Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1881-01-23

cumstances, for it occurred Just at the
time Of the great failure in Philadelphia,
by which you were so heavy loser"
eyes, I recollect the affair."" replied
Mr.. Thorne, who appeared to be suffer-
ing.
81 never heard" continued the doc
tor, "what became of the poor devil;
and yet I should like to know"
"Should you?'' said I, laughing
"then let me crafty your curiosity. I,
Arthur Wallace, am that poor devil, doc
tor saved from ruin and despair by my
benefactor here" And then related all
the events of the last fifteen years.
The doctor sprung to his feet and
grasped his old friends hand.
"Well and generously done p said he;
but Mr.. Thorne interrupted him. II
am not well, b" he said, family. CT SUI
fer greatly-let me go to my room"
The next day he sent for me to his
private Office. found him looking pale
and haggard.
"Sit down, my dear Arthur" said he,
in low voice, "and listen to me. For
a long time have had confession to
make to you-one that weighs on me so
heavily that L must ease my conscience
of its load. can better bear to do so
now, that [ have in measure made
some amends for the trouble l once
caused YOU"
"The trouble you caused me" criedI.
"You have been the most generous of
men to me. 1t is through your kindness
I occupy my present position it is to
you I owe my happiness, and, more than
all, my honor"
Mr.. Thorne opened his desk, and took
from it a pocket book.
EDO you remember this ?" said he, as
he placed it in my hand.
EYES," replied I, cit is the one I
lost but how"
I could not finish my question. The
truth stared me in the face. sprang to
my feet in dismay.
"Great heavens I cried; "you
found the money"
"Aye, and kept ii" he groaned, r with
anguish in his voice. "But oh! do not
condemn me without hearing me. Yes
terday you heard DR.. Ponard allude to
the great losses 1 had sustained by the
failure in Philadelphia. did not dare
to make my embarrassments known, as
that would have fastened my ruin-ny
ruin God knows it was not for myself
that 1 cared, but for Alice, my darling
child. It WIS on the l4th of December
that you lost the money. Oh, I shall
never forget the date It was on that
day that meditated suicide. [ was
short of $40, 900 to meet my liabilities,
maturing on the 18th. Twas overwhelmed
with despair; the air Of the Office
seemed to stiAe me, and I rushed into
the street. I had hardly gone ten yards
when my foot struck something. 1t was
your pocket-book. L opened it, and the
sight turned me giddy and faint. Then
commenced within my breast one of
those moral struggles which, even to the
| conqueror, is fearful, but in which, alas
] was miserably vanquished. The next
day satisfied all claims upon me. To
the world I was George Thorne, an hon
est, upright man; to myself I was moth
| ing better than malefactor. You know
the rest Through my guilt you passed
! two weeks of indescribable anguish. /
have since endeavored to make repara-
ton for the misery L caused but I also
suffered. Moral atonements are the
most cruel, because they are eternal. L
have known and yet feel the bitterness
of expiration. Say, my son, can you for
give my crime?"
Could I forgive? looked at the pal
lid face, anguished eyes. What were
my suferings of those two terrible
weeks compared to the secret pain and
| shame this man had borne for years p
this man, the victim of one solitary de-
Walton from rectitude, so upright in all
| else, and whose life since had been one
long atonement. grasped his hand,
tears filed my eyes.
Father" cried, "Alice's father and
mine, all is forgiven, forgotten. Do I
not owe all the happiness of my life to
| that same lost pocket book?"