Warren sheaf. [volume] (Warren, Marshall County, Minn.) 1880-current, 1894-11-22
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49, q
One year before Cora Testers father
Ind died leaving his children orphaned
anf, a,,,ost friendless He had been ac-3
co,,,ta,7 Z xpao Inv man T5is hnnsa ION
siio pouie very iau :.
most parDarlo mag ninctnco @ ~. a.. q
his death the knowledge came 70 MS ohli-
dren that the only heritage their father
left them was that of bitter poverty.
Their only relative, an UNCLE because of
former enmity with his brother, refused.
to aid them.
b So. with childish pride, taking the
! small norton remaining to them, they.
went into the world alone. But slowly.
their slender nurse grew lighter and light
& 81 and would hive totally collapsed were
Il not that Max Marsden came forward
with kindly offers Of assistance. He was.
onIy STRUGGLING. unsuccessful Journal
ist but lie was an old friend Of the falni-
". and they looked up to him and trusted
him accordingiy.
Many the little comfort which found
It's way from his hands to this upper story
room. Cora DOT work painting porcelain
for a city house. Often after Offering to
deliver it: she would cry out in surprise at
the ample pay her friend brought back.
They had a customer who was willing
to pay q good price for suitable work, =
Max would answer gravely.
That night they went to the opera, and
on the way home Cora exclaimed:
II did not know how dearly I loved
Verdi I shall never hear bar Of his
music without recalling my first opera,
Max-without remembering you. .
You will not forget lne9 I am glad Of
that lam going to test your promise
sooner than you think, dsr am going
away tonight
Going away .sst
Tho young voice was sharp with q
quick, constrained pain now to Il.
Yes. have obtained on trial the po-
sition ! went to Now York to procure.
sail for England on Tuesday And now
here is q piece OF good news to eonnteractl
the other. = Went to see your uncle today
such grim, hard man as they say he
is very lonely, Old and cblid1sh. he prom
lses all luxury; all Kindness, II you VIII
both go to him and be as his own chill
dren. Seeing him as l do with unpreJu-
diced eyes, think he regrets MS past
heartless conduct
But, Max
MY Child, Know all you Wouid say,
but Cedric is not strong enough to work,
and cannot go away leaving you SO lone
" and helpless. Besides II IS not wholly
dependence. In his hands IS some money
of his fathers on which you have morally
cIalm EelleVe me, IL Is Ior inc pess.
He went into the mousse anu shook hahus
with Cedric. Ihen nc stooped 70 cora %
ana reyerentiy toucned her Ioroheau WIN
bearded lips a moment more, and the
great shaDDy ngufe hau Durst Out OF inc
room and was strldlng rapidly away I'M
der the blue, star studded sky.
She stood and watched him out OF sight
with eyes growing strangely dim. once
he paused and looked backward. She was
still standing there, slim, dark figure
against that patch of light.
Oh, my love, God bless you'll! he Wh1s
pered tremulously
Five years later. The curtain at the
Grand Opera House III Paris roso on IS
fine an audience as had ever assembled
within its walls. In one of the boxes on
the grand tier sat three gentlemen. One,
q tall, bronZed soldierly man, noticing
many glasses being leveled at an opposite
box, lifted his lorgnette and looked across
the stage.
A lady with little cOterie of admirers
had just entered. She wore some soft,
silken dress, all aquamarine and silver.
There we're water lilies in the golden hair
and emeralds on the white neck. a child
ish face, for all its pride, and that peculiar
noise of the head; face with luminous
blue eyes, snowy, stately throat and
checks lust dashed with roses
..Who is she?', Max Marsden questioned
breathlcssly. ISL
Ma foii, cried a yivacious little French
man. You do not know? She is q COM
patriot Of yours--la belle Americainc Her
name Is Lester lille. Lester. Z
| s'Ah!'' And then, after pause, no
is that gentleman leaning over her chair?"
ssAh, that is Savagneau, answered a
member of the American legation, the
Comic dc Savagneau. He is heir TO half a
dozen princely estates and is mademoi-
selle's devoted slave. But she will have
none Of him. She is beauty and an heir
ess, and half Paris Is mad about her, but
one might as we'll adore a statue. No
marble is colder than she,
Max Marsden, the celebrated Journalist
the literary lion of the day, looked with
keen, eyes across to that dainty vision with
| water lilies in her hair.
During the last act she arose and gath
cred her rich wrap around her.
Half an hour later Max Marsden stood
ia her hotel.
\
old friend Graves a moments audience
and iaees along the corridor. PAUSED in