Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1883-04-18
A HIDDEN PEARL.

wrapped in the darkness and silence
of midnight.
Within n narrow chamber at his
lodgings Lewis Craven was dying,
while over him sorrowfully bent Au-
brey Mortimer, the friend and COM
panion of many years Of delightful
wandering through the old world.
Mortimer was by ten years the
younger of the two. He was wealthy
and elegapt-a favorite in society.
Fortune seemed ever to smile on him.
Craven, on the contrary, was poor
a literateur with a good deal of tai
ent, but he lacked energy for the hard
work which would have insured him
profitable success.
He was thoroughly educated,
agreeable, fascinating gentleman.
When mere boy he had married !;
a year later his girl-wife had breathed
her last, leaving him father and Il
widowcr at the age of twenty.
He never married again.
The child, Il little girl, was placed
in charge of nurse until she attain
ed a suitable age to be sent to school.
There were years during which she
did not see her father. Then came a
letter to the young girl which thrilled
her with delightful anticipation. She
was to join the father whose face was
almost unknown to her, but whose
charming letters had been the one JOY
Of her boarding-school life. She was
to leave school, leave London, and
cross the Channel to the old town
where her father was waiting to wei
come her.
This letter preceded call from Au-
brey Mortimer, who, being in Eng
land, was to escort her to her father
The first time that he saw Cecil
Craven he thought her shy little
schoolgirl, with big hazel eyes, a
quantity of brown hair, and a brown
complexion to match.
"Homely little thing" he thought
land frightened half to death, poor
baby !"
And thcreupon, following the i'm
pulse of his chilvalrous heart, he ex-
ercised every power which his world
ly experience had given him to make
her long ocean voyage pleasant one
and she, in her gratitude for kindness
and courtesy, showed herself to be a
very delightful and sensible little
companion. So that when Mortimer
handed Cecil Craven over to her
father, he had grown to have a sort
of brotherly regard for her, while she
had put upon white pedestal, girl
ish fashion, to worship him as some
thing little less than godlike.
All of which-had Mortimer known
it-would have touched and shamed
him good deal.
But he did not know it. No one
would have guessed at the strength
and warmth and passion of little
Cecils heart.
She kept her secret shut close from
the world. She was happy; it was
happiness to be so constantly with the
two of all others whom she loved
her father and Mortimer. She kept
the rooms neat and bright wherever
they were; she sewed on her fathers
buttons; she mended Mortimer's
gloves in secret, shy delight; she got
up delicious little lunches for the two
men, and took hand at cards with
them, or made one of their jolly fish
ing or mountain parties.
So year passed until Cecil was
nineteen, then a mortal illness over
took Lewis Craven, and dragged him
down to his death. The merry, care
less life of Bohemianism was ended,
and what would become of Cecil
poor little Cecil, whose sole relative
was the dying father who had saved
not penny for the girl? Something
like this burst in an agonized moan
from Craven's lips as he felt the icy
hand of death close about his heart.
For moment Mortimer thought |
He had cherished strong
and tender friendship for Craven
the friendship of a man, who, despite
his elegant, care-free existence, was
ready to lay down that existence for
his friend, if need be. Cecil was
dear little thing-would make quiet
wife. He had not thought of marry
ing, yet he would marry Cecil for her
fathers sake.
"She shall be my wife, if she will
have me-" he said to Craven; 81 give
you my word of honor, no harm or
sorrow shall come to her."