The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1886-05-29

you fortune equaling your own. my
\ chances of winning your hand would be as.
sured. Acting on this idea, went into Wall
! Street with my own individual savings, and
| II was only when these were lost that used
the funds of the bank and those OF its de-
| postors. In the interview you so recently
! granted me, to gain my desire, l told you
| that ali your fortune had been spent told
| you an untruth. L deposited your bonds in
| bank III Canada and | have telegraphed
for their return to you. Though your
| hOnored father had Implicit faith in me land
| never, while he was living, gave him occa-
sion to suspect mel, he awaited himself in
taking me into the firm, of that law which
| limited his responsibility to the amount OF
capital he paid into the bank; and your loss by
its failure is simply for that amount. And
now as | stand on the borders of the greal
unseen, and am about to add one more count
in my list of crimes, it is still the one prayer
of my heart that you should think kindly OF
me. FREDERICK LEASAws."
| OF the few supreme masters of modern
| fiction that the present century has given
! birth to, two have drawn CHASTITY portrait
ures of the dead in the nights solemn still
ness, in deserted houses The somber
pictures of the rigid figures of Ralph
| Nickleby and Judge Pyncheon, with the
| gloom of deepening night shrouding them
in weird shadows, are not pleasant to look
| upon even when limned by the hand of
| genius. The .morbidly curious, could they
have looked into the private office of Chill
son d Co., Bankers, would have seen a
| form equally chastity seated in a luxurious
chair, one soft white hand grasping a pearl
handled revolver, the head thrown back,
and the right temple marked with an ugly
| blotch.
| As for Margaret, when she turned her
| back on the man whom she could no longer
| think of without shuddering, she sought
| the privacy of her own chamber. The
| strange communication had stunned her;
she felt numbness creeping over her body
and for the moment her mind seemed in
| capable of fashioning ideas. A great
emergency had arisen; and how could she
meet it, She felt as powerless as leaf
| cast into fierce, rushing torrent. All
through the night she sat by her window !;
| she heard the great clock in the hall sound
the passing hours and finally morning
| came, dragging its century-like minutes
along. By and by country people began
to drive by in crowds toward showdown,
| their necks craned toward the farmhouse
until they were lost in the distance. Then
| Phil came, the bearer of dreful news. He
told her, as delicately as possible, of the
suicide, of the immense excitement, the
increasing crowds, in the city. He longed,
| too to tell her of the love he felt for her. to
| take her to his heart of hearts and comfort
| her, but the hour was too full of serious
trouble for love-making. He brought her
| the letter found, addressed to her on the
| dead mans desk. Margaret received it
YEARLY and for the time put it aside I'M
opened. Later her lawyer, old and long
! trusted, came; then the letter was read and
| discussed and before he went, the express
| package, containing her securities, was
placed upon her table. When the strings
| were removed its contents were found in
| tact, and Margaret's decision regarding
| her duty fully reached. Though in no legal
| sense responsible for the losses of Chillson
| q Co.; though no stigma could attach it
self to her name, Margaret had resolved
| to surrender her entire estate for the bene-
| fit of the creditors of the bank Her law
| yer thought such a course unwiSe, and
urged her at least to retain her home; but
| in vain; and when at last he left her
| he carried with him not only Sc
curities for hundreds of thousands of dol
| lars but the assignment of her entire es-
| tate in favor of the creditors of Chillson d
| Co.
When the lawyer had gone, and Margaret
| found herself alone with the consciousness
| that her possessions were less than those of
| the poorest kitchen girl in her employ, she
| sat long by the open window, her mind full
| of plans for the future Beyond the flowing
| bed of asters and ZinniaS in her flower gar
| den, beyond the fields of golden grain. Just
| ripe for the reaper, she saw the roof of
| her overseer's cottage. Did he love herr
| She knew in her inmost heart that he did.
| Would he now come and claim her, beg
| gar! That question too, her heart answered
| in the affirmative. And here the con-
| tradictOrinesS of her woman'S nature shot
up its tangled thickets to make his coming
| in vain. If yesterday he had but asked,
how fondly she would have given herself
| and her million of money into his keeping {;
but today poorer than Cophetua's Maid,
| inaSmuch as waving the limitation of her
| late partnership, she had become response
| bic for all the claims against Chillson &
| CO., she felt she could be nothing but a
| stumbling-block in his future. AS a woman
| of business she knew the law made the
| husband liable for the debts of the wife
contracted before marriage, and that to
| give herself to Phil would entail upon him
| an Had of woes not to be thought of for an
| instant. Then, too, this home, so dear to
| her, won from the wilderness more than a
| century before by her great-great-grand-
| father-could she bear to see ''the strang-
er's foot upon the soil~ Other considera-
| tions, needless to enumerate, also urged
| her to fight as the easiest way of solving
| the difficulties that beset her. Yes; she
would go and make no sign. No matter
| how much Phil might care for her, time
| would heal all heart-aches; and poverty to
| her, as to all those who have never felt its
leash, did not seem such terrible thing to
| face. Then she went to her desk, and
| wrote Mrs. Winter note of farewell, say
| ing that she had neither courage nor
| strength to bid her goodbye in person, and
| through her thanking Phil for the many
years OF kindly acts he had rendered her.
| Downing her plainest robes, and taking
some simple keepsakes of her father and
| mother, and letting her eyes rest once
more--and she thought for the last time
| upon the scenes fraught with all the hap
| piness of her young life she turned and
| went out alone to face 1.-The fever of the
world.n
| When Margaret reached the distant city
| in which she had resolved to solve anew the
| problem of life, she sat down and wrote to
| her pastor, the white-haired almoner of her
| endless unheralded charities, recounting
some of the reasons that prompted her pre-
| cipitate fight, asking him to assure her
! friends of her well-being, to keep her
| abiding-place a secret, and to advise her
| regarding the future, and to address her in
| her mothers name, which was also her own
| When the expected answer came it
| brought much to comfort and cheer Mar
garet on her lonely way. 1t brought, also,
note of Introduction to the writer's
| brother pastor and college-mate; and,
armed with this, and telling her story
| frankly, Margaret received welcome very
gratifying: for the ubiquitous newspaper
| paragraph had heralded her somewhat I'M
usual course of surrendering her last penny
| in order to liquidate debts for which she
was neither legally nor morally holden, as
something quite remarkable in these days
| of financial rottenness.
| Under kindly patronage, which reluct-
I antly consented to keeping secret her true
| identity, Margaret commenced her new life
! with brave, il sore and aching heart, and
with willing and eager hands. Her exquis-
| tie accomplishments as musician proved
her fortune. Her voice in the choir of the
| oh rab f1t ha~ .I,,a.