The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1884-12-13

"You are aware, sir, that your late uncle
from whom you inherit your fortune, died
intestate-or, should say, was thought to
have died intestate-whereupon you were
his heir-at-law. A few days since, how
ever, we made what to you must prove a
painful discovery-yiz., the certificate OF
his marriage and half-drawn up will, in
which he bequeathed all he possessed to his
unacknowledged wife, or her children,
should she have any. After dilligcnt in
quiries we have discovered that the late
Mrs. Creighton died in giving birth to a
child, but the child is still living, so, my
dear Mr.. Creighton, with deep sorrow, |
must inform you that you are"-
"Penniless r' finished Con, gloomily, but
with deliberation.
'Not quite, Mr.. Creigton. Your father
left you 92 900, which is something, though
considerably less than 100000. Your
cousin arrived to-day, believe"
Poor Con He didn't care very much
if she never arrived; but he managed to get
into the street without disgracefully show
ing his feelings, and then, by way Of keep
.
ing up the illusion, tried to whistle.
But the effort was a miserable failure,
for, after all, it's no joke to find oneself
suddenly precipitated from the pinnacle of
millionaireship.
"Well, after all, there's one comfort, y
he said, returning to his soliloquy; emily
Cummings won't want me now, so | fancy
I'll give her warning. Mabel will take me
rich or poor, and hope I'm not such a
miserable coward as to shirk the labor of a
man.
His meditations brought him up in front
of the Cummings residence.
Five minutes after he was sitting in the
daintiest of boudoirs, Emily before him in
the most recherche of French morning
robes, fragrant with the subtles of French
perfumes.
"You look dreadfully tired, Con. Have
you been walking very far ?" she asked, a
sweet sympathy perceptible in her voice,
and tender anxiety in her luminous eyes
''Not particularly far, but 1 have had bad
news; and, as general thing, that is more
harassing than the mere effort of walking" :"
Con had way of plunging right into
difficulties, and now he wanted to be over
with it.
"Why, what news have you had Moth
ing very serious, [ hope"
"Oh, not at all Only that I've lost every
penny of the fortune my uncle left me =
He now noticed with great satisfaction
that her fair face grew very white, and that
she instantly put on an indescribable ex-
preston ofwithdrawal.
'Lost, Ell? Oh, no How"
s'Oh, in romantic way, of course. 1t
seems that my supposed bachelor uncle was
in reality Benedict, but as his marriage
was secret one, and the girl was not of
his own social status, nobody knew anything
about it, so he told her the ceremony was
false, and left her. She died heartbroken,
but left an heir or heiress, l don't know
which. The child takes the silver spoon
out of my mouth, and |, as you see lose
100000 and am ruined. Plain and lucid,
isn't it?"
But Emily didn't answer; she was grieY-
ing over her fallen castles, musing oyer her
unpaid bills, and wondering whether her
father could stand this last stroke of mis-
fortune.
"Of course Emily, I came to you at once
to release you, if you wished, from our en-
gagement. Reared as you have been, l
could not expect you to marry poor man;
and, indeed, 1 fear that, in my changed
circumstances, | would be no fit husband
for you.
Then Emily Cummings showed that,
girl as she was, she was equal to the occa-
sion.
Standing fully before him, where the
light fell directly on the beautiful, naughty
face and slender, graceful figure, she assist
ed him out of his difficulty with an ease
and grace that was almost superb.
II can readily perceive, Mr., Creighton,
that it is your wish that our engagement
should end, and knowing this, l should be
the last one to oppose your inclinations.
As regards your loss, sympathise with you
sincerely, but 1 cannot fail to rejoice that
it happened before I awoke to the fate of
an unloved wife"
She paused for breath, and then, as Con
stood in shameful and, it must be confessed
slightly disguised silence, she went on,
"And now, Mr. Creighton, rather than pro-
long our unpleasant interview, had we bet
ter not say goodbye"
So, for the last time, Con went down
the marble stairs, saying to himself, "At
any rate, l still have two thousand and
Mabel"
He walked along the streets, feeling his
spirits considerably lighter, his troubled
conscience comparatively at rest; but just
as he reached his mothers residence Gray
once more encountered him.
"Ah, here you are againl The very fell
low l want? Your cousin has arrived and
is anxious to see you. Could you go to
her at once? She is with some relatives at
the Grand Hotel"
"Look here, Gray! Isn't it enough for a
fellow to be left penniless, without making
him play lackey to the girl that's got this
money? AS you're so desperately interest
ed, you can tell my cousin that l am very
much engaged to-day, and can't go to her.
If she wishes to see my mother, | presume
she can find her"
Arthur Gray whistled as he turned his
back upon his late client.
He was young man, and still unmar-
ried, so it may be presumed he didn't feel
very badly as he returned to pay his e.
voirs to the heiress:
But Con felt far from comfortable as he
passed the massive portals of his mother S
door, and strobe impatiently down the
stately halls that were theirs no longer.
As he stood inside the lofty room that
his imagination had already peopled, and
looked around on the velvet chairs and
lounges, in every nook of which he had
already ensonced, in fancy, Mabels slender
figure; on the softly yielding carpets that
he hoped her little feet would press; on
the heavy silken curtains from between
which he had dreamt of seeing childish
face and golden head waiting and watching
for him, he did feel very, very badly; and,
after all, don't think any of us can blame
him, although we may all have raised su-
percilious eyebrows at the truthful homeli-
ness of the old proverb, "When poverty