The Arkansaw traveler., 1883-11-10
FORGOTTEN TO FEEL.
MARY e..pRF >b>.

IL was the night ot l era Anson's sec ond ball. and the light glittered on falr
 and gracious women, and handsome
 naughty men, as the young heiress. with
 warm flush on her cheek, and the light
 tha, ne'er was seen on land or sea ,
 within her dusky eyes, laid her hand upon
 the arm of the young man with whom
 she had been dancing. and allowed him
 10 lead her into the conservatory.
 There, .n the dim liz hts. with odor and
 bloom about her. she listened to the
 sor, so old-so old, yet. like the buds
 of spring, ever fresh and fair to the heart
 ofou,h.
 She was SO young. 90 fair and trusting
 iha; ring of true passion came into the
 mans low voice as he spoke words he
 his years of manhood. and for moment warm thnll shot through the world trusted heart as he bent 10 take his be ,rothal kiss from the npe. quivering lips of this dainty darling cf the house of An son.
 My promised wife" he said. in the low, tender tones of lover: my beau hful love. you have made me very, very happy. Say tha, you are happy, too that 1t is in my power to make you so. and it shall be the one study of my life to keep your fife unclouded.' What was that tender child in the hands of this finished man of the world She never dreamed that bu. for her fath- CTS wealth she would have received from him but the careless courtesy given on account of her wondrous beauty, which great as II was. could never have touched the heart of the man whose arm was around her
 They wen; back to the dancers, her eyes wild with shy, swee, gladness, his with glow of triumph. The gay revel came to an end, and Clarke Anson, at the side of his beloved and only child. bent his proud head to the fast departing guest, then, turning to Vera, he drew her young form to him tenderly, gaxed long apon her fresh young beauty, kissed her on the lip and cheek and forehead, and les her go.
 She laughed as she ran lightly up the stairs, and looked back, still with the light laugh upon her lips, when she reached the corridor above.
 Her father stood where she had left him. his eyes upon her. one hand lying upon his bosom. dhis grand head upliited as though in naughty pnde, and so, for hce of her father.
 When morning broke they found him n hts study, white and cold, lying back in his chair, one hand. from which the pen had fallen, hanging lifeless at his sde, half-fnished page on the desk be- fore him.
 Vera's grief was terrible bu, silent. Light and life faded from the sweet young hee, leaving il like marble; and when sAe was told ,ha, she was not only de- prved of the loving paren, who had been almost an idol to her, but also that she dld not own the very pictures on the walls q her old home, Vera Anson learned the reason why in her desola,ion Howard lawrence, the man who had professed to love her, had not brought her the value of even a kindly word. And then the somanhood of which there had been so hir promise froze to ice. and she vowed that never again should man become to ser more than pastlme.
 uoW1fu l1WIchCc n1u WdDdefco oscf Aah the world since that night of six years before, when his lips had breathed s0ch warm, bu, lying words. to the fair young daughter of the dead bankrupt. And now, sinding time hanging heavy on Ais hands, he had accompanied one of his so-called friends 10 the ball gwen by Madame Rosine, the talented singer. who lad, it was said, a niece whose voice was equal to her beauty, and having driven hAd Paris mad wxh admiration. A faint feeling of curiosity stole over