The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1898-12-11
M | R | A NJ.
BY GEO. Il. SIMS.
Copyrighted, 1895, BY GEORGE r.. SIMS.


iiieellhs between father and daughter. who
mao not seen each Other for sixteen years
haa passed rapidly away. In a wicker
chair under the shadow OF a cedar tree
sat Aunt Dorcas.
she had closed her eyes aud was resting
her mind which had been sorely troubled
until now, for Miriam had been asking her
father in her girlish innocence and happi-
ness many questions as TO the far away
foreign land in which he had been living.
John Helston had answered his daughter
as well as he was able to. but once or
twice he had eontradicted himself. and
Aunt Dorcas had been compelled to break
an hurriedly with an utterly inconsequen-
tial remark
mar. Helston's luggage had been brought
on from the station by a flv but Aunt
Dorcas had been afraid to leave him alone
with Miriam TO go and see to it's unpack-
ing and the disposal of its contents She
was afraid lest by some accidental word
some sip on Johns part, a glimmering of
the truth should dawn upon the innocent
girl whom they had for so many years
conspired together to deceive.
Longing TO have a few words alone with
her brother, who seemed 10th to part with
Miriam even for a few minutes, Aunt
Dorcas at last felt it time to assert her
authority.
Il m tired tonight, Miriam, dear" she
said Wont you go and see to things
for me this evening? You know how care
less Anne is See that the garden gate is
locked and look to the windows yourself,
dear"
Miriam nodded and went off to take her
aunts place and superintend the proceed
ings of Anne, the housemaid, whose care
lessness was a source of constant terror
to the nervous, mistress of Laburnum
Villa
John Helston and his sister were left
alone.
When Miriam was out of hearing Aunt
Dorcas brought her chair close to where
her brother was sitting.
Il have kept it from her. John all these
years" she said. Shall we be able to do
so stIll?''
pray God we may" answered the man.
But the police will know you have TO
report yourself. viii it not get about soon
er or later?''
81 have guarded against that. I am not
going TO live here. This win be your house
l shall only be visitor l have taken
rooms for myself in London, and that will
be my abode and so l shall not have to
report myself in this district at all. I can
be here a great deal with you and Miriam
without running the risk of letting our
neighbors know that l am an ex-convict."
And this alias-this John Helston p
if ii is found out may not that get you into
trouble?"
Il am only John Helston to you and Mi
riam-I have taken my rooms in London
in my own name
oh John, my brother, how terribly you
have changed-how terribly you must have
suffered
Yes; sometimes 1 thought that 1 should
never live to serve my sentence. At first in
I -.
to kill myself Then 1 thought of Miriam
the truth would be made known and my
name would be cleared from this infamy
| gave me courage"
But it never can be now, John?''
There is more chance of it now that 1
am free than there was while L was at
| Portland. And l am rich now; the money
! that came to us from our fathers brother
| four years ago makes us independent. We
are rich, Dorcas, with this twenty thous-
and pounds. Oh what a mockery it seemed
| 10 me when you came to me in Prison and
| told me. l was glad for your sake and Mi
| RAMS but to mean innocent man in "a
prison cell-it seemed the cruellest of
mockeries. All, if Lille had known that
there was all this money coming to mo
| she might have" He stopped suddenly,
and bent an eager gaze on his sisters face.
| - GU nave never nedfO Oh her OF from
| her? You have never had the slightest clue
to where she is?' he asked.
"Never John! When she went away eav-
! ing her little one with me, she left only
! those few lines had to send you when you
! kept writing to her and wondering why
| you had no answer"
| "Oh, it was cruel-cruel! My wife-the
woman l trusted--the woman I would have
| laid down my life for-to desert her child
within a few weeks of my unjust SEN
| tencer'
1T may have been the truth she told,
John. We were all terribly poor then. She
had an offer she said, of going back to her
old profession as a governess IN wealthy
| family She could not let it be known that
she was the wife of a convicted felon she
| could not take her child with her-and so
And so she deserted it and left it a
| burden on your hands Well, l mustn t
| think about her. Thank God, 1 have my
| daughter-that must be my consolation
now in what remains to me of life"
| Aunt Dorcas rose and went into the
house. and John Helston sat by the dark
enning river and thought over the great
tragedy that had cut him off from all
that made life worth living IN the days of
! his young manhood.
Sixteen years ago he had been a clerk
| in the office OF an old-1aShloned solicitor
who carried on business as Ramsden &
! Co. in one of the side streets that run
out of Eastcheap down towards the
| Thames.
He had as his fellow clerk smart rack
| city young fellow named Laxton. Jim
Laxton was a single man and good-looking,
! and was proud of the repretatiin he
! had of being up to every game under the
sun" But he thought himself cleverer than
he was, and some of the men he met in
| the haunts he frequented after office hours
got the better of him in betting and gam
| Hing transactions 10 such an extent that
one fine day he found himself in desperate
straits for two hundred pounds.
! lie had already robbed his employer, and
! the sharks who were preying on him found
! il out and used their knowledge to make
! hum their accomplice in cieverly planned
| burglary. Old Mr.. Ramsder. among his
| other eccentricites. was in the habit of
keeping a large quantity of valuable jewel
~ upon which he mad advanced money
60 clients Che was a money lending sole.
! fcrA I'm a -afa I'm hi. office.