The Russellville Democrat., 1881-03-03
NY BEST FRIEND.
u FRANK LEE BENEDICT.

tlUt gNtlllI.1. q IlDlt Ndtiit lpI tllaltliliU from our rich neighbor, Mir. Ogilyie.
 "Can seq vou," it said, lon a matter ofimuortance? If l can, would to-mor- row be convenient"
 Mamma replied in the affirmative, and named two o'clock; and then we fell to wondering as women will, what he wanted.
 "perhaps il is about Miss Perkins" 1 said. finally. after hazarding dozen oth- er coniectures. "The principal of the academy. they tell me, wishes to get rid finer. He has a sister-in-law, for whom : he coyets the place; and he has accused Miss Perkins of inefliciency; and has brought some of the trustees over to his way of thinking
 q don't know I'm sure" said mamma; but she seemed pre-occupied and so the subject dropped.
 When we parted for the night 1 went to my chamber window, and began won deriug again about Mir Ogilvie and his letter. The full moon was in the sky. It looked just as it had, on the night when the tragedy of my life culminated; and | soon forgot my eonjeetures, and Mir Ogilyie, in recalling the suffering of that time. This had been two years ago. when l was eighteen. All my troubles had come together; my fathers delth, the loss of our fortune, the wreck of my girish dream. I had loved Leon- ard Balliol my whole life. We bad been children together. To give him up, inn piled the overthrow and roofing out of nearly every association of the past. Dhl the unworthy, selfish motives, which had actuated him. l had made him 8 hero; he was but clay, after all, and the coarsest of clay. For it was my fathers pecuniary reverses that had caused him to abandon me. Nor had he had the poor courage to come and tell me the truth himself. He was absent from New York. when my father died and l re- ceiyed, at first, a tender, aflectionate let ter from him. He wrote that he would return as soon as he possibly could; his presence might prove, perhaps, a comfort in my grief. So counted the days, till his arrival. But the time he had set went by; he neither came nor wrote. Then learned that he was in town; had been there several days; then he had gone away again-gone without so much as sending me a single wordl You compre- hend. He had been met, on his return, by the news that my faiher had died in- solvent, and that we were ruinedl
 My mother had known almost as little about my fathers affairs as l did. My father had been a large ship-owner and We had lived surrounded by every luxury that wealth could afford. In one of the few lucid intervals during his brief ill., ness, papa had chosen old Mir. Balliol, Leonards uncle, as his executor In certain ways, Mir. Balliol had been con nected with him in business; but do not understand how. Papa told us that though just then his matters were in a complicated state, there would be enough left to make us all comfortable even rich; but before he had been fortnight in his grave, we learned that we had nothing left, save the income of small property, which belonged to my mother,
 Mir Balliol himself told us, in his hard, cold fashion. He did not even affect sympathy, or commiseration; he flung off completely the veil of pretence he had worn, during my fathers life. Mamma told me that she had always known he hated us, in his heart. When she was girl he had wanted to marry her, and she had refused him. My fath- CT had been ignorant of this, and had believed in his friendship.
 It was Mr. Balliol, too, who came to tell me that Leonard desired to be re- leased from his engagement 1t was fl Q very morning l had heard that Leonard had been for several days in town. In the prostration of my grief for my father, this new blow seemed only to stun and paralyze me. l knew what such conduct on Leonard spart must mean. lrealized 4it fully; and if l had doubted, Mir. Balliol came, that very day, to confirm it.
 He did not try for delicate phrases; he did not even show the courtesy of ask ing after my mother, who had been ill in bed ever since the funeral. He rose when l appeared, and drowned blackly at me, from under his heavy eyebrows This was my second interview with him the first he had rclue ted, in order to inform me that we were utterly ruined He had attempted no circumlocution then; he did not now
 T have come to you, on painful er- rand, Miss Osgoodn he said; but you have SO much good sense, that I am sure You will meet me halfway Leonard has been in town, and gone away \ again"
 "So heard this morning" l answered selting myself opposite him.
 An, you had heard well then dare say you have pretty clear idea of what my business is."
 Something in regard to him, sup pose, from what you have just said" replied, l can recolect how calm and cold my voice sounded.
 Why, yes! I'm a plain man, Miss Osgood--l cau't beat about the bush--I don't believe 1t ever does any good" he continued, eyeng me sayagely, as if my composure disappointed and veXed him
 "l agree with you" answered. "Please tell me plainly what your business is with me.'
 -. An, that's right You're a sensible young woman. We'll, my nephew tells me there was a sort of--a sort of boy and glrl attachment between you and him.
 He paused, not from embarrassment bnt m the hope that now l would show some trace of feeling
 "Gour nephew and were engaged" l sald; the fact is no more a secret to you than to my own family"
 Well, no-no-I never regarded it as a serious engagement-girl and boy fan, cles are slight things Miss Osgood--they seldom come to anything" he said Now Leonard was quite upset-quite SC but, you see, under the circumstances ot course, all that yOuthful-what shall call -romance-yes, romance, must be put aside, am sure you see this-sC &clear-headed as you are."
 And now he stared more keenly at me but ] went on with my work, some em ! h.4 Al. T