The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1881-04-13

] y
nation and shame, "and so he ha
deceived me-
Tho room seemed to swim roun
with her. She felt sick and faint
She heard the street door open, an,
she composed herself with a grea
effort.
Francis Cox entered.
'"Ah~ he exclaimed, you haY,
got back early"
Rather" she replied, coldly.
You seem ont Of sorts, my vii,
| flower name he had given her
What is the matter ?7
"You shouldnt leave your SIS
ter's letters about" answered Clara
bitterly.
Francis Cox colored up to thc
roots of his hair.
81 hope he said,n with composure
you ARE notso dishonorable as toreaC
my letters without my sanction p
Quite dishonorable enough, an
swered Clara. "You are a nice per-
son to speak Of my dishonor; you
have deceived me foully.'
Then with many tears Clara pour
ed forth her wrongs.
"You told me your only CORES
pondent was your sister, she sob
bed; "and all the while it was youl
sweetheart, who is dying for the
winter 10 come, when you are to be
married. And yet you could lead
me on, and pretend to be fond of mC
and teach me to grow fond Of you
and-oh, you are worse than cruel,
worse than cruel"
Here Clara Moore broke down in
an agony Of tears. Mr.. Cox looked
at her withan expression Of mingled
annoyance and compassion.
'Haw" he said at last, assuming
that air Of affection which he had
ceased to adopt when making love
to the unhappy village belle, 'ltaw p
you are too severe, Im sure / never
intended to lead you to imagine l
was seriously in love. If you've
made that mistake Pm awfully so--
ry, I'm sure; but, OF course, you
know, you never could have imag-
ined / had any idea Of marrying
your"
you didn't mean that what
right had YOU to pretend to care for
me?" cried Clara. You did every
thing but ask me to be your wife. >
And knowing our relative posi-
tons answe.ed Francis Cox, you
could not in your senses have sup
posed l should ever 60 as Ear Is
that. Ii was merely 4 Harmless
Irritation 10 while away the dull
hours, nothing more"
"You coward p exclaimed Clara
Moore and, casting a look Of con
tempt at Mr.. Cox, she quilted the
room. Shame and Indignation filed
her heart. 70 think she mad allowed
this man to make mere plaything
out OF her; to think she had cruelty
neglected the noble minded Arnold
Carew for the sake Of an empty
headed, heartless iop. For the
time being poor Clara Moore was
insane. She rushed from the house
iato the darkness of the night and
made her way to the river Why
should she not end it there? She
had lost Arnold she had been jill
ted and sneered at by the fine gen
tleman lodger she would be the
laugh Of the village. Had she COM
mitted an act of dishonor such Gs
stamps a woman as bad in the
worlds eyes, she could not have
thought worse Of herself.
She stood on The towing path,
and prepared for the fatal plunge.
"Heaven forgive me p she sobbed
forth. Arnold, Arnold, forgive my
cruelty think kindly of me when 1
am gone" !"
As these words escaped her lips
she .sprang forward, but IN that
same moment a strong arm held
her back from what would have
been a crime to her, comparatively
speaking trivial folly.
"Clara what, in Heyaen5 name
would you dc? =? exclaimed her res
cuer, and in the sound of his voice
she learned that Arnold Carew was
with her in the hour of her despair.
A week later Mr.. Cox left the vii
lage. During that week, however,
Clara Moore never set eyes upon
his face again.
His conduct deserved what he
did not get-a good horse-whipping
but at the same time it taught our
heroine lesson that pretty and
humble village maidens may take
to heart, viz, not to aspire to the
dignity of becoming grand married
city leaders Of fashion because some
young swell happens TO smile upon
them. As rule those gentlemen
are too selfish, and too great slaves
of convcntionality, to marry out of
their own set, unless it be for heaps
of money"
A year later Arnold Carcw was
married to Clara Moore, and n bet
ter wife never lived than she who
was known rs the THE Village
Belle"