The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1884-09-11
WHY HAD HE LEFT HER?

papa, l would thank you for q
check for three hundred pounds, before
you 60 down town this morning"
'Why do you want so much, An
thine? thought | gave you enough,
yesterday"
True, papa; but Madame Fontaine
gives a wedding reception for her
daughter Clara next Wednesday even
ing. and l must have a dress suitable
for the occasion"
Certainly, my dear; your father de-
lights in nothing so much as in seeing
you enjoy the rich blessings that have
been given US. love to see you look
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 caressingly through
the silky white hair of the father she
loved SO well.
Because, just as l was leaving my
Office to step into the carriage, little
black-eyed child, with such a famished
face, put out her thin hand and begged
for penny-only one, because her
papa was so sick and hungry. | was
tired, and cold, and impatient, and
knew l had nothing less than sover-
eign in my pocket, SO l told the child
had nothing for her, and hurried into
the carriage, and told John to drive on.
s'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, Thenia," that was his
pet name for his elegant daughter;
"but have been thinking that as
Heaven has given much to US, He vii!
expect much from us"
1--WE do all we can, l am sure; and
would think no more about this little
| incident The child will get along well
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 reflected 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 elasped on each
| ch mid a
| like coils of her dark hair, that was
| wound in the form of cOrOnet round
| her head, and gem larger than the
rest sparkled above her forehead.
She WAS a beautiful woman; she
knew il. and rloried in it. Her father
was proud of her, and she strove to
please him; but that which steeled her
heart. and made her so naughty and
reserved so heartless, as her admirers
| said-was the fearful blow she received
when only eighteen.
On that eighteenth birthnight the
| grand old mansion was thrown open to
a goodlv company, and Anthine, in her
| fair Young beauty, with the orange
flowers on her brow, salt waiting, with
her 1ridal-robes around her. for him
who had chosen her to walk beside him
down ufe'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 as besutful
and loving as q bride could be, no
| bridegroom claimed the bride.
A telegram to 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 a
| steamer for India, without any ex-
| PLANTATION whatever.
1t was Il fearful blow to poor Anthinc,
| but her pride came to her rescue. and
when she went out again she was. as
| we find her now, stately, and far more
beautiful than in loving girlhood.
It is seven years since that night,
when that act of her lover, who seemed
so noble aud good to her, sent the chill
ness of death to her heart.
1t was past understanding. and after
a time she ceased trying TO comprehend
it. and sealed her heart to mankind,
clinging only 10 her father, who idol
ICED 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, entreating
her to read his explanation, but she re-
turned it unopened.
He became distinguished in his pro-
fession, and occasionally they met in
society, and thosgh Anthine could not
help noticing the sad expression on his
face, she invariably avoided meeting
his glances, and when obliged to speak
to him, she aid so with rs much cool
ness as politeness would allow.
Tonight she knows that Paul Well
ington is to be an honored guest at her
friends house, and almost unconscious
ly she has chosen her dress to suit his
tastes, as she remembered it so long
| ago.
Now she fastens her gloves, and
picks up her jeweled boquet-holder, in
| half reyerie, thinking, perhaps, of a
| time when she was bride oxpectant, as
| happy for a little time as the bride she
twas going TO greet.
'-0h. will happiness ever come 10 nae
! againq" she murmurs softly to herself,