Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1883-03-28

wheels. was always at war with my
surroundings. Though too proud to
express 1t, had never realized my ideal
of womanhOod, or In any way grown up
to my aspirations and dreams. If l had
grown at all it had been through pain
and repression--a fatal thing always Tor
warm-hearted earnest woman.
My uncle, Edward Earle, had pro-
cured me the friendship GU of the lady
in whose house / had passed twelve
month-Nlrs. Lucien Granger, distant
cousin of his own. | was an unsalaried
governess or companion, our remote
cousinship being always made available
by my uncle. 1t was during my resi-
dence with that lady that my fate came
to me. A young nephew of Mrs. Grang-
er's came to the hall. He was an artist,
young and handsome, and fresh from a
four years sojourn in Rome.
need not weary you with the prolog
or the epilog of our love, for words are
so poor to express the hearts utteIance.
o golden days! o tender, passionate
nights! 0 princely heart, come back
| to me.
Allan Leighton was the last son CT a
high-born family, and because of the
blue blood-the united blood of all the
Misunderstanding in his veins, Mrs
| Granger interposed her fat against our
love, dreading, doubtless, the plebeian
admixture of mine.
1t is a pity that blood does not always
tell. It was an inglorious triumph to
me-yet still a triumph-to bare my
white arms to the shoulder during our
gala nights-to which my voice was
always invited-contrastin 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 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.
Ny PRECIOUS HELEN: My father, whom L
loved and respected above all men, died yester-
day. l need not tell you how desolate we feel
and how the light seems to have died out of
every nook and corner. My 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. Announce
our betrothal, dearest, to my aunt and uncle
which, you know, was my intention the very
night L was called away. Be true 10 me. my
darling Helen, as I shall be true toyou. Good
night, dear love. l shall write at length so
soon as the mother and l have matured our
plans for her lonely future. Goodnight
goodnight. May angels guard you, ana may
the good Father fold about you His everlasting
arms. Your friend and lover,
ALAN LEIGHTON.
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. L had written him
once, and had regretted even that.
"He was soon to be welded to an Earls
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 l 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 0 pitiful
Christ 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 on nv I'M
kissed lips Never and l might 1--we
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, q man old enough to be my
father, or to be a companion to some
naughty woman. [ had decided to ac-
cept Mr.. Dacre. The tiny note of bare
ly two lines [ had placed between the
leaves of book it was his nightly Gus
tom 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.
4" will 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 IFS sullen roar; hear it tell it's
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. I tried to remember all this,
so that mine might not seem such great
thing amid a world of sobbing and tears.
It was good thing to think of the suf-
ferings Of others, and try to ignore your
own; good thing. But, my misery!
the misery of the girl called Helen Pres
| ton!
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 smirched her soul, for all her
beauty and gifts; had been false to her
self, to God and humanity; false, too, to
r Reginald Dacre, for she kept her love
for Alan locked in her heart.
CT have sold my soul for houses and
lands, - she said, aud I am wretched.
|