The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1883-04-12


had grown at all it had been through
pain and repression--a fatal thing ar
Ways for a Warm-hearted, earnest wo-
man.
Ny uncle, Edward Earl, had procur-
ed me the friendship (?) of the lady in
whose house had passed a twelvemonth
Mrs. Lucien Granger, a distant cousin
of his. own. I was an unsaiaried gov
erness or companion, our remote cousin
ship being always made available by
my uncle. TWAS during my residence
with that lady that my fate came to me.
A yourg nephew of Mrs. Granger :
came to the hall He was an artist,
young and handsome, and fresh from a
four years soiourn in Rome. .
| need not weary YOU with the prologue
or the eplogue OF our love, for words are
so poor to express the hearts utterance.
o golden days! O tender, passionate
nights! o princely heart; come back to
me!
Alan Leighton was the last son of a
highborn family, and because of the
blue blood-the united blood of all the
Howards-fowing in his veins, Mrs.
Granger interposed her fiat against our
love, dreading. doubtless, the plebeian
admiXture of mine.
1t is pity that blood does not al
ways tell. Itwas an inglorious triumph
to me-yet still q triumph-to bare my
white arms to the shoulder during our
gala nights-to which my voice was al
ways invited-contrastin their satiny
smoOthness and perfect contour with
the lean, brown appendages Mrs. Gran
| ger folded ever her aristocratic heart.
But cloud crept into the sky, and its
| shadow fell across our path.
Alan was called suddenly by telegram
! TO England, where his grand old father
lay dying. We had but moment for
our farewells, for Alan's heart was rent
with sorrow, and I helped to expedite
his departure.
But one letter ever reached me. His
father was dead, and he was Sir Alan
! now.
MY PRECIOUS HELEN: My father whom
loved and respected above ali men, died yes
terday. | need not tell you how desolate we
| feel, and how the light seems to have died out
of every nook and corner. BY dear mother is
prostrated with the blow which has taken away
the lover of her youth, and | shall not be able
to return to you for some weeks Announce
our betrOtnal, dearest, to my auEt and uncle,
which, you know, was my intention the very
night was called away. Be.true to me, my
III.
night, dear love. l shall write at length so
soon the mother and I have matured our
plans for her lonely future; Goodnight good
night. May angels guard you, and may the
good Father fold about you His everlasting
- ALAN LEIGHTON.
Two years had dragged their slow
lengths along since that letter came, and
| had never heard from Alan, though
craving his presence as the prisoner
4 L. I Lol I,
once, and l had regretted even that.
''He was soon to be welded to an Earl S
handsome daughter" Mrs. Granger
read aloud from an open letter in her
hand; ''in fact, it was an old affair, prior
to his visit to the hall, etc., etc.
How / regretted / had written, though
the words had been few, merely asking
if he had been enabled to procure me
| certain book we had made mention of
together, and the time was more than q
year ago when | had the right thus to
address him. And now! 0 pitiful
Christi another woman was to be his
wife, and | must never think of the old
days, or the old dreams, or look into
his dark eyes, or feel his kisses upon my
unkissed lips! Never! and might live
fifty years.
And Q the pity of it, ont of all this
Norld's million possibilities / had only
the chance of two-ether to wed Regin-
aid Dacre, man old enough to be my
father, or to be companion to some
naughty woman. | had decided upon
accepting Ntr. Dacre. The tiny note of
barely two lines l had placed between
the leaves of book il was his nightly
custom to read.
But Alan! but Alan! / had thought
him so true, SO noble. | had called him
''my prince, my king" alone in the
warm dusk under the stars.
Il will not soil thy purple with my
DUST I had whispered in my heart.
''Nor breathe my poison on thy Venice
glass | went down to the
sea to listen to its sulien roar; hear it
tell its tale of human misery; of fair
faces dead under its waves; of gold and
jewels lying on green beds of moss; of
argosies gone down, the wall of human
misery their requiem. | tried to re-
member all this. so that mine might not
seem such great thing amid world
of sobbing and tears. It was good
thing to think of the sufferings of others,
and try to ignore your own; good
thing. But, my misery! the misery of
the girl called Helen Preston!
This girl was somewhat of a genius,
the people said. She possessed the gift
of song and she was handsome, too, men
| said. And she had two chances in the
world, and if she had possessed money
enough to have utilized her gift of song
she might have had three.
But She had smirched her soul, for all
her beauty and gifts; had been false to
| herself, to God and humanity; false, too,
TO Reginald Dacre, for she kept her love
for Alan locked in her heart.
81 have sold my soul for houses and
lands" she said, ''and [ am wretched,
Mea culpa! Mea culpan'
81 have sold myself with open eyes" "
she said, ''knoWingly, with malice pre-
pense. | have no one to blame. That
Alan forgot his VOWS did not make it
right that I should forswear myself"
But the sea, with its fuss and fret,
made my heart ache, and the turbulent
water seemed wooing me thitherward.
The chimes of our quaint old church,
playing an old song, caused a choke in
my thioat. L would 90 and invoke
grand airs from the organ, and mayhap
[ should forget the seas roar.
1t was my wont to 90 there to prac-
tice, and [ knew the service would not
be held for a half hour. The, lights
were turned down to a semi-darkness,
and the old sexton, with whom [ was a
favorite, had left the key i'll the door for
me. The moon shone across the organ
keys and across my face; and the trail
ing folds OF my white dress looked al
most ghastly in its light o quaint old
church! 0 quaint old chimes! Too
soon | would be far away from you,
over the sea to my suitor's lordly home,
carrying with me a heavier heart than my
years should warrant.
But it was too late to look back; and
the fault was mine. ! had ruined my
own life, and must pay the price. Be
cause | had been forbidden the desire OF
mine eyes, had sealed my fate. had
bound my hands, and had intoned Peobe
Cary's wailing words:
have turned from the good gifts Thy bounty
supplied me,
Because of the one which Thy wisdom denied
me;
I have bandaged mine eyes-yea, mine OWL