The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1889-08-04

arranged. Henry will bring in a capital of
ESQ., and the old bank will be put beyond
the reach of danger. We won't forget you.
either. Frank. After time you shall be
brought in as a Junior partner
But this was a little too much to bear /
must give up my darling; that was lneylta-
BILE: but to be asked TO sell her-to renounce
her love for so many pounds year-thlS
was beyond endurance.
Whatever my father may have been,"
said. holly, Il am a man of honor. / no
longer ask you for your daughter; but L
can't stay here to see her sold to another,
and share in the profits of the sale. AS soon
as you can replace me viii leave the bank,
and seek my fortune elsewhere"
Mr.. Bradford shrugged his shoulders.
well. if that Is how you choose to take
it. Frank. there is nothing more to be said.
But you must not speak TO Maud In your
present excited state. Will make your ex-
cuses, and after nights rest you will, per
haps, see the matter in a more reasonable
light
And he rang the bell in dignified way to
order "a dog cart to take ME home. But
preferred TO walk, and left the house at
once, finding the mlzzling rain and dark,
murky way In sufficient harmony with my
present feelings.
Presently appeared the lights of Market
Mellish cleaning over the bare hedgerows.
and before long L found myself Ill the high
street of that little town.
In the center of the high street stood the
old bank, a warm. cheerful, red brick house
of considerable size, which Mr.. Bradford
had occupied himself in his younger days.
Here had been allotted, by the kindness
of Mr.. Bradford, q couple of handsome
rooms, while the rest of the house was oc-
| cupied by our head clerk AbsOlon who
| was charged with the safety of the premis-
es. Mrs. Absolon looked after my domestic
| comforts. She was bright, busting little
| woman and generally brought an atmOs-
| phere of cheerfulness about with her. But
| this night, as she came TO my room. where
| sat brooding over the fire, she looked
quite serious.
"Oh, Mr.. Frank she began. II bad such
| an upset this afternoon. 1t was just about
| dusk, and saw n gentleman walking on
| the other side of the street, and he looked
up at the windows; but dear mev she cried.
you seen him. tool"
'Seen whomi" cried. with an attempt
| at my usual manner. Il have seen fifty.
] window, Mrs. Absolon, don't wonder at
anybody looking up at it,"
Now, none of your nonsense, Mr.. Frank.
| This is Il serious business. 1t was your
| father, i am sure-poor Colonel Forester.
| And he didn't look much older. either. and
| just as beautifully dressed rs he used TO be.
| with a flower in his buttonhOle and all!
| Oh, he was a charming man. your papa.
| MIR. Frank; but still the seeing him mex
pected like gave me quite shock. And L
| have been expecting all evening to hear his
knock at the door,"
| Just at this moment sharp double knock
| resOunded through the house. and Mrs. Alb
| the knock only announced the telegram
| after all. which l opened according to
| standing orders. 1t was an American cable
| gram, and bore the succlnct message: Dead
certainty; proofs by mall l sent Oft the
message to the Grange. This little event
| had reused me, aud / began energetlcally
| to make preparations for departure while
Mrs: AbsOlon looked on amazed us L gave
| her hurried Instructions about this and that
| Now, mind. 1 must have all my things
| home by Saturday. and send round and
| tell young Blake he can have Chancellor
for 20 guineas. And the dogs; yes, | must
| find home for the dogs"
| Mrs. AbsOlon's amaZement gave place to
| indignation.
Home for the dogs" she cried. "Why,
| they've got home, and it would break my
| heart to part with the dear crea tuTes And
| as for selling Chancellor yOu shan't do it
horse as will suit you SO well! see how it
is. You have had a tiff with the old gen.
| tleman, and it's to be havoc and ruin every
where. But you wait; tomorrow Will tell
a different tale. And shan't send word to
| the laundress about your things, neither,
| Mr.. Frank. And just as your father has
come home with his fortune made. and ev-
erybody's to be happy and comfortable"
| The good wOmans last words struck me
| with thought that such a thing was just
| within the bounds of possibility. But il
| was utterly unlikely; and Mrs. Absolon had
| been deceived, no doubt, by some point of
slacken in my preparations for departure
Not another night would | sleep in the
| house, which would, doubtless, soon be
occupied by Maud and her future
| husband, And, when morning came. L
was ready for start, but in what
direction l had not made up my mind.
| But / went round the old place. took an al
fectionate leave of Chancellor and the dogs.
yard, which sloped so pleasantly down to
the winding valley, to pay a last visit to
1 my mothers grave. Strange to say, the
wet turf already, early as it was, bore
left little bunch of flowers there, on the
| fiat, stone slab-white, exotic flowers.
But all this was driven out of my head
when 1 reached the bank house. A carriage
from the Grange was standing at the door.
| and Mrs. AbsOlon was looking out for me
| with a triumphant expression.
There's somebody waiting TO see you up
stairs, Mr.. Frank" And as 1 darted mp.
| two stairs at a time, she called out: What
| about Chancellor and the dogs. Mr. Frank?
| Have You found a home FOR them yetg'
| And on the threshold of my sitting-room
stood Maud. blushing, radiant; and. as l
| clasped her in my arms. she whispered:
| cit is all right, Frank. You are to forget
| what papa said last night He has sent me
| to make his peace with you, and bring you
| home to breakfast"
All, what happy morning that was after
| our night of misery! For Maud had been
| as wretched as myself. When / had gone
away, without word to her, she had been
| in the depths of desolation. and her fathers
| manner, gloomy and moroSe, had convinced
| her that there was no more hope for MS.
| But in the morning all was different. Hap
| piness had come in sleep, although she had
| hardly slept wink. Some good news had
| changed her fathers disposition.
Happy! How could we be otherwise, with
Il y Il 4 - L.
| and enchantment of loves young dream?
| Yet, through il all there sounded a note of
| doubt and dread-in my ears at least-for
| Mr.. Bradford's revelations had shown me
| how thin was the crust on which we were
| standing. And presently j was told the
| news which had changed Mr.. Bradford's
| views SO suddenly. He had kept it back
| from me at first, for 1t was not news at
| which ought properly to rejoice. But
| the American telegram was from an agent
| he had employed to ascertain with certainty
| what had become of my father, and by the
| news of his death Mr.. Bradford would be
| the richer by 100000, as well as relieved
from the burdensome yearly payments. The
| thousand a year he thus saved he would
| give to his sOn-in-law and daught IT, and
with replenished Golfers, the bank would
| enter upon a career of increased prosperity.
| But the proofs were the thing, the proofs of
the identity of the deceased. which. when
| they arrived. did not prove thoroughly con-
| yincing, somehow, to the representatives of
the insurance Companies Further evidence
was called for and this caused delay and
| anxiety.
But there seemed to be no reason why the