The San Juan islander. [volume] (Friday Harbor, Wash.) 1898-1914, 1907-04-27
The CHARITY GIRL
By EFFIE A. ROWLANDs

By EFFIE A. ROWLANDS

| And thus, despite MarSnaIIS longing
to keep the helpless, hapless child, was
the matter arranged. Constance never
asked after her baby, and when she was
told by her faithful maid what had been
done with it, she. made no sign, either
by word or look. The doctor who attend
cd hel had been taken into confidence by
Roderick, and he pitied the poor young
mother from the bottom of his heart, for
he saw that a blow had been struck
which could never be healed.
Constance was scarcely convalescent
before she received a visit from her faith
er. who was in a state of much perturba-
ton.
Knew how it would be-" he said, when
he first saw the girls white face. "Boxed
up here with dying old woman-enough
to kill you in reality. And who could
have put this into the papers? Anstruth-
| er says it must have been some officious
person in the village who thought you
| were ILL., and must needs kill you"
Constance took the newspaper from her
| fathers land, and read the announce
| ment of Ter own death in a short para
graph. She was silent for a moment,
| and then, as she handed it back, she said,
with faint smile:
1T is pity you have to contradict
it, father"
"Eh. What nonsense! Now, Con, I
shan't let you stop here any longer. I
| never saw such a change in any girl
Pack up your trunks at once and come
away: Why, you look forty!"
How little did poor Constance think,
as she journeyed to London with her
| father. that at that very time Frank
Anstruther was reading the account of
her death. not only in newspaper, but
in loving, tenderly indited letter from
his brother Roderick, who had hit on this
idea Of separating Frank from his wife
as being the best. If he had limited at
| anything else, Frank would have rushed
back to England at once, but with Con-
stance dead and buried, what was there
to bring him back?
Roderick's shrewdness was verified ;
Frank never came home. And when the
London season was at its height, and
Constance Gascoigne was winning fresh
laurels for her beauty and wit, the news
| arrived of an outbreak of fever in Bur-
nah, and Frank Anstruther's name was
among the dead. They called him hero :.
they sent home accounts of his courage
self-sacrifce, and bravery, and Con.
stances heart turned with despairing
yearning agony to the man she had loved
SC well, and she longed to be buried with
him, shut out of the world forever. She
saw Roderick as little as she could. It
was from his lips that she learned of her
chi]d's death; the woman who had taken
it had reported always how delicate it
was, and the end, always expected, had
come at last.
Then it was that Roderick spoke; that
he showed himself in his colors. HI
pleaded for her love he told her how he
had adored her ever since their child
hoods days; how he had given place to
Frank against his longing, and entreat-
ed her to forget all and become his WIFE
When he left her that day Roderick
knew his plan had failed; come what
might, Constance would never be his wife
To lend aid to his final coup he had lied
to her about her child. He knew that
it lived, although if neglect and poverty
could have killed it the poor little thing
had its share. Stung to the quick with
the bitter words that came from Con-
stances lips at his Offering of love, he
determined she should never be told the
truth. He had one interview with the
woman who had charge of the child, and
after giving her a large sum of money
and sworn her to secrecy, he went out of
England, and was lost to the world that
knew him forever. He had lived for one
thing only during the space of four years,
and when he knew he had lost his tri-
umph, he cast the dust off his shoes and
vanished.
Then came the time of George Fraser's
wooing, the miserable hopeless time when
Constance learned that her hand was the
price of silence over her fathers dis
honor and dishonesty. The rest we know
up to the day that Audrey came to Din
glewood as maid to Sheila Fraser.
CHAPTER TX.
"And you are my mother?" They
were the only words Audrey could utter.
She was bewildered, amazed; her heart
| was beating with nervous excitement
| in which pride and joy mingled largely.
| She felt as though she were in some
sort of dream, or waking trance; every
| now and then she passed her hand over
her eyes as though to clear away the con-
| fusion that existed.
She was kneeling beside Constance
Fraser's slender figure, the pretty, white
| hands were clasping hers, the soft, m1si-
cal voice was ringing in her ears. And
this was her mother! She-Audrcy
Maxse-the waif and stray, the nameless
nobody, she was this delicate aristocrat's
child!
You are my child, my darling. My
own, my very ownp'
Audrey gave little cry and nestled
| close to her new-found mother.
1T is too beautiful, too beautiful to
be real! !" was all she could say; and
then, as she felt the soft, tender lips
pressed to her brow and cheeks, she be-
gan to wake from her dream.
Tell me, tell me how it all happened,
| how you found that ! was not dead"