
much that she had grown too old to live
all wear round at this country seat, but
must take her place in the gay London
world as child of the Fennemores
should.
Hundreds of pounds it cost, for it was
painted by one of those great artists
whose minutes are so many golden sover-
eigns. But, bless you, Miss Ressie never
thinks anything too good for poor old
nurse: and her father, the squire, is al
most as bad. They say the picture cost
the artist more than it did the squire, for
he lost his heart painting it. Maybe So;
/ think men have done little else since l
robed my darling in her first long dress
and no wonderl
You have never seen her; and such
wondrous beauty is too rare and delicate
for word OF brush painting Why, a. gen
ius threw his whole soul into that por-
trait; but only in the rays of the setting
sun can it do her faint justice.
Look now, as golden light falls full on
the sweet, proud face, on the glossy hair,
and eyes and mouth smile down upon us
from the canvas That smile has stolen
into many a gallant young heart, my
dear, warming and frightening it for a
while as these dying sunbeams warm and
brighten my room: But it left them cold
and dark, dark as it will grow presently
in the cleaning, whilst [ tell you of Miss
Ressie's fault, and of its cure.
1t was the only fault she had, think;
but it was a grave one, and bitter was the
punishment They tell me that you are
Eighty, that you love to torment your
sweethearts, that some have been heard
to speak evil of you because of your
coquetry 1t may be true or it may be
false In either case let me tell you of
the retribution coquetry brought to my
sweet young lady only few months
ago.
1t was in March that the housekeeper
received letter from the squire. He and
Miss Ressie would arrive from London in
a week Apartments must at once be
prepared for them and for distant rela-
tive, young officer, who was then re-
turning, severely wounded, from the Gold
Coast, and who was expected to join them
Immediately
A few days later, and Miss Ressie sat
at my knee, as you do now, and told me
all about it-that the wounded officer was
a distant cousin, between whose father
and the squire a GOODNESS had arisen,
widening as the years rolled on, which
effectually prevented all intimacy or the
acquaintance even of their children, so
that Hugh Cameron and Ressie Femme
more were scarcely aware of each others
EXISTENCE that Mr.. Hugh-he bore her
Maiesty's commission of ensign-joined
the Ashantee expedition, that he fought
like lion during the advance on Coon
AISLE, but received what appeared likely
to be his death-wound in rescuing COM
mon soldier from the blood-thlrsty saw
ages just as they were about to behead
him.
1t was a terrible struggle-four to one;
but he killed them all, and then tainted
from loss of blood on the body of the man
he had saved. When he came to, he
would not leave this man, whose leg was
broken, but sat by him until the main
body came up, we'll knowing that the dis
covery by any struggling part of the
enemy would be certain death. His life
was despaired of, and Sir Garnet Wolseley
wrote himself to the squire, Mr.. Hugh's
nearest relative-for father and mother
had long been dead-a full account of his
heroism, and shortly afterward of his par
tial recovery.
"Oh, it was grand deed" said Miss
Ressie, her eyes sparkling and her
cheeks glowed with enthusiasm, 'to
doubly peril his life, not for friend, nor
even for an acquaintance, but for COM
mon soldier! Papa is gone to meet him
on his return, and will bring him here by
easy stages; and we will all nurse our
hero until he gets quite well and strong
again"
"But how about leaving your host of
London admirers?'' l objected. "You
make no new conquests here"
''They may admire themselves with
undivided DEVOTION" she replied "As
for conquests, you forget, my good nurse,
that l have to wage war upon this re-
doubtable cousin of mine. He shall find
my weapons more sure than those of the
Ashantees."
l shook my head sadly. 1t was useless
to renew our old disputes. Miss Ressie's
coquetry was unchanged, and l trembled
for the brave. soldier who might meet
with worse misfortune here than in
African wilds.
shall never forget the arrival of the
squire and his guest. am only poor,
simple old woman, my dear; and when l
hear lords and ladies rave about the
beauties Of some great picture which |
cannot understand or appreciate in the
gallery yonder, | think what grand
thing it must be to have ones taste so
refined by education; but looked upon
picture that evening which stole into my
heart and engraved itself there.
Miss Ressie was the first to hear the
rumble of wheels. She was on the ter
race in an instant, just as the squire
turned to assist Mr.. Hugh from the car
riage Poor fellow! He looked like a
spectre almost, his tall frame bent like
that of an old man, his clothes hanging
about him, and his wan face thin and
colorless A radiant smile broke over it,