The Penn's Grove record., 1884-03-29

widow. Martha did not take kindly TO
my adopted sister. She shifted and pro-
tested. But knowing my will was law
when necessary, she submitted. But
she burdened the sensitive, loving heart
with tales of my deprivations, not
knowing how the gentle presence com
forted me, I would find Lima curled up
in my chair with a book open before her
reading by the fIelight, but with traces
OF tears on her face. She was ever
eager to do me service. l could not
bear the thought of sending her to
school, 80 l taught her in what leisure
time l could command. And while L
could give her little beyond the bro
therly care and protection l had prom
ised her mother, l advertised for her
relatives that might come any day and
snatch her from me. | tried to hope,
for Lina's sake, that they would soon
come to give her a luxurious homo, but
[ knew my life would be sadly lonely,
missing her. When she would draw a
low seat to my side, rest her golden
head of curls upon my knee, lift her
soft, brown eyes to mine and talk in
her low, sweet voice, | was conscious
of a serene peace, such as my lonely
life had seldom known. l loved her
very, very dearly, and l was all she bad
to love. So we two, man and child,
passed through the long winter, quietly
happy in being together. Spring had
come, when | was summoned hastily to
a railroad accident. One of the first
who demanded my care was an old
chum of mine. More than once l had
thought of him in the long winter just
passed, but l had no clue to his where
abouts. Wien my painful duties were
over, l returned to the low cot bed
upon which he lay, and asked hun
something of his life, since u parting
six years previous.
"Ahl" he said, ''there have been
many changes, old fellow. My father is
dead, l am married and have two baby
boys"
"And where is your home"
sit will be in N but | have been
in this county but a few months. To tell
the truth, l am here npon an errand at
once sad and hopeful"
"What is that?"
ut is a long story. | had a sister
whom l loved very fondly, and who was
with my father when l went abroad,
twelve years ago. Soon after my de.
p~lrture she married a scamp, a thor
oughly bad man, who hoped to finger
her inheritance. You know what wO-
men are. The more my father opposed
the match, the more closely Caroline
chung to the lover who was all perfect
in her eyes. In spite of all entreaty,
all opposition, she married him, making
a runaway match at length. My 4atner
threw her off, and after a few months
of angry solitude in his old home, joined
me in Paris. l wrote to Caroline, but
never received any answer. When my
father died less than q year ago, he re-
pented his harshness to his only daugh-
ter. He would not alter his will. that
left me a wealthy man and my sister a
beggar, but he begged of me to find her
and divide the inheritance. l had
made my home in Paris and married a
French lady, SO that 1 could not at
onc leave that city and take possession
of my home in N, and my fathers
property. But as soon as l could l
came to England. One of the first
newspapers l opened advertised for me
or my father, in my sisters name, and
begged me to send my address to this
place. l only waited to establish my
family in their new home and came
here"
Seeking Caroline Riyers?"
"Ah! you know?"
Eyes, for the advertisement is mine. +"
Then l told him of his sisters death,
and where he would find his niece.
81 have your sisters marriage certi-
ficate, that of her husbands death. and
Lina's birth, and some few inexpensive
trinkets she said that you would recog-
Hize."
| cannot dwell upon it. My little
household fairy drifted out of my life
again, leaving a blank darkness nothing
would tighten. Her uncle was only
slightly hurt, and in less than a week
was journeying back to N, carrying
Lima to the ideal home | had often inn
agined for her. Even Martha was
sorry when she was gone. In the seven
years that followed / rose in my pro-
fession by dint of hard work and study.
1t was uphill work, but l neared the top
by steady application, and was already
III easy circumstances, when I fell heir
to a moderate fortune. Not a vast es-
tate, but sufficient for ease from pecun-
larry care for a lifetime. Soon after
this came to me, a letter reached my
home from my old friend, Gordon Wal
tiers. We had never correspondent, but
he wrote-"Liua is quite i'll, with the
same disease, I'think. of which poor
Caroline died. We have had the best
advice for her, but she fancies that you,
and you alone, can cure her. Can you
come and try your skill for her2 1t is
useless for me to tell you how profound
will be our gratitude if you can helE
her,"
1t had been a theory of mine that this
same disease l always considered
incurable could be eradicated from
the system if taken in time. Its in.
roads were made so gradually that, as q
rule, the patient applied for relief only
when it was too late.
Never can l forget the expression Of
the pale face when | first stood beside
her. A thrill of joy unutterable FILLED
my heart when | read there certainty
that | had been held in loving remem
brance during all the long years of sep
aratlon. In our many long talks