Juniata sentinel and Republican. [volume] (Mifflintown, Juniata County, Pa.) 1873-1955, 1885-05-27
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"Constance," said her father slowly,
''if you are inexorab e, 1 will tell you
| something that otherwise you should
never have known. | foresee great
commercial difficulties at hand. You
do not understand these things, but
may tell you that, uni IS some powerful
aid is interposed, | shall be ruined;
shall not have more than the miserable
beggar who Graves aims from door to
door"
Constance turned white and trembled.
And my marriage-whatc can 1t have
to do with this?'
Everything. With ready money at
the time when it will be wanted, shall
be saved: with the owner of four hun
dred thousand pounds at my back, all
will be well; If not But mo- dare
not think of that -
Constance was trembling IN every
limb; not only the magnitude, but also
/ the indefiniteness of the calamity fright
ened her.
''And does it all depend upon me?''
she faltered.
"All," returned her father solemnly.
"lf L marry Laurence Markham"
| Ou dlc Bblll9 W COlStHl! MY OWL
sweet Constance, | knew that | sh nld
not appeal to you in vainl Yet, believe
me. my beloved child, had the man been
other than what he Is, never should |
have asked you to consent. But you
will he the adored wife of an upright
honorable man; you will have saved
yourself from sufferings that you can
not imagin; you will have saved your
father from dishOnOred gravel Ny
Constance, how can thank you?"
But" she protested, with one last
effort, II have not consented YETI
''But you will, my own sweet girl; /
know you will Still L do not wish to
appear unreasonable, Constance, ne-
ther would Mr.. Markham. BY his par
ticular and L will say, most considerate
wish you will have three days to think
over it.
4 know, | know" she interrupted,
''but, oh, papa, leave me now."
And what then?"
Il Will do my BEST" she replied.
Next day the thought of the man who
would be her husband came prominently
before her; and this by no means les
ened her trouble. Constance had never
| liked Laurence Markham, but she could
assign no reason for her dislike; no one
hal ever by the slightest word assailed
his character-even Wilfred himself had
| sometimes taken his part. Her father
had spoken truly of Markham's love for
her; she had long known of it-and per-
hapS it would not be such utter wretch
edness after all, she thought.
Wednesday morning dawned-rainy,
| foggy, and pitilessly cold. even with
| great fires in every room. she shivered,
then wondered how she could ever Lear
the hardshipS of a poverty so great that
| it would possibly not admit of fire at
all. \ man in ragged garments passed,
| looking blue and wretched; she remem-
bered what her father had said of beg
| ging aims from door to door. Another
idea here intruded, and demanded con-
sideration.
Since Monday forenoon Mr.. Joyce
had never once alluded to that which
was uppermost in her mind; but on
this evening he said, rs she rose from
the dinner-table-
"At nine Laurence Markham will be
here; my Constance, what answer shall
l give himr"
"Send him to me, papa, and will
answer him."
ssYou will say y---n With an ex-
preston of painful anxiety he looked
into her face.
~ shall not fall you, papa; do not
ask me to say more"
'My beloved Constancel Was ever
man 50 blessed in his childp"
But no ray of brightness cleaned
| from the pale still face rs Constance
went quietly out of the door and up
stairs, past the brilliantly-lighted draw
ing room, to her own boudoir, where,
in darkness, but for the bright fire. in
silence, save for the ticking of the clock.
she waited with the calmness of despair
| for the hour of her doom.
Ting, ting, ting-a quarter to nine
footsteps in the passage outside the door.
He was before his time. All, well, what
did it matter? 1t was only fifteen MILL
utes less of sickening suspense.
The door opened-he was in the room;
but she did not turn her head. His steps
came nearer. he knelt down beside her
still she did not look; then voice
that was not Laurence Markham's
breathed her name.
"Constancel'
She looked now, looked right into the
loving brown eyes she knew so well,
and heard the soft tones that were to
| her the sweetest music in all The world
murmur-
"My darling Constance, mine on.
more; now We shall never part againP>
The three weeks that mad been so try
ing TO Constance Joyce had been little
less so to Wilfred AInslie. Mr.. Joyce's
question of "What can you do?" had
presented itself to HIM in many and
various forms, if not in actual words.
''If you were younger, MIR. Ainslle,"
"If YOU had ever had any business
training, Mr. Ainslie," were the words
| which grew too familiar to his ear, and
never failed to send cold chill to his
heart. Only one opening presented it
self; through the efforts of Mr.. Parker,
the family lawyer, he WAS offered clas
sical mastership in school near Lon
don. Workman Academy seemed to be
his destiny, for nothing else presented
itself so, on the evening OF the day
that Constance had made up her mind
to save her father, he slowly wended his
way towards Mr.. Parker's office. to tell
that worthy gentleman to inform MIR.
Grindboy that Mr.. Ainslie would accept
the responsibility of instructing the
youth of Workman Academy in that
most useful branch, a knowledge or the
tongues of Greece and Rome.
IL was not a very brilliant prospect
certainly; and Wilfred, with that in
stinctive putting off of the evil day
common to all, let it be rather late in
the evening ere he presented himself al
Mr.. Parker's office. So late was 1t that
he feared, as he knocked at the door,
lest MIR, Parker-enthusiastic worker
though he was-should have gone away.
Such however was not the case; never
theless something wonderful had hap
pened-the old gentleman had fallen
asleepl The consequence of this un-
heard of event was that, when Wilfred
entered the room, all was dark, save for
the light of the fire. Mr., Parker started
from the depths of his easy chair as the
door opened, and the light was bright
enough to enable hun to recognize his
visitor.
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