Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1892-09-23
A RICH PAUPER.

| 1t was that she never discovered the fact
until one night last June.
All, that night in June! The whole earth
seemed an altar to beauty; the stars throb-
bed in ecstacy and the air breathed of a
| sv-cot ond terrible Ie,tIcssness and the
pauper's nature thrilled in response. What
was itP
She was twenty-five years old, married
and mother. She was surfeited with
luxury. The conventional girl of the upper
class, her dreams had been of marriage,
motherhood. position and riches. Her
dreams had been realized.
She was always called 'nice'' girl
i In appearance she was not pretty enough
to attract or ugly enough to fascinate.
She was simply and merely commonplace.
On the beach she would be ignored by the
men and admired by the women, and
| she would never tempt hammock to an
| iEdiscretion
She was mice" girl
Everybody liked her, but perhaps nobody
loved her. In any picture she would sup
ply: the wanted tints.
! She was respected, but to be respected is
not always to be loved. Some women in
spire ono sentiment and some the other.
| When a woman commands both she is in
deed happy.
And then came the night in June.
She was sitting, quite little figure, on
the piazza watching the firefies. She was
I contented, though she was never to be so
again. Suddenly tall figure in summer
fannels materialized. 1t leaned above her;
its breath was on her cheek. She saw it's
eyes and trembling lips quito plainly
through the dusk for a brief second; then
in fash the whole expression Of the face
changed. 1t was transfixed with horror
mingled with amusement.
81 beg your pardoni II have made
great mistake. The cottages on this bluff
resemble each other SO completely. Pr
And again she was alone.
II And in that moment she knew she was
that she had always been-a pauper in
loves land.
No man had ever worn such look for
her. She was not at that moment quite
sure that she would have liked it if they
had. Something then existed for other
women of which she had known nothing,
and there was a chapter in life in which
she had no part 1t was very queer.
She sat up very straight and listened.
She heard suppressed laughter on the
piazza of the next cottage. A voice said:
II nearly kissed her, by Jover'
| you are quite sure you did not?" asked
a second.
what? You have seen herl I assure
you it was no temptationT''
Then both laughed. It was apparently
joke which both appreciated.
| Assuredly these summer cottages are
placed too near each other for decency
And it is true also that they resemble each
other too closely. AS the pauper sat there
new pain tugged at her heart. It was
not eased even when she heard in the
nursery of her cottage a child whimper out
in it's sleep. From another room hung in
| 6shnet she could hear mems voices and
| the rattle of chips.
| One voice was that of her husband.
| "a woman who has nothing to give is
pauperp' she said and bowed her head.
II She was human, and was thinking with
her heart and not her soul. She tried to
SAY to herself that modesty, intelligence
and womanly worth were of infinitely more
value than the beauty of the flesh. Be it
so-she had still missed something.
What had she given the man she loved?
| Unselfsh devotion? Truth? Purity?
The affection which lays hold upon the
stars and survives when the earth sinks
away?
Yes. All these.
Ii DuV AO w 90 q i4jsbAs <1hu AAS AOtC VI bu0
woman beautiful must be forever starved
in his love for her. Oh, to have been able
to call to his eyes the look which had
! shone in those of that strangerl It was the
part of love which belonged to the flesh
the unworthy part-but it existed, and not
! for her And this was not heaven yet, but
earth. If God first made the heart of man,
| why had he since then allowed plain
women like herself to exist? That they
might suffer? 1t was cruel thing, but
| like other cruel things it was true.
Her pain now was like fever, and
fever which in turn struck one long harsh
| note of pain.
| A moment later she stood within the
cottage. Her husband looked up and drew
her to his side. He would have kissed her,
but she said pettishly, please don'tp'
He stared at her in amazed good nature,
and then went on playing cards with the
family friend.
| Once within her room she lighted the
candles in trembling haste and crowded
them closely upon her dressing table.
Then she lotsened her garments and her
hair and leaned eagerly to receive the YER
dict of her mirror. Deliberately she judged
herself. She was not ugly! Mol But she
was lacking in what? Charm? Yes, that
| was it. Nature, which gives all to some
and nothing to many, had neglected her
somewhat, but she told herself that nature
had fashioned her one of her largest class
those who resemble each other as closely
as crackers from cracker factory. She
WAS commonplace-nice, but common
place, and she felt that she could never
forgive nature
l She flung about her loose robe, blew
cut her candles and sat by her window.
The waves were finging themselves in
sheer abandon upon the beach out there.
She wished-suddenly her brain asked
question,
Had he been true all these years?
The thought was like hot iron in her
heart, but she held 1t there frmly-that
heart which had never before doubted.
And her heart answered her brain.
"No!" 1t said.
And then the poor forlorn pauper said to
heart and brain:
Tomorrow will knowi"
She had set herself a. difficult task. All
through the long night she lay with wide
open eyes, and for each splash of the waves
upon the beach she had thought. About
8 In the morning she smiled wan but
triumphant SMILE At last the right onel
| And then she slept.
Now, the family friend was q most hon
| cxsbla nefson He had never BETRAYED a