Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1892-04-14


pleased her.
''You are overtired, my dear, and will
do well to take some rest; 1 shall be thank
full for some myself
stone word, aunt Margaret before we
part. Tell me something of papa. He looks
fearfully i'll and worried: are his affairs so
very bad:" Florence asked earnestly.
''Iou have done the best possible thing,
my dear, to aid him and tighten his worries:
but | must say his affairs are as bad as pos
sible. His dearest hope is to be able to
ward off his difficulties till after your mar
riage; and then. he says, come what may,
he cares not.'
''PoOr papa"
ole told me yesterday that Captain
Richards is pressing for a thousand pounds
on the bills that are or er6ue, and that he
does not know where to turn for a spare
sovereign. His private debts too seem over
whelming; cannot imagine how thew have
so accumulated. To-day he was vexed
with me because 1 would not ask your
cousin Raven to advance him two thousand
more on Craig Towers; but l know it is
useless-Raven is not clear himself" La
dy Raven said, with sigh. DWELL Flor
ence, it is no good thinking too much, and
worrying away your good looks; we must
hope for the best, and that things will ar
range themSelyes-to 4 certain extent they
always do-and at least you have done
all you can"
WHAT'S papa returning to Lincolnshire
for to-day, aunt Margaret" Florence
asked, betraying the fear she felt.
lie says, my dear, to try to arrange with
Captain Richards; l fear it is to try to re-
tricye his losses in a way which will proba-
bly, increase them instead. But 90 to bed,
my dear; we are talking foolishly now, and
too much"
Miss Worthington swept YEARLY up the
splendid staircase to her luxurious room:
and when there, something prompted her
to dismiss her maid Marie, who had been
alternately feasting, laughing, and sleeping
since she had attired her young mistress at
nine O'Clock for the ball. Sleep now pre-
vailed, and her eyes were so heavy that
they gave her mistress the excuse to dis
miss her. With little demur she went,
and Florence was alone.
Florence Worthington, seated before her
luxurious toilet-table, gave little indication
Of ecStacy at the thought of her brilliant
future. She pressed her hand tightly over
her eyes as if trying to shut out its bright
ness rather than to picture it in magma
ton. She was striving hard to crush out
all the sweetest attributes of girlhoOd, to
thrust all hope, love, tenderness, from her
heart, and force herself to believe that the
world could hold nothing better than a life
stated with Injuries, with splendid houses,
gorgeous raiment, many carriages, and
cOronet for her sometimes aching brow
She knew fatally well that she loathed her
future lord, and also that i'll her own nature
she yearned for sympathy and love it could
never be in his to yield her. But at least
she was heart-WhOle, if she was heart-sCre.
That must make her lot more endurabie-
All, the life she had chosen would he a
thousand times preferable, She knew, and
she would force herself to see the wisdom
Of her decision.
BIZ iii t,.c few moments, Of stiI-CumMull-
ing th" ,o.toeSS Of @rlhood in her face fast
mcitrd Away. With restless eager fingers
she tlutjisten"d the many strings of pearls
from her neck and arms, and fingered low
ingly over the bright emerald, diamond,
and ruby stars and clasps as she untaSteucd
them one by one from her costume. 70
her they were sorely tempting; and as vet
she bad taste , y" ii!rer happiness.
CHAPTER ".
All unexpectedly had the Angel Of
Death entered Florence Worthington's
luxurious home. The splendid mansion in
from basement to attic. Only week since
the fairy scene Of flowers, music, and en-
chantmCnt, and now all was changed to
the cold bitter hnpeleSSness of death, and,
worse still, some thought, to utter ruin
But creditors high and low might do their
worst: their power to harm or crush their
victim or tvrant was over; and they could
only Wreak their vengeance in impOtent
words upon the clay-cOid figure lying so
calmly in its splendid coffin.
Sir Arthur WorthngtOn was dead. He
had indulged in sleeping pOtions lately to
aim his agitated nerves and to procure
the rest which his overwhelming anXieties
made otherwise impossible. Complete ruin,
with utter shame to his name, and the
probable SCATTERING of all the brilliant fu-
ture he was so carefully building up for his
child-this had suddenly threatened him;
ruin that he had really believed to be
warded off for months at least, though he
had known it must come eventually. But
it had come too suddenly; and his strength
courage and resources were spent to the
last in calculating still on the possibility
of averting it.
He knew he must have sleep to give him
fresh strength for the struggle, and sleep
would not come; so he doubled, perhaps
trebled his nightly dose of choral, and it
gave him rest-the rest from which there
is no earthly awakening. So Sir Arthur
Worthington's troubles in this world were
over; he had been found resting all too
peacefully beside his bed, fallen into his
last sleep.
One thing was certain-Florence Worth
ington, the supposed heiress, was penniless
worse than penniless. The grandest eff
forts of her friends could save her fathers
name only from a portion of its shame
they could not clear it utterly.
The breath had scarcely left the body ere
the creditors were clamorou; Those to
whom Sir Arthur WOrthingtOn had owed
debts of honor-not a few-were abusive
everywhere; they were chiefly his com
peers, and there could be no excuse for him
in their eyes. He had spent recklessIy a
splendid fortune, and left his only child
begC Art was but too true.
Florence Worthington loved her father |
with love deeper than she knew. lie |
was the sole being on earth who had ever |
called forth by word or deed any deep SYM |
pathy in her nature. She was of course |
blind to his faults, and now was often |
reused from her dull, aching pain, her al |
most despair, to fury, at whispered words !
of censure which some dared to utter in !
her presence. She, who had been looked |
upon as an heiress, whose very nature was /
pride incarnate, whose beauty was well |
nigh faultless, whose position, from its proud |
height was almost inaccessible, was now /
humbled almost to the dust, she could |
scarcely call her costly clothes her own.
"Who can tell if she will be allowed TO |
keep them alI?" the Countess Raven said
tearfulIy, and GROSSLY too.
Florence shut herself up in her own |
room, refusing even the small attempts at