Savannah morning news. [volume] (Savannah) 1868-1887, 1884-06-22

same investment. The high rate OF in
terest also was very useful, and kept an
other horse or two in the stables.
We can all remember the astOnishment
we felt that black day when the news OF
the stoppage Of that particular bank was
uashed from end to end OF the Kingdom,
and how, afterwarll. the exposure OF the
reckless conduct OF its directors, and Of
the rotten state in which the concern
had been for years, sent cold shuddef
down the back Of every holder Of bank
stock.
Mr.. Abbot was not a man Of business.
He did not at once realize what being the
registered owner of these fifty shares
meant. He denounced the rOguery OF the
directors, and vowed that If ever again
he had money to spare, into land it should
60, nowhere else. He had az idea that no
more than the money which he had IN
vested would be lost; but when, after a
few days, he gathered from the newspa-
pers the true meaning of Unlimited LA
I bility, his heart grew sick within him.
The rental Of his estate was about $4,000
a year; So when call after cal was made
on the shareholders, William abbot knew
I that he was a ruined man, and lamented
his folly fer not having entaaed the es-
tates. Lands, house, furniture, plate, all
came to the hammer, and so far as county
+
extinct.
Mrs. Abbot had a Jointure Of some $500
year, on which the unfortunate couple
were fain to live as best they could. They
took house at Weymouth, and in that
retired watering place mourned their woes
/. IN genteel ObScurity.
i So Frank Abbot came back from Swift
zerland to begin the world on his own ac-
count, with nothing but college degree,
4 a perfect constitution, and few hundred
( pounds scraped together by the sale Of his
/ personal effects. How should he earn his
living! He was sorely tempted to emf
+ CRATE. He had the frame and muscles for
/ hard work, and outdoor life would salt
him. Yet he shra1k from the idea Of
/ giving up as beaten in his native Land.
/ Other men had made their way: why
4 should not her He felt a consciousness of
/ certain ability which necessity might
( force into full play.
I His mother suggested the church.
/ ga clergyman Of good family can always
marry rich wife, and that you are bound
to do now.'
Frank shrugged his broad shoulders
and thought sadly of his promised wife,
so many thousand miles away. Eventu-
4 ally, he decided to read for the bar.
He knew it would be slow and dreary
work to win success there; that for many
/ years he must be prepared to endure
/
hundred fail, one succeeds; why should
he not be that one?
MiIlicent must be told the bad news.
He had no right to keep a girls love
during all the years which must elapse
before he could offer a home. He must at
least release her from her vows. If-and
as he believed it would be-she refused to
be released, they must wait and hope.
Now that the reality of marrying on moth
ing came home to him, he saw what it
meant-what misery it must entail. Now
that the earning his own living, of which
he had spoken so brayely when there was
no need of his doing so, was forced upon
him, he became quite aware of the sacri-
ices he must make. He was no despond-
ing coward, and indeed mad little doubta
TO his ultimate success. He felt that he
could bear hardship himself, but he could
not bear it if Millicent must also share it.
At any rate it was right she should know
the change in his fortunes. So he wrote a
few words:
am going TO try and make living as
barrister. OF course [ must now release
you from every promise"
He signed hrs name, but before sealing
the letter could not help adding:
But | love you more than ever"
Then he sent the letter to Millicents
aunt, and begged that it might be for
warded to her niece.
That letter never reached its destina-
ton. Whether it was mislaid or misdi-
rected; whether mailbag was lost either
on the voyage or on the long land journey;
whether Miss Keene's aunt, who had
learned what reyerses had befallen the
AbbOts, simply threw it ia the fire, will
never be known. All that can be said is,
Millicent never received it; and after
months had passed, Frank, who was look
ing eagerly for the overdue answer, grew
very miserable, and began to doubt the
love of woman.
Five long years have passed by.
Frank Abbot is now a barrister of nearly
three years standing. He works hard, is
frequently on circuit, and if as yet he has
not achieved any brilliant forensic tri- /
umph, he is neither brief1esS nor without /
hope. Some small cases have been in
trusted to him, and he finds the number Of |
these slowly but surely increasing, and |
knows that if the opportunity comes, and |
if, when it does come, he may be able to |
seize it and make the most Of it, success |
may soon be his. Even now he makes !
enough to supply the modest wants to
which he has tutOred himself. But for |
some time after the last of his little capt. |
tai had vanished, he had been hardly |
pressed. Indeed, in order to live at all, |
he had been compelled to accept some aid |
from his parents reduced means. They |
gave this readily enough, as, with all their /
faults, they loved their son. Even to this |
day Frank looks back with shudder upon |
one or two years OF his life.
The five years have changed him from a |
boy to man. He is as handsome as |
ever, but his look is more serious; his /
features express even more character. |
He has given up all dreams of the WOOL 1
sack, but is conscious of possessing fair \
abilities, a good address, a commanding /
Of z al
confidence. He feels that in few years |
time he may have home to share, if the /
woman he loves is still willing to share it. |
He has not again written to her. He has |
heard nothing from her, although the !
time by which he promised to claim her |
has long passed. He is, however, resolved |
that as soon as he sees the future fairly |
promising, he will seek her and learn /
whether she is still true to him, or whether |
the sweetest episode of his life must be |
linked with the memory of a wOman's |
taithlessness and INCONSISTENCY. He signs |
as he thinks of the time which has elapsed |
since she waved him that last farewell at /
Plymouth. E'She may be married years /
ago." he says, ''and have three or four /
children by now" Then he thinks of her |
steadfast eyes, and knows that he wrongs |
her-blames himself for his mistrust. To |
sum up, Frank Abbot constancY remains |
firm; but he is obliged to do what thou
sands of other men must do-hOpe for /
better days, working meanwhile with /
might and main to bring the dawn of those |
better days near.
Does he regret the loss of his fortune /
much? OF course he does, being neither
fool nor of a superhuman nature. Many /
a day, as he sits in wig and gown in the |
sitting court listening to learned argu-
ments on cases in which he has not the |
remotest interest, his soul longs for day /
with the pheasants, run with the Dukes |
hounds, or ride round the home farm; |
and he mathematics all joint-stock |
banks as roundly as his father may be |
supposed to have done. But, neverthe-
less, Frank is not a soured man. He is
somewhat grave and self-contained, but
pleasant company enough to the few men /
whom he chooses to call his frieHds.
He has not been near Chewton Hall /
since the family downfall. 1t had been \
bought, with a great part Of the furni- |
ture, by a rich London merchant, whose |
name, although he had heard it at the |
time of the sale, had slipped from his /
mind. Frank cared little who held it. He /
knew it is only in romances that ruined /
family regains possession of its kingdom. I
Some day he intended to run down and |
have look at the old place which he had |
loved so well; although he feared the |
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