The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1883-01-11

her lover.
How pretty she looks when she is in
dignant! Surely it would be no hard
matter to fall in love with my beautiful
cousin, even if her face were her only
fortune!
But that all Raoul DeVere cares for
her is her money l am convinced as
look into his shallow false face.
Oh, if 1 could only lend her my
eyes!
Time goes on until at length comes
an evening to which both Ethel and
have been looking forward with pleas
urable anticipations.
Of all our friends, Mrs. Fairfax
knows best how to entertain, and it is
at her charming home that tonight a
grand ball is to be held.
But alasi evening finds me laid up
with a toothache, every nerve racked
with the distracting pain, and my check
swollen far beyond the bounds of come
illness.
'.You must not think of staying
home," L say peremptorily, as Ethel
proposes giving up her pleasure, ''I :
deed you shall not. Go-one martyr IS
enough" p"
She goes, dream of loveliness in her
maidenly tulle and pearls, while l go
too-to bed
At last sleep comes to my relief, and it
is very late, or rather early, when am
awakened by Ethel's kiss upon my
cheek.
..How's my toothache? Oh, it is bet
ter. How did you enjoy yourself,
dear?' ask, sitting up and rubbing my
eyes sleepily.
Ethel's answer is not as enthusiastic
as l should expect, and I notice what a
strange pale look her face has. Not
thus does my pretty cousin, who has
never experienced what it is to be q
wali-fower, usually return from aparty
Were it not absurd lshould surely think
she had been crying.
kiss her goodnight and she goes
away to her room.
light upon satin-covered ball-pro-
gramme lying on the floor where Ethel
must have dropped it.
Picking it up open it carelessly, but
my carelessness changes suddenly to q
fixed startled regard.
Pencilled in the space beneath the list
OF dances are these words:
'My darling, let it be tomorrow eve
ning-I will await you, as the clock
strikes eleven, by the great oak at the
end of the drive. Circumstances over
which | have no control call me
abroad. Something tells me that if 90
leaving you free, we shall surely be
parted. Your aunt is prejudiced
against me, and you tell me that she
can prevent You from marrying until
you are of age. Oh, my love, you know
how faithful your devoted Raoul is. |
implore YOU take your fate in your own
hands and consent to my wishes for
secret marriage. 1t need only be kept
secret untilmy return, then we can con-
fess and be forgiven
AS | read. Ethers agitation returns to
me, and l know that unless | save her,
my cousin will 60 to her ruin this very
night.
For that ruin it would be to entrust
her life's happiness into the keeping of
the unprincipled adventurer whose hand
penned these lines am convinced.
But how is it to be done2 / must
ton; there is only Hart-will he, angry
at me as he is, come to my assist
ance.
l seek him at his law-office He
meets. me coldly; but his manner
changes as, in earnest anxious tones, |
pour out my troubles. and, ignoring his
Indifferent greeting, implore him, upon
the strength of our old friendship, to
help me, if it is in his power, to save my
cousin from taking the irrecoverable
step she contemplates.
''Hclp you? OF course l willard
can, toor' he exclaims. ''How lucky
YOU came to me-and what q coinci-
dence it isr'
.Coincidence-in what way?" /
ask
'.Never mind now," he answers.
''But cheer up, Joan; all will come
well, | promise you. 1t was fortunate
star that led you to me-"
That night, instead of retiring, l sit
at my window, from which l can plain
ly see the drive, although it is some lit
tie distance away.
The hall clock strikes eleven, and just
at that moment il slight dark figure is
distinctly visible in the moonlight, walk
ing with rapid steps down the drive.
llOlI lLN anu
clasp themselves convulsiyely to-
gether.
1t is Ethel, my poor little deluded
cousin! Oh, Hart, do not fail me! He
does not. 1t is he whom Ethel finds
awaiting her coming beneath the great
oak, and who breaks to her with broth
erly tenderness the story he has to tell,
and then with soothing, and yet author
itative kindness leads her back to the
house.
All this learn afterwards, not right
away; for it is some time before, with
face, now flushed with contrite shame,
and now white as q first spring snow
drop, Ethel confesseS the secret she lit
tie thinks I have known all along (for
Hart never told her how he gained his
information).
Though grieved and horror-stricken,
auntie magnanimously refrains from
saying. Il told you sou as the extent
of Raoul DeVere's villainy is I'M
yelled.
Il shall write and ask Hart to come
up this evening"" aUntie says. But
for him 1 shudder to think of the dis
tress in which we would all be
plunged
For the benefit of the reader | will
here enter into a little explanation.
The very day before that in which |
carried my trouble to Hart, there had
applied to him for legal assistance Il
young woman, Il foreigner, who came
from France in search of her husband
who had deserted her and their child
two years before, and of whose where
abouts, until chance had placed a clue
in her way, she had been ignorant.
That false man of whom she was in
search and Raoul DeVere were one and
the same person. SO my penetration
had not erred, and but for the lucky ac
cident that had brought that ball-pro-
gramme into my hands, and the impulse
that led me to 90 to Hart for help, my
poor little Ethers would have been a
terrible fate indeed.
Well, Hart comes and auntie thanks
him, and so do l, and Ethel, too, poor
child, with tears in her blue eyes. 1t is
strange how ones mind can alter!
can scarcely believe that l ever could
have considered Hart Holman much the
same as any gentleman of my acquaint-