The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1909-09-29
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oNSt Tie ulSIdul luOOl mug q SUN
welter of summer rain. Suddenly a
sunbeam flashed across the wet
fringes of the clouds, and 10! they
blossomed into a splendid rainbow!
Jacqueline lay amid the tall fern and
the pink petalled daisies, and
watched the prismatic colors change
and dissolve, but her thoughts the
while were three thousand miles
away.
The Cornish shore stretched be-
fore her eyes like a rare picture.
Along the far horizon line the white
wings of outward bound vessels fit
ted. Below the cliffs the restless At
lantic chafed and doomed, its myriad
waves twinkling in a smother Of sun
shine. Jacqueline had seen those
same cliffs in stormy weather, when
the terrific surf dashed upon them
In thunder claps, ard the fog horn at
the light house walled like the spirits
of the lost in the legend of Saint
Brendon. But to-day soft airs pre-
vailed and perfect peace. The rare
butterflies, peculiar to Cornwall, hov-
cred in the bracken; the jackdaws
had come out Of their crannies, and
with the gulls, were circling about
In the sunshine. 4 mail cart jolted
along the road, and near by, in a
field bright with sea pinks, a flock OF
sheep fed TRANQUILITY, watched by a
sagacious sheep dog. In the distance
Saint Michael's Mount lifted its pic
turesque beauty to the sapphire sky.
Jacqueline lay in the fern, her
smooth brows contracted, an open
letter in her hand. Not Of England
was she thinking, nor this sleepy cor
ner of Cornwall. Her heart was far
across the sea, amid the narrow
streets of her native city. With few
erish intentness she began to read
her letter anew. 1t ran as follows:
For five years we have been part
ed, Jacky. and l am famished for the
sight of your face, the sound of your
voice. The Wingates are most kind,
but their kindness cannot fill the
aching void En- PEASANT, Miss Win
gate lately told me that her brother
was once poor mammals lover. This
accounts for his goodness to me in
our unparalleled family misfortunes.
Often I had wondered why he took
me to his house and heart, when
Aunt Bradshaw carried you away to
Europe. He says I am like mamma,
while you, though twice as handsome,
are of another type. My lint locks
and blue eyes appeal to Mr.. Wingate,
and your dark beauty stirs the fam
lily pride of Aunt Bradshaw. So it
was fortunate for both of us that we
are born contrasts. I feel certain
that the pittance left at mammals
death must now be quite exhausted;
vet Mr.. Wingate declares that enough
remains to provide for me indefinite
ly, and that I must never, never
think of myself as a dependent. Miss
Wingate, you know, is very deaf, and
when I try to question her upon the
subject, her infrmity increases to
such an extent that she cannot, or
will not, understand anything I may
say. Certainly Mr.. Wingate has man
aged superbly if he has made the in
come of a few hundred dollars (for
that is all that remained to us when
mamma died), educate, clothe and
keep me for the last five years. Some
times I long to ask a few questions Of
Teddy Craven, who knows, I think,
a great deal of Mr.. Wingate's private
affairs; but Teddy has a way of red
dening to the roots of his stiff brown
hair, and growing so uncomfortable
generally when ! talk to him, that it
seems cruel to seek enlightenment
in. that direction. Besides, he Is not
such a simpleton as he looks, and I
think he could evade me quite as
skillfully as the others do. He is
MIR. Wingate's clerk, and he comes
here often to lunch or to play chess
with Miss Wingate. Only last night,
Jacky, we were dining out with
friends of the Wingates. There were
several strangers al the liable. You
know l have keen ears. During the
second course l heard a whisper:
"'I that pretty blonde the girl
whose father shot himself?' Then
the low reply, Yes, after he had been
robbed by his dearest friend. His
wife died heart broken. The other
daughter was adopted by a wealthy
relative who lives abroad. This one
is cared for by the Wingates. Both
the girls were left paupers.'
Il need not tell you, Jacky, that I
found no further pleasure in that din
ner. Charity is bitter even when dis
Salsed by kindness and love. My mind
is made up-I will no longer live on
the bounty Of the Wingates, but seek
work, and become self supporting,
like a true girl of the period. Surely
a modest advertisement in some high
class daily journal will not be with
out results, and when I secure q sit
uation in any respectable employ
ment that corresponds with my lin
tied capabilities, you shall be duly in
formed. / rejoice that you, as Aunt
Bradshaw's heiress, are provided for.
One, at least, of the orphan paupers,
10 which the woman at the dinner
table alluded, has a future before
her. ! have read in the society news
OF the sensation you recently made
at p London ball-how you outshone
all other women present, and capti-
waited some Scotch lord! It seems
that you are now known as the new
n1,1. I-a Nh TN1 49,
proud OF you. ! hope Aunt Brad