The Penn's Grove record., 1884-06-21
lie LA1Rps PROMISE.

AA ELOAInAAAA NlANAN 1N8b'A tNAA hNfA
A clumsy substantially-built ediice
which the country people around call
the Mansion House of RCchard. 1t Is
situated at the head of a long valley
running down from the mountains, and
is surrounded by large plantations of
fir. which, if they afford shelter, impart
also to the adjacent landscape an air of
unbroken solitude and melancholy
gloom Half n lifetime back, when
the wild heaths around this lonely house
were all aglow with beauty, Its then
master. a widoNer with one child, a
boy. brought to it a new mistress whom
he had found at the quiet hearth of an
adjacent manse. The new bride had
few personal charms she was a little
pale, meek, broWn-eyed woman, III all
respects a contrast to her predecessor,
who, IN her magnificent beauty, looked
down upon the newcomer out of the
l0ngtiles of family portraits that adorned
the walls of the dining-rOOm at Koch
ard. Tall. far, red-lipped, with the
clear beauty of an auburn blonde, with
full blue Y keen, naughty, and over
flowing with scOrnful light, the first
Mrs. Rochard seemed to meet the &C.
ond with a smile of defiance, as she
shrinkingly entered her husbands din
ing-room for the first time, and walked
with some secret msgiying and fear to
what had been the dead woman's place
at the head of the table.
"And yet, sure thought the little
meek woman whom the death of her
father had left alone in the world, 81
mean t. do her no wrong l will love
the Laird as much as he will let me, and
l would So l0ve-Oh, SO dearly love to
be a real, true mother to her boy !"
1T was surely because she had SO
few 10 love all her life the neighborS
SAID. "that she seemed L make SO much
at all times of the Laird's stupid boy"
William Rochard was an ungainly
boy. self-contained and reticeut, slow
to receive impressions, and still slower
to forget them. He had been been dis
pleased by his fathers second marriage,
and, after his own fashion, he resented
1t. He was not cross to his step-mo-
Their. but he would not be friends with
her he was not DIST Spectful to her,
but he woald not call her mamma
or mother" or Mrs. Rochardn even;
he would speak Of her only as ''papa's
wife" Sometimes the Laird, who grew
to love his gentle Mary passing well,
would get angry at the boys obstinacy,
and he on the point of Furnishing him
but Mrs. Rochard always interposed.
So the more gloomy and sullen her step
son was, the more she redoubled her
sweet tenderness, her gracious cares,
hoping, praying, eagerly watching for
some sign Of softening in his obdurate
heart.
Matters We're in this state when the
Laird went ont one day, hale and well,
70 superinteRd the blasting of a piece OF
Tock in the quarry, and was brought
back, scarcely an hour afterwards, a
mangled bleeding corpse. 1t was a ter
rible homecoming Tor the poor wife who
lived only IN his Smile-and indeed she
seemed stunned by the blow. She did
not cry, 70 the great wonder of the
sympathetic servants, but sat holding
the dead mans hand in her own. and
looking into his face without ever she'd
ding tear, Her demeanor was equally
calm when the friends and neighbors
came TO bury him. She uttered no
shrek she only went to the window
and watched as long as she could the
long hlack-rObed tram winding away
down the valley between the pines. She
was still there when her step-Son came
back, and in his isolation and misery
crept close TO her and called her mo
Their" At that dear name her unnat-
ural stiffness broke down, and she
burst into such q passion of tears that
the lad was dismayed but she babe him
let her cry on, for every tear she shed
eased her poor brain, which seemed rs
if it were girdled round by a band of
iron.
Then came days of weakness and
pain, in which the sullen boy was, after
his silent fashion, always trying to
serve her. Just as often as otherwise,
his attempts at kindness ended in some
or inconvenience to her but
she never seemed 10 see that or to be
conscious of anything but the kindly
motive. Weary, heart-hroken as she
was, she had always a sad smile for
him. She had won his hearth il seemed.
AZ last, but, Oh, at what a pricel Thus
the heavy weeks went on until her only
Vas born. After that she seemed
10 rally a little, her eyes frightened and
a faint tinge of color came into her
cheeks at the sight of her haby-boy ;
and, as she held him in her arms, and
the new strange bliss of motherhood
through every vein, she could
have wished so to enfold hlm for ever,
thus to shield him from all the worlds
surely coming misery and care.
Alas, poor mother, that joy, so eXqui-
was Of short duration She was
and dying quickly too, for the
day after her baby was born she began
TO sink. All that it was possible TO do
for her they did, with the sad convic-
ton that it was in vain. Then a wild
anxiety began TO take possess
ion of her. Who would care for her
baby when she was gone-whog And,
with q mute appeal in her sad eyes, she
10 her Step-S0n, Of late 50
strangely kind. He was beside her
bed, glOomy-looking rs usual, but with
his heart all ahame with a newly-found
repentance and love.
Mother, he said, reading and an
her uuSpOken thoughts. 'SdO