Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1890-05-14

to overcome the bitter memories call
ed up by that name, she notices another
paper with the same handwriting. 1t
is but a scrap, and has evidently been
torn from some book in haste and
the writing is a scrawl:
Il am dying. You have been kind
to me and bought my pictures | am
without friends and pennyless, but |
cannot leave my child alone. In pity
for the poor artist, care for her. You
have wealth, and will never miss what
you give her. But never overshadow
her young life with an account of her
fathers struggles and disapointments.
Do this, and receive dying mans
blessing.
RALPH DESMOND.
For moment the room swims be-
fore her bewildered gaze. Then she
drops her head upon her clasped hands,
and bursts into tears.
She has known, for years, that she
was an adopted child but, owing to
her guardians reticence, she has never
found clue to her birth until now.
A deep yearning for the father she
has never known fills her heart. Oh,
that he could have lived, that his
child might have cheered his saddened
life The daughter of Ralph Des-
mond The knowledge opens all the
flood gates Of the love SO long stihed
and pent up.
If she could but fly to the arms Of
Philip, and tell him who she is! No;
for in another moment, she remembers
that five years have passed since she
has seen nina long time for the
truest love even to keep silent. Why
has he never written to her All !
she remembers that she forbade it,
Duty, duty-she talked to him of duty;
and all the while her heart has been
breaking over this cruel separation.
Perhaps, after all, he has persuaded
himself that his promise was unjust.
Perhaps he has found one who can
fill the place of his first love Her
hands tremble, as she pushes the papers
back into the drawer, and locks it.
She is filled with so many deep
emotions, over this newly-found chap.
ter of her life, that, putting on her
hat and throwing shawl around her
shoulders, she hurries out of the house,
through the back garden, and down
to the meadow. Even there she does
not pause, but passes on until she
reaches the little church-yard, where
Philip Ashhart's mother sleeps. She
has never visited the grave before.
She has felt an aversion to it, when.
ever she has looked towards it, as she
went to church. But now, in her ex-
cited state Of mind, it seems a link to
the past. She filings herself on the
mound, and, with her head resting on
her hands, clasps the headstone.
How deeply the woman, sleeping
so silently here, loved Ralph Desmond,
the poor painter How much she,
who now kneels on the grave, loves
this dead woman's son How strange
world it is Are she and her lover
-living-any nearer together than
these two lovers-dead
ooh !" she cries. take back your
promise ; even from your grave,
speak"
She does not notice in her despair
that twilight is closing around her.
The chirp of the cricket, and the
twinkling stars, bring back wildly
to her mind that night five years
before, when she parted from her
lover.
There is step close behind her.
A man, tall and sunburned, as if from
many wanderings, stands beside her.
The steps arrest her attention. She
turns suddenly.
Philip" she gasps, AS she recog.
nizes, even in The twilight, even though |
so altered, the well-remembered fea-
lures.
"You?" he calculated.
Then, as If trying TO keep down
some strong emotion, he drew back
In another moment, he seizes her
hands, and exclaims passionately:
you at last-after all these years.
/ cannot obey you. | haye wandered |
-anywhere-to be away from YOU
to forget the look of your eyes--the
sound of your voice. 1t is in vain"
She stood trembling before him.
She could not find words to answer.
He began again, more vehemently
than before.
81 thought, if could only stand
by the grave" he said, lit would give
me strength to keep my promise to
the bitter end. l did not come that
l might see you. thought ] could
remain for one night at the old home,
unknown, and, the next day, be far
away again. But fate determined
otherwise. ! have found YOU Don't
turn away from me. Is it right to
keep this promise to the dead Tell
me. / leave it all to YOU"
II must keep it, she says, looking
at him steadily. He reels as if about
to fall. But" she cries, hastily,
stepping forward as if to
catch him, dear Philip, II am
Ralph Desmond's daughter" The
next moment he is in her arms.
The twilight deepens. as she repeats
the contents of the letter she has read
that afternoon. Night falls but they