The Sentinel. [volume] (Trenton, N.J.) 1880-1882, 1881-07-23
GRAcE's DESK.

Margaret looked up from her sewing
machine for minute to glance across
the room at the quiet little figure sit
ting at the Window round, graceful
little figure, whose attitude of thought
tul gravity was full of suggestion.
And then Margaret, always more or
less crusty, but kind-hearted, gave an
impatient sigh and increased the speed
of her machine by savage motion of
her slippered feet, and compressed her
lips and puckered her fe rehead all up
in a perfect nest of wrinkles while
Grace, unconscious of it, sat looking
,ut of the window at the gloomy pros
pect-half- melted, dirty, slushy-brown
'now that was rapidly growing slushier
md more melted under the drizzling
rain that was falling; and, of course,
linking about Laurie Marcellus.
For several months Grace had not
thought of much else but him, and yet
here had not been an hour or a mo-
ment of that time that she had not tried
not to think of him and grieve for him
1t had been very similar to the same
old story. Laurie Marcellus, handsome
elegant, aristocratic, fairly well-to-do in
he worlds estimation of riches, had
been Grace Warrener's most devoted for
several months, until by one of those
venomous waves of fortunes wand social
position and wealth had suddenly van
ished, and the Warrener girls found
themselves obliged to take IN dress
making for living.
Friends who had always been friends,
who redeemed the dear name, who knew
them for what they were worth, did not
desert them but first and foremost in
the ranks of those who so conveniently
preferred to dispense with the society
of the two dressmakers who lived in
Appledore row was Mr.. Laurie Marcel
lus.
He had dropped out of Grace's life as
a brilliant comet disappears from the
sky. He had called one evening, the
same as ever, with the sweet, caressing
tenderness in his voice-the glad, eager
light in his handsome eyes-that made
the girls heart spring within her; and
she had never seen him since nor
heard from him.
That very next day the crash came,
through which the great spice house of
Warrener & Gray suspended; and a
month later Caleb Warrener died with
apoplexy, and as soon as decency per
mitted the splendid mansion and furni-
ture, the horses and carriages, the sill
yer and jewels, all were sold under the
red flag.
Margaret came grandly to the fore in
those dark days, when her keenest grief
was to witness little Grace's dismay and
establishment and suffering at Laurie
Marcellus' detection; and yet her words
were usually more bitter and sarcastic
than gentle-it was Margaret Warren
er's way to use heroic treatment
"He's not worth the everlasting fuss
you make about him, Grace. I'm
ashamed of you-downright ashamed;
and he not your betrothed, either"
That was true, so far as formal words
went. Laurie Marcellus had never
asked Grace Warrener to be his wife;
he had never in so many words told her
he loved her; but he had known just as
well as he had known he was alive how
the girls heart was all his own-how
she loved him dearly and truly, for all
her sweet reserve.
Grace smiled family when Margaret
spoke of the "fuss" she made about
him. She knew well enough that the
"fuss" was only her grave, sad face,
her quiet ways, her listless manner,
that she tried desperately hard to con.
quer, and in all the months that had
passed had not succeeded, and seemed
no nearer succeeding than in the be-
ginning nearly hopeless task is it
for woman to conquer thoughts and
heartsick longings for the man she
loves. Pride and shame may do valiant
battle for the victory, but pride and
shame are baby foes in comparison with
the giant they oppose-woman's strong,
enduring love for her chosen beloved.
And SO the dreary time went on fol-
Grace, and by steady, persistent effort
she disallowed herself to be dull OF
complaining, or kill-joy. She reso.
lutely determined to at least be cheer