The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1884-09-11
as she sinks on the carriage cushions
and is driven rapidly away.

1he pdrlOrS were cToWuou, Liz muslC
was perfect, the guests the gayest, the
bride and bridegroom the handsomest,
the whole scene like some fairy pic
ture, but somehow, in spite of the ad-
miration universally accorded to her,
as she moved up and down the long
room, looking every inch queen in
her royal beauty, her heart was strange
Iv sad, and it was a positive relief when
a maid in attendance brought her a
scaled note.
Breaking the seal in the dressing
room, she read:
''In memory of one who loved You, not
wisely but too Well come to your dying
cousin. l send my little girl to conduct
you, late though it is. You won't refuse
me, Anthine you cannot when | am dying.
JAMES HOLMES"
1t was all very strange. but Anthine,
noble-hearted as ever, never hesitated
moment
That cousin James had been the bane
of her life. A gay frolicsome fellow,
whose love for jokes was unbounded,
snd whose love for Anthine was 1aix-
tlre of teasing and alteration.
A long time ago he declared his in
tention of going to seek his fortune
and wife, and this noie Anthine holds
in her hand is the Lrst they have heard
of him all these long years.
1t took but moment to send for her
father, and give their adieUX to their
hostess, and find the little girl waiting
at the gate, and then direct their drive
to the address the little girl gave them.
But it was sudden change, to 60
from the grand mansion, with its beau
tiful grounds and gaslight, and music
and feasting, only few streets back,
into such depth of misery and filth and
wickedness as they found themselves,
when the carriage stopped before
tumb mble-down-looking building, with
broken windows and rickety steps.
Even Anthine's step faltered as they
followed the quick step OF the little
girl up broken stairways,, down dark
passages, until the garret was reached
at last. hearing at every door the vilest
oaths, and often screams and blows.
Anthine had often visited the poor,
and to the sick and needy had often
brought clothes and delicacies, but such
misery she had read of, but thought it
a stretch of vivid writer's imagina-
tion-now she knew it to be real.
OptuluG uOOI Dy OhO
hinge, they entered the room of death.
One tallow-cmdle lighted the room.
but after the darkness of the hall, it
seemed quite bright. and showed plain
ly the straw bed in the corner, on
which lay gasping the little girls father.
1t seemed impossible fhat the faded
sallow face and attcnuated form could
ever have been the dashing and fun
loving James.
'Oh, Thena, | knew you would
come! felt you must" said he fee
| bly, as he held out thin hand to each
of them. God is good, when l least
| deserve it.
Tut tut, boy; why haven'tyo you sent
to us--nav, come to us, instead of suf-
fering like this" spoke out good MIR.
Elleston.
..Oh, uncle, 1 could not, until life
was despaired of. come to those l have
so deeply iniuredr'
'Hush, hush, James; you were wild,
but you never hurt US, and it is folly TO
talk so. You must 90 home with us
| now"
"Uncle-Athine, your kindness over
powers me. Don't you see-can't you
see that am dying? and, oh, l must
tell you while life lasts
''Tell us what, James?" asked An
thine softly, as she put her cool soft
hand over his fevered forehead.
''Thenia, do you remember your we'd
ding night, seven years ago? And did
you ever wonder why Paul never came
to you?"
Eyes. yes, indeed. Tell me, do you
know why?" and unconsciously she
drew nearer.
''Oh, Thenia, it was some of my ac-
cursed folly. loved you and hated
Paul, and was envious of him for hay
ing won what / was unworthy of. And
the morning before he expected to start
for you, he received letter telling him
you were married to your cousin,
James Holmes, and were to start i'm
mediately on your bridal-tour. bidding
| him forget you and seek some one
| more worthy. To that letter your
name was signed, Thenia, and it was
posted here. You know PauPs proud
heart, how such blow was death to
| him, and how he sailed in the first ves-
| sci that left the harbor.
Il thought to win you then, Thenia,
but in your proud eyes l saw no hope
of ever taking Faul's place. so / went
| away and found soft-voiced little girl,
who loved me only too well, and only
lived long enough after / called her
wife to give me little velvet-cheeked
baby, whom we christened Anthine
| after you; and then. with that innocent
| baby looking into my eyes. l wrote
| again to Paul, and confessed my wick
| edness. Directly, with new hopes, he
came to you, but you refused to see
| him. He wrote to you, butyou returned
| his letter unopened, and with sad
dened heart he began anew, striving
for fame and honor, that you might
know he was incapable of the base act
| of which you believed him guilty.
When he sought me he could not find
me, until few days ago. 1t was very
wicked. Thenia, but oh, forgive me"'
pleaded the dying man.
at was wicked. James, but we were
| taught to forgive" spoke up her clear,
pure voice, though her eyes were full
of tears.
Poor James Holmes was weeping.
too, as he gathered his little girl closer,
but he was falling. as they could see.
Suddenly his eyes frightened, and
| he said feebly.
There is his step on the stairs now.
Thank Heaven! he has not come too
late. l can see the hands clasped that
once separated" f"
A moment more, and Paul Yelling
ton. IN sll his noble manhood, stood
before them.
One clasp of the sick mans hand,
one look in Anthine's eyes, and the
estranged ones were weeping in each
others arms.
Out of the darkness has come light.
Henceforth when they wept they would
weep together.
Mr.. Elleston grasped Paurs hand
warmly, and then they turned to him
whose troubled look still told that life's
care was not yet ended. He was point
ing at his little daughter.
"She shall be cherished and cared
g. o- a