Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1890-07-17
CR|STOWEL['S MARRIAGE.

That was what John CristOWell saw
as he parted the willow boughs and
stood on the bank of the rapid little
river.
A pathetic cry of distress had reached
him as he rode past on his homeward
way, and hastily throwing his horses
bride over the branch of tree by the
roadside, he lost no time in rushing to
the spot whence the sound had come.
The white, girlish face turned to-
ward him, the slender arms uplifted in
a gesture of wild appeal, and the
pretty lips moved in last breath
less effort as she saw standing there,
only a few feet away, the strong,
stalwart young fellow who had hasten
ed to her rescue.
Help! oh, help!''
The cry came family, but John Girls
towel heard it, and somehow it thrilled
his heart as no other voice ever had.
"Courager' he shouted back cheerily
in response. And the next moment he
had plunged into the foaming waters
and was making his way with rapid
strokes toward the hel pless little boat.
Once there, a single glance told
him what the trouble was; one of the
oars had been lost overheard, and, in
her fright and bewiIderment the girl
was incapable of managing her little
craft
But what her frail strength had found
impossible was an easy enough task
for his strong and skillful hand and
very soon he had landed his fair
charge safely on the shore.
You are still faint and trembling"
he said gently, when, after a few sweet
ly spoken words of gratitude which
John Cristowell would remember al
ways she turned to leave him; chad I
not better take you safely to your
home?"
She shGek her head with the sweet
est, saddest smile he had ever seen.
mo, oh. no." she answered hastily,
81 am quite able to go alone now. My
home is very near. You can see it
over there just beyond those trees.
But II should like to know the name
of my rescuer," she added simply, with
shy, half-timid glance from beneath
her dark lashes.
John Cristowell, now and always
at your service Miss Livingston he
said, smiling slightly as he lifted his
hat with an air which expressed at
once both pride and Difference.
He fingered a moment, looking after
the fragile, graceful form as it van
ished down the wooden path in the di-
rection of the great gray stone man.
sion beyond the trees.
so that is Verna Livingston, the
heress to more than round million, "
he so!iloquized, a puzzled. almost pity
ing look on his strong, ruggedly hand
some face Il heard they were COM
ing home but the picture that my
fancy drew of the millionaire's only
child was far different from the reality.
face she has, and | thought it had s
touch of sadness too. But / suppose
that was the result of her fright and
danger of the river. Well, wellr'-
with little laugh as he shook the
water from his short curling hair
''what business have | to be dreaming
of pretty heiresses? There is a line as
liked as fate between their station and
my own-a line which |, for one, do
not care to cross, and it is not likely
that chance will ever throw me in her
path again.
Whether or not that reflection caused
him any regret. his pleasant expressive
face did not show.
But certainly his thoughts went back
more than once to the pale, sweet face
of the girl he had rescued, as he rode
along toward his own modest home.
Long months he had been absent
from it, his business being that of a
hn Il oil. Il = n
intervals of his work, to return to the
coy little cottage, made bright and
comfortable for him by widowed sis
ter; yet now he could not help smiling
as he mentally contrasted it with the
stately mansion which Nerna Living
ston called her home.
Contrary to his expectations, chance
did throw him, not infrequently, in
the young heiress' pathway, for she
seemed fond of taking long rides and
walks over the quiet country roads.
She had always a pleasant nod and
smile for him when they met, but John
Cristowell noticed that the sweet, deli
cate face was always pale and wistful
looking, and there was an indefuable
sadness in the glance of her soft, dark
eyes which haunted him for hours after
each one of those chance meetings.
is she unhappy?' was the question
that began to trouble him almost un-
consciously.
And slumbering in his heart, half
unknown to himself, was silent pur-
pose to hold himself in readiness, as a
true knight, to aid and protect her,
should she ever again require his serv-
ices.
How soon the time would come and
in what way he was to prove his knight
hood, John Cristowen little dreamed.
Walking along the road which skirted
the willow-bordered stream, in the early
dusk one evening, he was startled by
the abrupt appearance of Miss Living
ston directly in his path, her lovely
face whittier than ever he had seen it be-
fore. her great, SOFT dark eyes full of a
terror impossible to describe.
Il have been waiting for YOU" she
began, in low, rapid tones, not giving
him time to express in words the as
tonishment that was expressed on his
face. "You-you once said you would
help me, Mr.. Cristowell?"
..And l meant it, too. Miss Living.
ston," he returned, with quiet firm.
ness. Tell me how I can serve
you"
She threw back her graceful head
and looked at him with the air of q
frightened fawn, one little hand press.
ed tightly against her loudly beating
heart.
-''Listen!' she exclaimed. her voice
SO fluttering and uneven that he had te