Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1884-01-19

ted it also She crossed the pavement and
entered cab that was waiting, and obey.
| ing sudden impulse, and forgetful of the
appointment of my learned friend, hailed
hanson and desired the driver to keep
in the wake of the other vehicle.
After a short drive the cabby stopped in
a shabby second rate street in the neigh.
borhood of Holborn. Jumping out l per
ceived the object Of my pursuit ascending
the steps of a house which, from the fact
of card inscribed with the words EUR
nished Apartments to Let being suspend.
ed in the parlor window, concluded was
clearinghouse.
Still obsying the impulse which had
mastered me, took a turn to the end OF
the street and back again, and then, knock
| ing at the door, requested to see the lady
who had just been admitted.
Miss White, 1 s'pose you mean, re-
spon6ed the sluttish servant.
acquiesced in her supposition.
" Drawing-roCm," was her laconic direc-
ton, with jerk of the thumb towards the
stair
When 1 reached the first floor tapped
at the door facing me. There was no re-
| Spouse, but the sound of smothered weep
ing fell upon my ears. l raped again
more sharply. Still there was no answer.
| opened the door softly and advanced into
the room. A woman lay on the sofa sob.
bling convulsively. The slight noise l had
made aroused her. She sprung up dashing
handkerchief across her eyes.
Yes, l was right. In the pale face,
swollen with crying, in the dark eyes and
fair hair, its smooth bands roughened and
disheveled, recognized the heroine of my
adventure on the moors.
The recognition was not mutual, and she
stared at me in indignant amszsment. In
few words l explained who l was, and
added that, in return for the kindness she
had once rendered me, | had come to see
whether | could not now be of service to
her.
At this she burst into passion of tears
| waited till her grief had somewhat sub
sided, and then by degrees drew from her
her pitiful story. Supplemented by what
l heard later on, it was as follows
Her father was man of good family
and excellent education, but with an in.
nate prediction for kuavery. He was
gentleman by birth, bat rogue by incli-
nation. He had handsome person and an
insinuating address, and ne had married a
pretty delicate girl, who had been devot-
eddy attached to him. She died broken
hearted when her daughter was about 10
years of age. Her love for her husband
had never lessened, and on her death. bad
she made the girl solemnly vow never b
forsake her father to stand by him in
good or i'll fortune, and by her influence
to endeavor 20 wean him from his evil
courses. Nobly and faithfully had the
girl kept her word. She had been ever at
his side, unceasing but unsuccessful in her
efforts TO guide him towards the path of
virtue.
He had been in hiding with his confed.
crates when she gave me shelter, and her
fears that night had been twofold. She had
feared for me lest l should be discovered
in which case l pect-though she has
never owned to so dread an anticipation
that my fate would have been decided in
accordance with the pithy axiom that
" dead men tell no tales" She had also
feared that I might suspect who and what
they were, and give information to the po-
lice. During the interview cleaned fur
thermore that she was row utterly friend
less.
L A5SulhSt W NY CLiILIlOCle LiEGlLGLlUk
deeply, and the upshOt Of my cogitations
was that on the following day | called upon
an old friend, lady on whose benevolence
and liberal warm heartedness l knew l
could rely. She had an interview with
Ellen White, and took the poor girl home
with her, retaining her first as & visitor
and afterwards as a sslaried companion,
though the relation between them soon
grew to be almost that of mother and
daughter.
White and his companions were sent
enced to several years penal servitude-
sentences which the public at large consid-
cred they richly deserved
do not know when | fret began TO be
haunted by the vision of a pale face,
lighted by large dark eyes ard framed in a
halo Of golden hair. Nor do | know when
| first found myself looking with pleasant
anticipation to frequently recurring even
iugs spent in Mrs. Palmer's cosy drawing
room.
was awakened to the truth by a few
plainly spoken questions put by my old
friend. Half an hours serious, sober re.
Election and communion with my own
heart enabled me tt answer them az
frankly as they had been put. Yes, did
love Ellen White honestly and well, and,
her past history notwithstanding, l was
truly anxious to make her my wife.
My wooing did not prosper. however
Ellen declined my proposal. She was a
felon'5 daughter, she said, and union with
her would disgrace me. Ga that one rock
Of objection she took her stand and neither
my pleading nor Mrs. Palmer's persuasion
could move her from it.
l would not despair; "Nil desperan.
DUN" had always been my motto and it re.
NAMED so in this instance. I dropped the
question of marriage for a while and re
turned to our former friendly relations.
My patience had its reward in due time.
Barely three years Of his sentence had ex-
pired when George White died. allowed
decent interval Of mourning, then re-
newed my suit. EIien's opposition had be-
come weakened little judicious persua
sion and the victory over h@r scrup!es was
complete.
A few months later, in quiet country
church, we were married and now no
woman in England could be more beloved
or respected than my dear wife Ellen.