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Disappointed

Disappointed image
Parent Issue
Day
12
Month
March
Year
1886
Copyright
Public Domain
OCR Text

Hugh Beverley never meant to marry. He had been of that wayof thinking for ten years or more now, and he was at present six-and-tliirty. His sister, Mrs. Valentino, was thereíore quite safeincountingsoconlidently upon his portion of tho Beverloy property going to her two little boys, one of whom was his bachelor uncle's godchild and favorite. Hugh Beverley had noearthly objection to her thus COVtnting. Only he sometimos wished she would not mako her anticipations so visible, lt would be in better taste to veil them more. However, poor Clara had always been rather worldly. And with this reflection Beverley folded that lady's letter - scentcd and sealed with crest - and walked down the Btairs of the little Tyrolean inn, where he was tempovailly stopping In Lie wanderings, and out upon thecovered balcony, whichcoramanded a view of thequaintly picturesque villagostreet. Ho had been sitting there with a meditativo cigar some little cime when hurried footstepa roused hina from lus rêverie, and he saw a slender slip of a girl, very young, and looking very frightened and white, hastily accost thelandlord and speak to hina. The man gave some reply, and the cirl turacdquickly, almost running up the street. Mine host sauntered into the house and presently re-emerged. "A bad business - a bad business!" shaking his hoad. "That lady i.-s very 111. 'The mother of that young girl?" asked Beverley, putting two and two tógether. "Yes; they have been here some weeks. The mother's been going rapidly. Bad business - bad business! The girl, pooi' thing! did not oom l.o ígu,i' anvlliin ïiu'iona Cuooo there isn't muebmoney either," concluded the man, evidently on liis own interest intent. "Wlio are they - Americana?" querietl Bevcrley. Ves. they were country women of his, Oi' rather, the young girl was, for in the course r the night, the mother, whose name was reistered on mine host 's books, "Mts. Kobert Vent nor, New York," passed away, leaving her daughter alone. Beverley did not learn of the death until the next morning. He was leaving his room, when in the hall, he tame upon the landlord and his wiie, talking in elightly lowered voices, and with expressive shrugs of the shoulders. A neighboring door stood epen, and a stark forni, covered with a sheet, within, told the tale. Nëar the bed eat tho young airl of yesterday - motionless, with clasped hands and a rigid face. "There's 110 money to do anything with," said the landlord, with another shrug of the shoulders, to Beverley. "Good heavens!" the latter Btood appalled; "don't let that stand in the v.ay. l'll do anything that is to be ! done." The landlord made a sign to the girl inside tho room, and before Beverley ! could divino hi.s purpo, sha stood beffore them. "Tbie gentleman eays he will pay cverything lor }'ou," announcedthe man: 'there's somethin leffc on the bilí, too," lie added in a lower tone. He was really no harder and no worse than many of his fellow-creat ures; he simply had the bump of accjuisitivene.ss very largely developei.l. Beverley looked" at the girl with a sudden deep pity. She stood tall and straight in lier shabby black dress. She glanced up at him with herlarge mournful eyes. "Thank you," she sald. No muscle of her face moved. "Poorchild!Sheisstunned,"thought Beverley. The pa!e girlish face pursued him all that day. On the next day all that was mortal of Mrs. Ventnor was laidto rest in the little grave-yard, with its fantastic iron crosses and grotesque beaded wreaths hansfing on the sanie, at the end of the village streel , bboüsands of miles froni her native land. Pechaps it was a happy release. She had been a wanderer for years. goiii- about from place to place in search ofhealtb that ■ would not come at the bidding; hopo and courage, and friends and means, growing less and less season by season. The Blehder girl, who now turned away from the ne w-made mound, upon whicb by lieverley's thoughtfulnesa, Borne freso ilowers had been laid, had been tamil iar with the make-shifts of gouteel poverty ever since slio had grown from a joyous childhood into ainiless eariy womanhood. Peor Lucile Ventnor! hers had been a happy girlhood. KIn: had not spoken a word as she walleed back to the house, md Beverley, who l'ound himse'f, by tho unexpeutetl developeiTionts of fate, in some measure constituted t his anknown girl s solé present friend and guardián, knew r.ot liow to broach the question of her plans and movements for the future which had now become iment. 