Weekly expositor. (Brockway Centre, Mich.) 1882-1894, 1886-12-02
unsvallIng, to stiae my pain with these re

child, and Mrs Blencowe's saying to me, II
bought that as we passed through London"
Where could II bel None Of the servants
knew anything OF IT, Mrs. Paterson advised
me TO look In the lumber-rooms.
Looking In the lumber-rooms was very
much like looking for needle in q haystack.
They were three large rooms at the top OF the
house, lighted by skyllghts. One contained
boxes Of every imaginable kind and shape;
but mine was not amongst them The second
was filled with old furniture and old pictures,
and the third was a receptacle for well-ngh all
the odds and ends II is possible TO think Of.
The third was the largest room Of the three,
and the brightest l became quite interested
in the variety Of old and forgotten things that
l found / remember every detail of the af-
ternoon so well. 1t was O'Clock when went
into that room; the afternoon shadows lay
long upon the grass the birds were singing
blithely.
Through the window in the roof came a ray
of bright sunlight that fell upon the things
that encountered the floor. There was violin
that had not been used for years, an old easel,
a pile Of books, and a number of picture
frames. Everything was covered with dust,
and large cobwebs hung from the ceiling.
room had been touched.
| My box was not there; but / found many
things that attracted my attention. In a dis
tant corner of the room, where II was not very
light, ] saw some old engravings covered with
dust, and near them lay something that /
recognized with smile and cry. 1t was the
map of the county which i had seen last on
the Squirrels table when he was making his
| s..tIl
blue twist, the peculiar colors. 1t was like
seeing an old friend; and it brought that past
picture so wildly before me that for some
time i sat silent, looking at 1t.
At last / opened it. and something fell
from It, l stopped to pick 1t up; and there,
fresh as II was when had seen 1t last, was the
parcel l had seen the Squire pack up and tie
with red tape. There was the closely written
sheet Of parchment. there were the long strips
of paper that looked like certificates, there
were the letters that had seen him enclose.
Although ! had never seen the packet since
that eventful day, knew it at once, remem-
bering how the Squire had fastened the ends
of the tape with wax
A perfect fever of excitement possessed me;
l knew that l had found the lost will But
there was something more wonderful still than
| ,
own handwriting, were these words-"To be
opened by my daughter Gracia after my
death" My eyes read, yet hardly saw the
words fell upon my knees with the packet
in my hands, for had discovered-oh, thank
| Heaven, l had discovered the name OF my
father at last
l knelt there with streaming tears and
trembling hands, my heart too full for words,
| har 1l 10 hraa tha md
ITO my daughter Gracia"-that was why
had loved him then! The whte-haired old
man who had been so kind yet so strange TO
me- who had kissed me with tears in his eyes,
yet, while knowing his relationship TO me, had
never spoken OF it, was my father Gracia
| Dacre! Thank Heaven, had discovered nv
namel
Those moments were to me the most solemn
Of my life. ] stood on the Threshold Of
mysterious shrine. / kissed the words "My
daughter Gracia" Oh, my dear dead father,
| ii could but have kissed your face againw
Then, with the fervent words of a prayer on
my lips, broke the seals / remember how
the sunbeams from the roof-window fell across
| the papers, some of which were yellow with
| age. remember the silence that reigned in
the room unbroken save by the rustling Of
the pages ! turned In my hands. The first
thing | read was the long letter which / had
seen the Squire write on that aforementioned
day in the library and this was what it con-
| tanned
| MY dear daughter Gracia,-I write this
letter in your presence, and, as i write, look
at you, and wonder what you will think of me
when, after have passed away, you know that
/ was your father / wish l had the moral
courage to tell you now, to take you in my
arms and kiss YOU; but ] am afraid and
ashamed. l ought 10 be proud Of you, for
! you are as beautiful as your mother, who was
one of the loveliest women in Spain"
'You are my child, Gracia, yet have never
| told YOU so. False pride withheld me. will
tell you the story of my life; then you can
condemn or pity me as you will Perhaps you
will know for yourself some day how the
Dacres love; perhaps you will know the fever
and passion men call love. It consumed me.
| She is dead-t the beautiful Millicent whom
loved-and ] will say no word against her
only this, that she betrayed me-"
remembered how he had uttered the name
when he lay there dying, and What bright
| light had come into l. face.
''Shc was fashionable lady, my poor MILL
cent. / was only a country Squire; but
would have died for her, Gracia She lured
Inc on with sweet words and loving glances.
felt sure she loved me; but one day, when
asked her to be my wife, she gave me q cold
contemptuous look and refused my offer with
scorn. She killed the good within me; never
theless nothing could extingush my love for
her She married. OF her after-fate need
not speak; all England knows it. and she has
long been dead
II became a confirmed woman-h ater after
that; and, what was worse / was proud OF
the reputation. liked to hear men aver that
no woman would ever win Wolfgang Dacre
lived for years in a state of proud defiance,
and then ] went to Spain. honestly believed
that my heart was dead, and that no woman
had the power to draw smile or a sigh from
me. / met your mother at Granada, where she
was living with an uncle-for she was an or
phan, Gracia; she had one Of the loveliest
faces that the sun ever shone on, and you are
the living image Of her. We were married in
the Church Of San Geronimo, Granada, and
the long strip Of paper you will find enclosed,
marked No. l. is the copy Of the marriage
certificate Of Wolfgang Dacre of Heron's
Nest in the county OF Kent, England, and
Isola Valda Of Granada Spain. The original
is to be found In the registry Of the old Church
OF San Geronimo.
Snow have o shameful confession to make
Your mother Isola was young and beautiful
she was deeply in love with me, but she was
not as Mlllicent had believed myself mad
ly in love with her; but, when had been mar
ried few months, grew tired of her.
''Poor Isolal tried TO hide my feeling; but