The Washington critic. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1885-1888, 1885-09-03
THE ORDEAL.

OF Snaps. J on are Playing Minarclll
sonata in G upon the key of G.. You
are putting enough chroml ticS for
whole opera in one poor little score
Are you i'll or are you aslecpY'
Rosamond Villars pushed back her
stool, thereby oycrturnng the music
book with n crash over the keys, burst
into tears, and hid her flushed face in
the great "bowpo of roses that old
Alexander Pirct always kept on the
lamp. shclf of his piano, "swectencr
of study" as he quantity phr0scdit.
moi" she cried. mol | am not
sick--and am not asleep; but, ahl
am so vcry-very wretchcdl AMI
please, NJ. Piret don't know what to
doN'
She looked very pretty, this 17-ycar-
old girl, as she lifted her long-lashed
hazel eyes to the old music masters
withcrcd face. Bronze brown hair full
of FURNISHED CLEANS, eyebrows like
miniature arches Of brown velvet, full
red lips, and skin dclicately tinted rs
the heart of u conch shell, Rosamond
Nillars would have made lovely
model for some dimplcd, dark-cycd
Hcbc Old NJ. Pirct was an artist in
his way, despite his sixty odd years,
and saw all this as he strokcd down his
pupils wavy hair with tender touch.
MY child, my child" he said, II
don't know what is the matter Tell
the old father. Conlidc in me, petite,
for had news for thee when our les
sons should be complete"
"Iou have heard from Cecil, them"
| Rosamond's face lighted up through
her tears. But oh! it is thinking
of him that makes me so miscra-
Bile"
MY faith that is strange. But still
you have not told me- Go on. What
is the grief that brings the diamond
drops into the eyes"
ITS because we are so poor"
| sighed RosamOnd. "And they can't
wait, papa and mamma, until ret
that situation to sing in ST. Marcella $
choir to earn little money, The rent
is due, and the landlord has been
twice. Oh! if you only knew what n
hard, insulting man he is And there
are so many dcbts-pctty, gnawing,
gripping dcbts-and papa says that it $
my fault that he has to wear shabby
coat and do without the glass of claret at
his dinner and the expensive cigar; and
poor mamma says nothing, but she
| cries and looks wan and heart broken.
Oh! what can / do? What ought |
do? ! wish knew some one to advise
me rightly"
But only wait, my child" said the
old man, oddly winking his brows into
the shape of the letter +. "Iow is it
your fault that they are poor?'
because of Mr.. Richardson, who
wants to marry me-" confessed Rosa
mond, coloring and shrinking invol-
UNFAIRLY. HE is rich, but he is old
OH nearly as old as you are, NJ. Pirct.
And his hair is griazled, and his teeth
are so white and even that know they
are not real. But he lives in great
house, and says he will provide for
papa and mamma and all if only will
be his wife Is it not strange he
should want me, when there are so
many others, nearer his own age, who
would be glad TO accept him %
But, petite, you are engaged to my
son, Cecil, who has gone to the gold
fields of Australia to toll for you p
Rosamond's color dcepened, her
lashes dropped, as she played ner-
vously with the little jet cross that
hung at her throat,
They think / ought to break my
engagement, NJ Piret, They think
Cecil will never rcturn-Or, If ut all,
not for years! They say | ought not
TO wait for his uncertain fortunes.
NJ. Pirct looked kcenly at her.
"And what do you think, Rose-of-
the World?" asked he. For, after
all, it is your decision which is to settle
this matter"
ooh, NJ Piret," fallcrcd the poor
girl, "what am | to do? 1t is hard to
see those love suffer, when one word
spoken by me would lift the iron grip
of poverty from their hearts and lives.
Papa SAYS am selfish even to hesitate
a minute. Oh, NJ. Pirct, do help me
do counsel me-"
1T might be selfish" said the old
man. slowly, and still scanning her
mobile features; lit might be selfish
Rosamond, if it was your own happi-
ness alone that hung in the scale. But
there is another person who is vitality
and nearly conccrned-my son, Cecil!
RosamOnd wrung her hands while
the sparkling tears courscd down her
checks in torrents,
at is so hard" She cried, passion
atcly.
Yet" said NJ. Pirct, II would not
attempt through any feeble cloqucnce
of mine to bias your decision If your
own heart does not direct you Alright
no argument of mine could do so. Go
home, poor little Rosamond. Sleep on
IT, Pray over it, and then decide rs you
will. Tomorrow will hear your ulti-
muium.'
But you will kiss me good-by, Just
ms YOU used. Papa PirctY pleaded
Rosamond, lifting her wet eyes to his
face.
II will kiss you good by, just as |
used, Rosc.of-my- Heart
Rosamond Nillurs' home offered no
particular attractions upon that rainy
June night At best it was but one
floor in dTcary house which con
ccalcd its character under the imposing
title of French flats" The fire
sulkcd; the chimney smollcd the faded
carpet looked COmfOrtlcSs and worn
the table was spread with no attempt al
the little rchncmcnts which make eat
ing and drinking rank among the fine
arts. ROsamOnd thought that the re
mains of yesterdays Irish stew, weak
tea and sour bakers bread, had never
seemed less appetizing than tonight
Mr. Nillars one of those prctCntiOu'
artists who fancy that because thci
pictures do not sell the whole worlJ
must be in league against them, 81
modify beside the lamp, his fee
stretched out, to the exclusion of every
one else, his hands deep in his pockets
Mrs. Nilurs, II limp female, who wen
through thcworld with Il chronic whine
and II perpetual lace-achc, involving ,
flannel bundNge at most seasons of thi
year, was signing over the pickle jn
ms, one by one, she spcared its contents
with fork
ga Almost as soon die as to live on