Lancaster daily intelligencer. [volume] (Lancaster, Pa.) 1864-1928, 1886-04-27
A ROMANCE OF FACT.


From the New York Times.
A funeral where there was to have been a !
wedding-that il one incident of this Easter
time. Twenty years ago Henry Wells WAS q
young man on the police force at Pittsburg,
doing night duty. 4 man who had be-
frended him died, and the widow, over
come Ivy grief suffered the loss OF iutelleC-
tual strength and, unhampered by proper
restrictions soon squandered the little for.
tune lett to her, sud was within year peuni.
less, with no home for either herself or the
infant that was her only relative in the
world. From bad to worse the woman ran
quickly, and on duty one night Henry Wells
came across the poor creature walking the
stgeets in bowling storm casping her babe
to her breast and cursing Providence, The
moment she saw him she halted, uttered
few fierce imprecations, threw the shirerlng
little chit OF a child into the sturdy going
fellows arms, aud, turning, fled pellmell
| into the darkness
The policeman was unmarried, but he
| took the babe to the home of his mother and
charged her to nurse il tenderly lie adopted
| the little girl for child of his own. Her
| wretched mother was heard of no more in
| Pittsburg for many a day, though the story
that circulated representing that her dead
body had been found in a local river had no
truth in it, One day she turned up again
she sought Henry Wells strong drink was
her master all sense of self respect had de-
parted and when her quest for her childs
guardian proved unsuccessful she went
forthwith and did q deed which put her in
the hands of the law and locked her up with
other criminals.
Henry Wells was no longer night police
man in Pittshurg he bad gone to the Penn
sylvania oil fields to make his fortune. lie
made it Years ago he was exceedingly rich.
Native intelligence, pluck, and hard work
had given him "luck" that seemed beyoud
all belief. lie was not married yet. Tho or
phan who had fallen helpless into his arms
from trenzied mothers grasp developed
into a pretty miss, aud long iroCks were Civ
ing her the air OF young woman. lie want
ed nobody else to stir his heart he idolized
her, and all that tender thoughtfulness and
money poured out in measure unstinted could
do was done for her happiness. She entered
convent school at Montreal, and wear
ago was graduated-cultured, beautiful,
fascinating. No hint had ever come to her
of her parentage or of the gloom of her ear
lest days. Henry Wells she knew as "uucle:p
her father and mother both dead-such was
The story that she was tCld. The beaus
tiOcked toward her; personal charms ana
| certain heritage of fabulous wealth-it was
| no mean aud ordinary temptation, and little
| wonder 1t Is that regiment of pretty fair
| minded young men tumbled head over
| heels in love with the young woman. She
was on good terms with erybody only
| her sex saved her the title of "a Jolly good
| fellow but to no one did she show any
| special favor the whole crowd of admirers
were shut out when "UnCle Henry" had the
desire to monopolize her attention.
Happiness was everywhere a month ago,
and then came sudden and dreadful change
| woman, wrinkled, coarse-featured, repul-
sive in lOOk-bearing all the marks OF a
| career OF debauChery-came to the New
| England town where Henry Wells made his
| home when he first sent his heiress TO the
| convent, and straightway she sought his
| house. lnsolence was in her every feature
as she mounted the steps and vigorously rang
the bell. Wells himself answered the sum.
| mons. There was a company of friends
| within the doors enjoying an afternoons hos
| pitality, the handsome young mistress Of
the mansion in the centre of the gay
| group. loud voice was heard in the
hall, and words spoken by Henry
Wells were caught also. The woman who
| bad given to him her child had come
| 10 demand her back again-come to
| inoculate with her own misery and her own
shame one of tire brightest lives in all the
| world. Her tongue was fOrked with wicked
| ness. ain was the rich mans effort to hush
| her threats and promises were alike futile.
| Then, as he made ready to eject her torcibly,
a voice IN the hallway behind the furious
| man said softly "U Uncle Henry, what is the
matter ~ The blow fell. The woman of sin
| made herself plain. Henry Wells fell, faint
ing; the brave fellow who had endured all
| the hardships and cared nothing for all the
| dangers OF the oil fields was unable to bear
| up under the knowledge that she whom he
| worshiped was outraged his ward learned
| everything; 1t needed little confirmation
| beyond the limp figure of her fallen guardian
| to show that the venomOus words OF the
| cursiDg female had truth in them.
| And that night, when Henry Wells had
| revived sufficiently to talk, he was honest
| enough to tell the truth and the whole truth
| to the beautiful girl who sat nursing him,
wholly unmindful OF herself And on his
sick bed the guardian, yet in bis manhuod's
prime, became lover before the night was
over there was pledge that promised the
realization OF a lIietme's devotion in we'd
lock this Easter time But the brave girl
suffered what she did not show there was a
canker at her heart, and, though there was
no alloy in the love she bore the man who
had given her every joy of her life, still she
had cloud upon her. She displayed no lack
OF courage, though, and went gladly on with
preparations for her marriage day. Then
suddenly the cord snapped. She passed
away in one nighttime last week, with no
struggle, no giving of any hint of the danger
she was IN. "tieart disease" said the doc. |
tors; but the gossips in that New England |
town recall the spectacle OF the drunken |
Woinan's visit and quote the words that |
woman used in calling this dead girl her |
own. lnscrutabie, indeed, are the wavs Of |
this worlds fate