Weekly expositor. (Brockway Centre, Mich.) 1882-1894, 1884-09-25
WHY HAD HE LEFT HER?


"Why do you want so much, An
thineP thought gave you enough,
yesterday"
True, papa; but Madame Fontaine
gives wedding reception for her
daughter Clara next Wednesday even
ing. and l must have dress suitable
for the occasion"
Certainly, my dear; your father de-
lights in nothing so much rs in seeing
you enjoy the rich blessings that have
been given us. l love to see you look
a very queen among the rest. l was
sadly disturbed yesterday afternoon. ~
''Why, papa?"
And stately Anthine Elleston leaned
over the velvet easy-chair, and drew
her white fingers caress:agly through
the silky white hair of the father she
loved so well.
Because, just rs / was leaving my
office to step into the carriage, little
black-eyed child, with such famished
face, put out her thin hand and begged
for a penny-only one, because her
papa was so sick and hungry. | was
tired, and cold, and impatient, and l
knew / had nothing less than u sover-
eign in my pocket, so l told the child |
had nothing for her, and hurried into
the carriage, and told John TO drive Oh.
But caught the disappointed look
on that child's face, and it has haunted
me ever since.
MY dear father, you are too sensi-
tive about such things. You are in no
way to blame. You cannot be expected
to give to every little beggar-child you
meet"
Il know that, Thcnia," that was his
pet name for his elegant daughter;
''but L have been thinking that, rs
Heaven has given much TO us, He will
expect much from us.
1--WE do all we can, / am sure; and l
would think no more about this little
incident. The child will get along we'll
enough. They all manage TO live in
some way"
So the matter rested; neither father
nor daughter forgetting it, either when
the costly dress was bought, or later
still. when in the elegantly appointed
boudoir, Anthine Elleston stood before
the long pier-glass, that reelected back
her stately form in all its queen-like
beauty, arrayed in the sea-green silk,
whose folds, as she moved. seemed
like so many silver-tipped waves, half
hid though they were by the costly lace
flounces.
Diamonds and rubies sparkled on
her fair neck, were clasped on each
shapely arm, and shone amid the satin
like coils of her dark hair. that was
wound in the form of q coronct round
her head, and q gem larger than tho
rest sparkled above her forehead.
She was beautiful woman; she
knew it, and gloried in it. Her father
was proud of her, and she strovc TO
please him; but that which steeled her
heart, and made her so naughty and
reserved-so hcartless, rs her admirers
said-was the fearful blow she received
when only eighteen.
On that eighteenth birthnight the
grand old mansion was thrown open to
n goodly company, and Anthinc, in her
fair young beauty, with the orange
flowers on her brow, salt waiting, with
her bridal-robes around her. for him
who mad chosen her to walk beside him
down life's pathway.
Paul Wellington was noble fellow
manly, truthful, and upright in every
action of his life; even then. though
only twenty-five, a lawyer of some note
But on this bridal-night, with guests
awaiting, and the bride rs beautiful
and loving as q bride could be, no
bridegroom claimed the bride.
A telegram 10 his distant home was
sent, and the answer came at once that
Paul Wellington, on the day he expected
to start for his wedding, sailed in q
steamer for India, without any ex-
PLANTATION whatever.
1t was fearful blow to poor Anthine,
but her pride came to her rescue, and
when she went out again she was, rs
we find her now, stately, and far more
beautiful than in loving girlhood.
Ii is seven years since that night,
when that act of her lover, who seemed
so noble and good to her, sent the chill
ness of death to her heart.
1t was past understanding, and after
time she ceased trying to comprehend
it, and sealed her heart to mankind,
clinging only 10 her father, who idol
lied her.
Paul Wellington came back from
India, came once TO Anthine, and
begged to see her, but she refused to
meet him.
Then he sent her letter, cntreating
her 10 read his explanation, but she re-
turned it unopened.
He Became distinguished in his pro-
fession, and occasionally they met in
society, and though Anthine could moi
help noticing the sad expression on his
face, she invariably avoided meeting
his chances, and when obliged 10 speak
to him, she did so with rs much cool
ness rs politcness would allow.
Tonight she knows that Paul Well
ington is TO be an honored guest ut hci
friends house, and almost unconscious
ly she has chosen her dress TO suit hi:
tastes, rs she remembered 1t so long
ago.
Now she fastens her gloves, anc
picks up her jeweled boquet-holdcr, IL
a half reyerie, thinking, perhaps, of |
time when she was bride expectant, ~
happy for little time rs the bride sh'
was going to greet.
.sOh. will happiness ever come TO m,
AGAIN." she murmurs softly 10 herself
as she sinks on the carriage cushions
and is driven rapidly away.
The parlors were crowded, the musi'
was perfect, tho guests the gayest, tn
bride and bridegroom the handsomest
the whole scene like some fairy pic
turc, but somehow. In spite of the I'D
miration universally accorded TO her