The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1883-06-14

heart, and she knew that she was be-
loved by him.
In the midst of her Joy she received a
letter from her lovers mother forbid
ding the engagement, and charging her,
if she loved Philip unselishly, to break
it, otherwise she would destroy his pros
poets in life, for his mother would disin-
hcrit him and his friends forsake him.
Glare could bring her husband abso-
lutely nothing but her worth and beauty,
for both her uncles were in straightened
circumstances, while Philip moved in the
highest and wealthiest circles.
She sent the letter and engagement
ring to him, and Immediately went TO
Uncle Dickson's, charging her Uncle
Rainsford to reveal to no one the place
Of her retreat.
The care of the sick woman, and the
Consciousness Of having done good ac-
ton, often relieved her young heart; but
the wound remained in it.
After awhile the invalid recovered 50
far that she could sit in chair in her
room.
She merely said that she had met with
an accident to the head some months be-
fore, which affected her intellect. She
cred far and long from her home.
She had just Confided these facts to
Glare, but us little talking exhausted
her. she could not mention who she WAS
or where she lived.
She had become extraordinarily at
tached to Clare and would lie back on
the pillows of her casy-chair, regarding
her with a fixed look of love and graft
tude.
As she now sank into doze, Claro
noiselcssly left tho room and went out
for walk.
Half an hour later, q handsome young
gentleman, mounted on q fine horse,
stopped at the gate, and dismounting,
tied the animal to a post. He then walk
ed quickly up the path and marched in
to the room where Aunt Martha was
dusting the furniture.
Miss Dickson?" taking off his hat.
"l'm Miss Dickson" said that lady.
"Well, madam, about month ago,
my mother, who had become somewhat
deranged from an accident to her head,
wandered away from home. All this
time we have been unable to find her;
but had traced her to this neighbor-
hood, and but an hour ago learned that
you had charitably given shelter to one
who seems to answer her description.
For Heavens sake, madam. tell me! We
are all nearly crazy about it,
He was very agitated, and spoke most
eagerly indeed, with tears in his eyes.
Aunt Martha dropped the duster and
said
'>When this old woman came, all torn
with travel and all over mud, | says this
is tramp; and do be down on tramps,
young man. Sol won't deny it-I told
the poor, sick old soul to be Off out of
the place, as | suppose others did before
me. But my neice, Glare, how she did
flare up, and wouldn't let her 90. And
| thank Heaven she didn't go, for she
was near deaths door. Ididn't mean it
hard, young man; but tramps is my
abomination. Well, my neice Glare she
says, This amt no tramp auntn and she
hung on to the poor old woman and
nursed her, and kept death away from
her, and did rs much as if she was her
child. Now you come up stairs, but
don't make no noise. You see, we in
tended to ask her name and where she
came from, this very day. If it is your
mother don't give her no shock, and
creep up easy. Laws how you're trem-
blingf'
He was trembling, indeed with love
and fear. He pictured his mother, hag
gard, white, weak, merely parolcd for
time by death, before he made her
prisoner 1or aye.
He stood in the doorway; and prop
ped up by pillows in the big arm chair by
the window sat his mother indeed,
but country air and wholesome food, and
above all, devoted nursing, had called
back into her face an expression she had
| wanted before she wandered away. 1t
WAS plain to her sons loving eyes that
she was on the high road to complete re-
cOVery.
At the moment, she opened her eyes,
| and mother and son gazed on each other;
chen, with cry of love and JOY, the son
was knecling beside the chair of tho
mother whom he had almost Worship
ped all his life.
Miss Dickson waited for some few
minutes, to be on hand if the old lady
| tainted; but she did nothing of the sort
| She cried over her son, and called him
| by name again and again. Then Aunt
Martha slipped downstairs, and out in
to the garden.
Meanwhile mother and son had 81 hap
py conversation. She seemed to gather
new energy as she spoke. She told, him
all the devoted attention she had receiv-
ed from her nurse. She praised her
kindness, her goodness, her beauty.
! The keen old eyes had even detected
that she was unhappy, and, oh, how she
had longcd to comfort her! She had
only heard her called Glare, and, of
course, believed her name was Dickson.
How could she repay this angel? Oh,
how she loved her!
''My son. she said, s'if l could have
such a daughter for life! If you could
only forget your foolish passion for that
girl have never seen, and try to love
ny Clare, and try to make her love you,
how happy l should ben'
But her son shook his head.
Mother, the name brings up the pure,
beautiful face of my Glare, whom / have
lost. | can never love anyone else, and
[ fear l shall never see her again"
A step came quickly but softly up the
stairs, and turning round, as the door
opened, tho mother. saw her Glare, and
the son his, standing in the doorway,
gazing on them with a strange look OF
Joy and fear.
But the next moment, tClare!'
"Philip!' rang out in tones that only
lovers can use, and the two We're locked
in each others arms, while into old Mrs,
Everett's face amaZement, and then Joy
unutterable, rushed, and she held out
her trembling arms, and took her new
daughter head and held it to her heart.