Weekly expositor. (Brockway Centre, Mich.) 1882-1894, 1884-09-25

breaking the seal III the dressing
room, she read:
I'm memory of one who loved you,. no
wisely, but too WE'LL come to your dying
cousin: ! send my little, girl to conduc
you, late though IL Is. You won't refuse
me, Anthine; you cannot when am dying
JAMES HOLMES"
IL was all very strange, hut Anthine
noble-hearted rs ever, never hesitated
moment.
That cousin James had been the bant
OF her life. A gay frolicsome fellow.
whose love for jokes was unbounded
and whose love for Anthine was mix
ture of teasing and alteration.
A long time ago he declared his in
tention of going to seek his fortune
and wife, and this note Anthinc holds
in her hand is the first they have heard
of him all these long years.
1t took but moment to send for hel
father, and give their adieux TO their
hostess, and find the little girl waiting
Mt the gate, and then direct their drive
to the address the little girl gave them.
But it was n sudden change, to go
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 a
tumble-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 garrett 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
n stretch of 4 vivid writer's imagina-
tion-now she knew it to be real.
Opening door that hung by one
hinge, they entered the room of death.
One tallow-candlc 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 that the faded
sallow face and attcnuated form could
ever have been the dashing and fun
loving James.
"Oh, Thenia, | knew you would
come! felt you must" said he fec
bly,, rs he held out thin hand to each
of them. God is good, when l least
deserve it.
Tut, tut, boy; why haven't you sent
to us-nay, come to us, instead of suf-
fering like this, spoke out good Mr..
Elleston.
"Oh, uncle, L could not, until life
was despaired of, come to those l have
so deeply injurcd!''
flush, hush, James; you were wild,
but you never hurt us, and it is folly to
talk so. You must go home with us
now"
"Uncle-Athine, your kindness over
powers me. Don't YOU see.-can't you
sec that am dyingP and, oh, ] must
tell YOU while life lasts. ."
Tell us what, James," asked An
thine softly, rs she put her cool soft
hand over his fevercd forehead.
"Thenia, do you remember your we'd
ding night, seven years agoP 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 n letter telling him
you were married TO your cousin,
Ia,,on- Hnlfnoc opI n 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 Paul's 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 / saw no hope
OF ever taking Paul's place. so l went
away and found n soft-voiced little girl,
who loved me only too well, and only
lived long enough after L called her
wife 10 give me Il 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 toyou, butyou returned
his letter unopened, and with n 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, Thcnia, but oh, forgive metz
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.
too, as he gathered his little girl closer.
but he was failing, as they could see.
Suddenly his eyes frightened, and
he said fecbly:
There is his step on the stairs now.
Thank Heaven! he has not come too
late. can see the hands clasped that
once separated"
A moment more, and Paul Yelling
ton, in all 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 PauPs hand
warmly, and then they turned to him
whose troubled look still told that life
care was not yet ended. He was point
ing at his little daughter.
"She shall be cherished and cared