Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1883-04-06

thing always for warm-hcartcd,
earnest woman.
My uncle, Edward Earle, had pro-
cured me the friendship (p) Of the lady
in whose house had passed a twelve-
monuh-Mrs. Lucien Granger, q distant
cousin of his own. was an unsalaried
governcss 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. Gran
gers came to the hall. He was nm ar
tist, young and handsome, and fresh
from four years sojourn in Rome.
need not weary you with the pro-
logue or the epilogue of our love, for
words are so poor to express the hearts
utterance. o Ogoldcn days! 0 tender,
passionate nights! o princely heart,
come back to me!
Alan Leighton was the last son of n
high-born family, and because of the
blue blood-thc united blood of all the
Howards in his veins, Mrs.
Granger interposed her fiat against our
love, dreading, doubtless, the plebcian
admixturc of mine.
1t is q pity that blood does not always
tell. 1t was an inglorious triumph to
mc--yet still triumph-to bare my
white arms to the shoulder during our
gala nights-to which my voice was al
ways invited-contrasting their satiny
smoothncss 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.
any PRECIOUS HELEN: My father, whom
loved and respected above all men, died yes
tcrday. 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
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. An,
nounce our betrothal, dearest, to my aunt and
uncle, which, you know, was my intention the
very night was called away. be true to me,
Goodnight, dear love. shall write ut length
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
''''' ~ = ~ ~ SALAN 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. 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 1 regretted had written, though
the words had been few, merely asking
if he had been enabled to procure me a
certain book we had made mention of
together, and the time was more than a
year ago when l had the right thus to
address him. And now! D 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-
nald Dacre, q man old enough to be my
father, or to be q companion to some
naughty woman. l had decided upor
accepting Mr.. Dacre. The tiny note o.
barely two lines had placed between
the leaves of a book it was his nightly
custom to read.
But Alan! but Alan! L had thought
him so true, so noble. had called hin
"my prince" ''my king" alone in tht
warm dusk under the stars.
81 will not soil thy purple with my
DUST" 1 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 il
tell its tale of human misery; of fail
faces dead under its waves; of gold ant
jewels lying on green beds of moss; o
argosies gone down, the wall of human
misery their requiem. tried to re
member all this, so that mine might no
seem such great thing amid world o
sobbing and tears. 1t was good thing
to think of the sufferings of others, an(
try to ignore your own; good thing
But, my misery! the misery of the CIR
called Helen Preston!
This girl was somewhat of genius
the people said. She possessed the gif
of song and she was handsome, too
men said. And she had two chances il
the world, and if she had had none.
enough to have utilized her gift of son.
she might have had three.
But she had smirched her soul, for al
her beauty and gifts; had been false t.
herself, to God and humanity; false
too, to Reginald Dacre, for she kept he
love for Alan locked in her heart.
:" have sold my soul for houses ant
lands" she said, "and am wretched
Mea culpa! Mea culpa!'