Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1884-12-18
WHAT HAD HE LEFT HER.

WHAT HAD HE LEFT HER.
"Papa, would thank you for a check for
three hundred pounds, before you 60 down
town this morning.
"Why do you want so much, Anthlne?
| thought I gave YOU enough, yesterday"
"True, papa but Madame Fontaine gives
a wedding reception for her daughter Clara
next Wednesday evening, and must have
a dress suitable for the OCCASION"
"Certainly, my dear; your father delights
in nothing SO much as in seeing you ENJOY
the rich blessings that have been given u.s.
l love to see you look a very queen among
the rest l was sadly disturbed yesterday
afternoon"
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 1 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 SICK and
hungry l was tired, and cold, and impa-
! tient and knew had nothing less than q
sovereign in my pocket, SO told the child
I had nothing for her. and hurried into the
carriage, and told John to drive on.
"But caught the disappointed look on
that child's face, and it has haunted me
ever since"
"My dear father you are too sensitive
about such things. You are in no way to
blame. You cannot be expected to give to
every little beggar-child you meet"
81 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 will expect much from US"
In oil /
would think no more about this little incl
dent The child will getalong we'll enough.
They all manage to live in some way"
So the matter rested neither the father
nor daughter forgetting it, either when the
costly dress was bought, or later still, when
in the elegantly appointed boudoir, Anthine
Eleston 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 slver-tipped waves, half hid
though they were by the very costly lace
founces.
Diamonds and rubies sparkled on her fair
neck, were clasped on each shapely arm,
and shone amid the satin-ike coils of her
dark hair, that was wound in the form of a
coronet round her head, and gem larger
than the rest sparkled above her forehead.
She was a beautiful woman ; she knew it
and gloried 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 re-
ceived when only eighteen.
On that eighteenth birthnight the grand
old mansion was thrown open to goodly
company, and Anthine, in her fair young
beauty, with the orange flowers on her brow
sat waiting, with her bridal robes around
her, for him who had 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 as beautiful and
loving as a bride could be, no bridegroom
claimed the bride.
A telegram to his distant home was sent,
and the answer came at once that Paul vel
lington, on the day he expected to start for
his wedding, sailed in a steamer for India,
without any explanation whatever.
1t was fearful blow to poor Anthine, 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 low
ing girlhood.
1t is seven years since that night, when
that act of her lover, who seemed so noble
and good to her, sent the chilnesS Of death
to her heart.
It was past understanding, and aftera time
she ceased trying to comprehend 1T, and
sealed her heart to mankind, clinging only
to her father, who idolized 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 a letter, entreatlng her
to read his explanation, but she returned it
unopened.
He became distinguished in his profess
sion, and occasionally they met in society,
and though Anthine could not help noticing
the sad expression on his face, she invarla-
bly, avoided meeting his glances, and when
obliged to speak to him, she did so with as
much GOODNESS as etiquette would allow:
Tonight she knows that Paul Welllng-
ton is to be an hOnOred guest at her friends
house, and almost unconsclOuSly 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 ieweled bouquet-hOlder, in half rev.
erie perhaps, of a time when she was bride
expectant, as happy for little time as the
bride she was going to greet.
''Oh, will happiness ever come TO me
again." she murmurs softly to herself, as
she sinks on the carriage cushions and IS
driven rapidly away.
The parors were crowded. the music was
perfect, the guests the gayest, the bride and
bridegroom the handSOmeSt, the whole scene
like some fairy picture, but somehow, in
spite of the admiration universally accord
ed her. as she moved up and down the long
room, looking every inch queen in her
royal beauty, her heart was strangely sad,
and it was positive relief when a maid in
attendance brought her Il sealed note.
kinr the seal in thp UrpSS room,
she read:
"In memory Of one who loved, mot wisely.
but too WE'LL come to your dying cousin. i
send my little girl to conduct YOU, late though 1t
is You won't refuse me, Anthine; You cannot
when am diving "JAMEs HOLINESS
1t was all very strange, but Anthine,
noblc-hearted as ever, never esitated i mo-
mcnt
That cousin James had been the banc Of
her life. a gay frolcsome fellow, whose
love for Jokes was unbounded, and whose
love for Anthinc was u mixture of teasing
and alteration.
\ long time ago he declared his intention
of going to seek his fortune and a wife, and
this note Anthinc holds in her hand is the
first they have heard of him ali these long
years.
1t took but moment to send for her
father, and give their adieuX to their host
css, and finding the little girl waiting ut
the gate, and then direct their drive to the
address the little girl gave them.
But it was Il sudden change, to 60 from
the grand mansion, with its beautiful
grounds and gaslight and music and feast
ing, only few streets back, into such depths
of misery and filth and WickedncSs as they