The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1883-04-06
thing always for a warm-hearted,


governess or companion, our remote
cousinship being always made available
by my uncle. 1t was during my resi-
dence with that lady that my fee came
to me. A young nephew of Mrs. Gran
gers came to the hall. He was an ar
list, young and handsome, and fresh
from four years sojourn in Rome.
need not weary you with the pro-
logue or the epilogus of our love, for
words are so poor to express the heart 8
utterance. o golden daysl o tender,
passionate nights! o princely heart,
come back to me! M
Alan Leighton was the last son of a
high-born family, and because of the
blue blood-the united blood of all the
Towards flowing 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 always
tell. 1t was an inglorious triumph to
me-yet still a triumph-to bare nv
white arms to the shoulder during our
gala nights to which my voice was al
ways contrasting their satiny
smoothness and perfect contour with the
lean, brown appendages Mrs. Granger
folded over 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 a moment for
our farewells, for Alan's heart was rent
with sorrow, and 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 I
loved and respected above all 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. Ny dear mother is
| Frustrated with the blow which has taken
| away the lover of her youth, and | shall not
be able to return to you for some weeks An
nounce our betrothal, dearest, to my aunt and
very night was called away. Be true to me-
my darling Helen, as shall be true to you
Goodnight, dear love. ] shall write at length
i as soon as my mother and have matured our
plans for her lonely future. Goodnight, good
night. May angels guide you, and may the
| good Father fold about you His everlasting
arms. Your friend and lover,
Two years had dragged their slow
length along since that letter came, and
had never heard from Alan, though
craving his presence as the prisoner
Graves the sunshine. / had written him
once, and had regretted that ''He
was soon to be welded. to an Earl's
handsome daughter" Mrs. Granger
read aloud from an open letter in her
hand; sin fact, it was an old affair,
prior to his visit to the hail. 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 a
year ago when had the right thus to
address him. And now! O pitiful
Christ! another woman was to be his
wife, and now | 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 o the pity of it, out of all this
worlds million possibilities [ had only
the chance of two-either to wed Regi-
Maid Dacre, a man old enough to be my
father, or to be companion to some
naughty woman. / had decided upon
accepting Mr. Dacre. The tiny note of
barely two lines had placed between
the leaves of a book it was his nightly
custom to read.
But Alan but Alan! I had thought
him so true, so noble. | had called him
''my PRINCE" '.nly king, = alone in the
warm dusk under the stars
!" win not soil thy purple with my
DUST" / had whispered in my heart.
Nor breathe my poison on thy Venice
| glass" | went down to the
sea to listen to its sullen 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 a great thing amid a world of
sobbing and tears. 1t was good thing
to think of the sufferings of others, and
try to ignore your own; a 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 had 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.
8 have sold my soul for houses and
lands" she said, and am wretched.
Mea culpa! Mea culpa!'
Il have sold myself with open eyes, !"
she said, knowingly, with malice pre-
pehse. have no one to blame. That
Alan forgot his vows did not make it
right that 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 throat. l would 90 and invoke
grand airs from the organ, and mayhap
| should forget the seas roar.
1t was my wont to go there to prac-
tice, and | knew the service would not
be held for q half hour. The lights
were turned down to a semi-darkness,
and the old sexton, with whom / was a
fayorite, had left the key in the door
for me. The moon shone across the
organ keys and across my face; and the
trailing folds of my white dress looked
almost CHASTITY in its light, 0 quaint
old church! o 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. I