The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1883-07-04
A GREAT TEMPTATION.

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nor small; she was beautiful, l think
(beauty is a hard thing to define and
limit), but it was a beauty of no won
derful or unusual type, and was OF that
kind which grows on n gradually as
his knowledge Of the posSeSsor OF 1t
grows. There was Il wealth of sweet
ness and purity shining up in her eyes,
which tears could never wash out; and
the mouth indicated tirmnesS and re-
solution which had it's beginning long
before the nights vigil which had left
it so sternly agonized.
The trouble which has come to Alice
Arnden is of no unusual kind. 1t is a
sudden sorrow, of a kind which has
crushed out all of hope in life many
] times in the past, and will many times
/: in the future as long as men and maid
/ ems are proud and willful. One may
! say, "Only a lovers quarrel" but n
. should remember that there are heart
: tragedies in this world, under the tor
ture of which men and women may
4 drag out long lives without finding
peace. TO Alice Arnden it seemed as
3 though everything worth having in life
twas now forever utterly beyond her
hope.
She arose from the seat she had oc-
cupied for so long, and moved slowly
about her humble room. She had not
known, until she moved, how much
she was suffering physically how cold
it was ; how cramped and weary she
was. There vas really little to do.
Her bed had not been used her room
was in order. She had plenty of time
to prepare herself for the task of
covering her sorrow from the gaze of
her friends-if she could.
She made a fire, and into the fire she
remorselessly put all the fragments OF
the paper which she had spoiled in her
efforts to write a simple letter long
ago when her sorrow was new. Long
ago? Last night! Happiness gives
wings of lightness to the parts of
eternity dying about our being and so
called time, rather than eternity
which we roughly measure and call
l minutes and seconds but sorrow
) weights their noiseless feet with lead.
a X 4 x
Nh. George Fenby is the next among
the actors in this little fragment of
human life.
He sat at his window that morning
as Alice Arnden sat at hers. His win
dow looked in the same direction !;
from it he saw much the same scene
she saw. The stars faded out for him
as for her day frightened for him
the sunlight fell across his face.
But he sat there with a cheerful fire
near him; he was strong from happy
2sleep; his eyes were bright and cheer
full, and looked as though tears had al
ways been strangers to them, and his
lips were smiling.
The icy marshes seemed to him a
type Of his future. Smooth, white,
pure-the light stretching warmly
across them--and with the ocean out
side standing to him, as to her, as a
type of eternity-an eternity which ne
felt would be n of strength and hap
piness.
George Fenhy thought of what he
had in the world to be thankful for this
lovely morning. \ small fortune,
enough for himself-and one other, a
fair woman-and good as fair--for his
promised wife; health, education,
friends, influence, position; it was in
deed a goodly prospect.
This man was strong and quick;
g%ood-looking, if not handsome. He
looks like a man who would not do a
wicked thing, or think it, while he
might do a weak or foolish one. He
was a mar who would be likely to win
a woman's heart-and hold it; a man
whose love a woman might prize, and
the loss of which she might wisely
mourn. Weak enough to be a man,
he was strong enough to be one, hard
to spare from the life which had once
had him.
There was a happy smile on his face
as he heard his little brother knock at
the door, and he answered Come in
in a CHEEKY voice.
"Here's a letter for you, George"
"Thank you," said George. as he
took it.
you are welcome. BY the hand
writing on the envelope I judge the
message will be a pleasant one"
And the boy left the room.
A pleasant message! The smile
deepened on the mans face as he
lovingly handled the letter a little time
before he broke the seal. a pleasant
message.
These were the words he read:
"MR. GEORGE FENBY-I will not consent
to be any longer a hinderer regarding your
higher ambition I never wish to speak
with you again in all my life. l give you
back your freedom. ALICE
So Mr.. George Fenby's morning gift
was the gift of his freedom. What
should he do with it? His cheeks and
lips grew cold and white at the thought.
Merciful heavens. what could he do
with it?
The sky seemed darkened, the earth
seemed dreary and desolate. George
Fenby and Alice Arnden, a bare
quarter of a mile apart, could not have
been more wildly separated had an
ocean stretched between them. And
each looked on the same landscape,
and saw it alike at last.
The village of Marsham was a small
one, and most of it was further from
the ocean than were the two houses at
the windows of which we have seen
two unhappy persons.
It was a relief to both George and
Alice that there was service in the
little church that morning, and that
everybody would be looked for there.
Secret sorrow finds a certain abate.
ment of it's intensity in the effort OF
appearing unconcerned. Then there
was a m%ournful pleasure in seeing
again what one has lost.
In a place no larger than Marsham
every one knows everybody else.
Every one knows the business OF
everybody else, in some degree, or
thinks so, and says so. So u two
friends were known, and their rela-
lions to each other were known also.
And so poorly had they played their
parts that when service was finished
nearly all their friends had concluded
that their engagement was over, n
many were specializing as to the reason
for it.
Ralph Warder was too shrewd a
man not to see what every one else
saw. He said but little about it as ne
spoke to one and another after church,
but he was deeply interested and very
much puzzled. The time had been
when the gossips had connected his
name with that of Alice Arnden, and
there were those who had shaken their
heads when it became evident that she
had been won by George Fenby instead
Of by him.
Ralph had never spoken to Alice of
love. and we will respect his reserve.
What he cared for her may remain a