Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1890-07-12

Helen had inherited from Mrs. Fawcett
and the latter never knew of the time
| when Helen-after feeling, as life went OF
as usual, that the words she had hearC
were a horrible dream-would realize
with an impotent despair that they were
true She bore her pain silently, lest hel
mother should guess she shared the knowl
edge which made Mrs. Fawcett's life
move on with dreary unreality. 1t wa:
nearly the end of July, the season was
over, and once or twice Helen smiled
sadly and bitterly to think how different
the world had seemed to her in the spring
| before she had known the meaning of the
alternate fever and languor, which had
grown on her in her own despite and he,
resolute determination to take no heed Of
them; had grown on her till her mother
had insisted on her seeing doctors, to learn
that what she had only looked on as a
general lack of health was acute con.
sumption, tubercular phthisis-it does not
matter much under what name death is
introduced to us.
Helen Fawcett's life had been pleasant
always; but these last two years she had
loved 1t SO much, had chung to it so ca
gerly, and found sweetness in the aspects OF
1t, which she had not been used to care for
Mrs. Fawcett had wondered why her once
rather shy and reserved daughter had
grown SO fond of society, especially that OF
certain set. True, she had developed
into more attractiveness than she had
promised in very early girlhood; despite
her quletness there was reality in her
which gave charm to her brightness and
refinement, and she was pleasant to look
at, though neither beautiful nor pretty.
The figure was slender, graceful and deli
cate; the face, not very regular, was yet
sweet with its tender, true mouth and lus-
trcus hazel eyes.
Three or four days after the consulta-
ton, Mrs. Fawcett and her daughter were
driving in the afternoon. Mrs. Faweett
had gone into one or two shops, while
Helen remained in the carriage. They
were stopping in front of shop in Bond
street, and just as Mrs. Fawcett was re-
entering the victoria, a young man passing
lifted his hat, then stopped and shook
hands warmly.
Il thought you had left town." he said;
$50 many people have gone. Pm off N.Y.
self next week"
"We are thinking of going somewhere
soon" said Mrs. Fawcett. "Helen is not
very strong, and we are trying to fix on
some very quiet, mild place where / can
nurse her up-somewhere in the west of
England, think"
"Have you not been well?p he asked.
turning to Helen. "You don't look ill''
his voice was one of those which have
the dangerous charm of expressing an
earnest interest which the speaker may or
may not feel, and his eyes sought the girls
face as he spoke with certain tenderness
in the keenness of their glance. He was
right, the girl did not look i'll; her cheeks
and lips had gained color, her eyes were
deep and beautiful with melancholy sub
dued into pathos as, despite her struggle,
their gaze rested on his face.
81 am much better than | was" she said
she spoke of the present moment, which
she had longed and hungered for, and vet
which was slipping away so fast.
No, remember now" said Paul Bea-
toun. 81 have not met you out lately.
hope you have not been very ILL.,"
How his voice touched her !-uncon-
sciously cruel as the words were, in spite
OF the interest, warm and real, even if only
A4OuChtdiy3 VI Vic 1dSb sentence. Sle
looked at the clear-cut face she knew SO
well, yet which ever seemed to hold a
dearer secret of beauty when her eyes
again beheld it. 1t had never meant so
much to her as it did at that moment. a
vision of all life would be to some other
woman. 1t might have been hers if.
No, he never had cared, he never would
have cared for her. All this passed
through her mind as her mother answered
Mr.. Beatoun's inquiry:
oh, no. She will be all right soon.n
A few more words, then he held out his
hand "Well," he said, ''it is good-by for
some time, suppose-till the winter"
eyes," said Helen. 'Till the winter,
good-by"
She longed that her mother should ask
Paul Beatoun to come and see them before
they left town; but Mrs. Fawcett was far
too engrossed with the one thought of
Helen to think of doing so. He was
charming and clever and handsome enough.
this young man of whom some prophesied
much when he should have learned his
own power. Mrs. Fawcett liked him, but
just now he had no interest for her; she
could not know that when Helen was once
more in her own room alone, she paced
restlessly up and down in misery "Good-
by till the winter" Had it meant "good-
by for ever ?"-that the touch of his hand,
which still staid with her, which made her
treasure the glove she had then worn, was
the last she should ever feel
They were hardly friends, at all events
not great ones, she and Mr.. Beatoun. Most
likely he never gave her thought unless
they were in the same room, not very often
then; but all her life had grown to be the
thought of him; sleeping or waking, even
when she thought she was dwelling on
other people or things, 'his strong idea
possessed her entirely, passionately, as it
| had done these two years. If Mrs. Faw-
cett gave dinner or dance to which he
was asked. Helen spent the time till his
answer came in sickening suspense, and
then tried, even if he accepted, to school
herself into the belief he would not come
so as to prevent the disappointment, if he
did not, being cruelty sharp-a selfdisci-
pline utterly without effect, as had been
proved to her cost once or twice. She
never went to any gayety without the
vague, subtle hope che may be there" OF
the dreary certainty che will not. With.
out him all life was
| Gas naked
As corone without the stones"
Yet in spite of this folly, madness
whatever you will-ruling her life, she
knew Paul Beatoun could never guess
what he was to her, or the strange In
tensity of emotion which possessed her in
his presence, from her quiet manner She
had not the instinct of allurement belong.
| ing to many women, by which, without
unmaidenliness or lack of refinement, they
can, as by magnetism, draw the man they
wish to win to their sides; she felt anG
owned the lack in herself, though she
could not have defined it. Her love made
her shy, almost cold, in her manner u
Paul Beatoun; sometimes, indeed. she fell
less nervous, but then frank friendliness
which seemed strange to herself, was al
that appeared.
Here was the bitterness of death, tn,
knowledge which lent the sharpest pang Il
l 4 I i Z =