The Portland daily press., 1882-01-21


The change in my benefactor, since had
seen him last, startled and distressed me.
He lay back in a large armchair, wearing a
grim black dressing gown, and looking pitia-
bly, thin and pinched and worn. | do not
think should have known him again, if we
had met by accident. He signed to me to
be seated on a little chair by his side.
81 wanted to see you," he said quietly,
before l die. You must have thought me
neglectful and unkind, with good reason.
My child, you have not been forgotten. If
years have passed without meeting be-
tween us, il has not been altogether my
fault"
He stopped. A painful expression passed
over his poor worn face; he was evidently
thinking of the young wife whom he had
lost l epeated-fervently and sincerely
repeated-what had already said to him in
writing. "I owe everything, sir, to your IA
therly Kindness" Saying this, ventured a
little further. | took his wan white hand,
hanging over the arm of the chair, and re-
specially put it to my lips.
He gently drew his hand away from me,
and sighed as he did it, Perhaps she had
sometimes kissed his hand. "Now tell me
about yourself" he said,
told him of my new situation, and how
1 had got it. He listened with evident in
terest. 81 was not self-deceived,' he said,
''when first took fancy to you in the
shop l admire your independent feeling;
it's the right kind of courage in girl like
you. But you must let me do something
more for you-some little service, to remem-
Der me by when the end has come. When
shall it be?''
ssTry to get better, sir; and let me write
to you now and them" I answered. Elm
deed indeed, want nothing more.
fYou will accept little present, at least?"
With those words he took from the breast
pocket of his dressing-gown an enamelled
cross attached to a gold chain. ''Think of
me sometimes" he said, as he put the chain
round my neck. He drew me to him gen.
tly, and kissed my forehead. 1t was too
much for me. "Don't cry, my DEAR he
said; "don't remind me of another sad
young face" Once more he stopped; once
more he was thinking of the lost wife. l
pulled down my veil and ran out of the
room.
CHAPTER ".
The next day was on my way to the
North. My narrative brightens again-but
let us not forget Sir Gerard Royland.
ask permission to introduce some per-
sons of distinction Mrs. Fosdyke, of Car
sham Hall, widow of General Fosdyke; also
Master Frederick, Miss Ellen and Miss Eva,
the pupils of the new governess; also two la
dies and three gentleman, guests staying in
the house.
Discreet and dignified; handsome and
well-bred-such was my impression of Mrs.
Fosdyke, while she harangued me on the
subject of her children, and communicated
her views on education. Having heard the
views before from others, assumed lis
tening position, aud privately formed my
opinion of the schoolroom. Tt was large,
lofty, perfectly furnished for the purpose;
it had big bay window and balcony look
ing out over the garden terrace and the park
beyond-a wonderful schoolroom, in my
limited experience. One of the two doors
which it possessed was left open, and
showed me sweet little bedroom, with am
ber.draperies and maplewood furniture, de-
voted to myself. Here were wealth and
liberality, in that harmonious combination
so seldom discovered by the spectator of
small means. 1 controlled my first feeling
of bewilderment just in time to answer Mrs.
Fodsyke on the subject of reading and reci-
tation-yiewed as minor accomplishments
which good governess might be expected
to teach.
'While the organs are young and pliable,"
the lady remarked, 81 regard it as of great
importance to practice children in the art of
reading aloud with an agreeable variety of
tone and correctness of emphasis. Trained
in this way they will produce favorable
impression on others even in ordinary con-
versation when they grow up. Poetry COM
mitted to memory and recited is a valuable
means toward this end. May I hope that
your studies have enabled you to carry out
my viewsY
Formal enough in language, but courte-
Gus and kind in manner relieved Mrs.
Fosdyke from anxiety by informing her that
we had professor of elocution at school.
And then was left to improve my acquaint-
ance with my three pupils.
They were fairly intelligent children; the
boy, as usual, being slower than the girls.
did my best-with many sad remem-
hrance of the far dearer pupils whom / had
left-to make them like me and trust me;
and succeeded in winning their confidence.
In week from the time of my arrival at
Carsham Hall, we began to understand each
other.
The first day in the week was one of our
days for reciting poetry, in obedience to the
instructions with which / had been favored
by Mrs. Fosdyke. / had done with the girls,
and had just opened (perhaps ought to say
profaned Shakespeare's "Julius Cesar" in
the elocutionary interests of Master Freddy.
Half of Marc Antony's first glorious speech
over C@sar's dead body he had learnt by
heart; and it was now my duty to teach
him, to the best OF my small ability, how to
speak it. The morning was warm. We
had our big window open; the delicious per.
fume of flowers in the garden beneath filled
the room.
I recited the first eight lines, and stopped
there, feeling that I must not exact too
much from the boy at first. ''Now, Freddy"
1 said, "try if you can speak the poetry as
have spoken it.''
''Don't do anything of the kind, Freddy
said a voice from the garden; sits all spok-
en- wrong.