'pngth he spoke to the landlady. ■u must roii.se her from her lethai-g. A young girl like that can't otay on hure alone in this stiange inn, You must ask her whether she has no friends to whom sho pan write and whora she can acquaint with her con(';■ : 1%." lien the girl was spoken to she : 1: "Xo, there ia no one." ishing back the dark hairfrom hor face witlv. a rapid movement, she Beemed to be lookingwith laree, fright ened, honor-stricken eyes into the hard Strange world upon which she w;is suddenly thrust. Beverley went out on thegallery and Binoked another meditativo cigar and there.insighl of HiablueTyroleanhiils carne to a decisión. Clara Valentine was living in Paris sinceherhusband's death, .ind ehe had the means to give this girl ,a home. No sooner thought of than done. Beverley had himsell announced to Miss Vont nor, and in a few kind words olïered lier hia sister's protection. '"I am going to Paris rnyeelf to-morrow. Il' 70U will be ready I will take you directly to ray sister's home." For a moment the young girl stood speeehless. Then raising her eyes to the. kind dark ones bent on her, the long tensión atovuptly gave way, and she burst into an uncontrollable hysterionl weeping fit. Beverley was horrified. But the young girl came heraelf tohis assistance. She mastered herself after a moment with a violent eiïort, and dried lier tears. "I beg your pardon," she said, simply; "Icouldpot helpili. You are very kind to me. Thaiïk jon." The large pathetic eyes looked upto bira with childlike conñdence. "I shall bc ready to-morrow when8VOT you say." When Beverley turned away there was a lunip in his throat, "Well, this ia about the most utterly preposterous thing I ever board oi 11 niy life! And you, of all men, to be mixed up in anything of the kind." This was Mrs. Valentine's lirst exclamation when left alone after her brother's arrival with Lucille Ventnor. He had telegraphed to his sister to take the lirst, edge off hersurprise, and then, when Lucille had been conducted to her room, had stated the case briefly and forcibly to her. Mi-s. Valentine was by 110 means an unfeeling woman under most circumstances, but in this case it distinctly seemed to her that her bachelor brother had been by no means called on to interfere. Some one else might have taken charge of the girl, she said with irritation. "Who?" inquircd Beverley. "She is absolutely alone in the world, poor child! And she was there penniless among strangers." "Good Heavens, Hughl what if she were? Do you think it was making her lot easier to compromiso thp girl?" "Compromise her? What do you mean?" Beverley flushed darkly. Mrs. Valentine knew that look in her brother's face,and generally a void"1 ih. "Of coursu a ww-jr-aiaa toher to have brought her here alone wicn you - 1 young girl like that - who has no claim upon you," she said, shrugging her shoulder, but speaking with less excitement. "She is about twenty years younger than I," said Beverley, in a tone he did not often use, "aud itis unworthy of you, Clara, to bring 111 any such word or thought in connection with her or me. Come," he added, dropping again into his nonchalant bonhomie manner, "you have :i better heart than you want to show, Clara. Drop a little ofyqur worldliness.and bekind to this child. She needs kindness sorely. I'm going back to Germany to-morrow, and I shall leave her with you." Mrs. Valentine knew better than to make any further demur, but th irritation remamed. "To come all the way here just to bring that girl, and t hen start off again next day! And then he is indignant hecauae I cali it compro ïnising. That a man of the world ïlke Hugh should indulge in anything so erazily quixotic." Nevertheless, she was not, in her way. unkind to Lucille. She was according to her lights, very generous to her, presenting her with mourning ; outfit Lo take the place ut t.lie' poor child's scant and rusty black. "Sha S very pretty," she said to herself, the first time that the girl appeared in one of tho.-e plain, neatly ík' ing gowns - "very. 1 wonder if Hugh not iced it?" Upon the whole she was just as well pleased that Hugh liad gone back to Germany. Lucille had begged from the first day, to be allowed to ake charge of the little boys, ar.d as the lat ter took to her very kindly, thore was no objection to her doing so. And gradually she pleaded to have sundiy other duties assicn.d her, until Mrs. Valentine had perforce to acknowlede that she was most willing, most anxious not to eat the bread of charity, and that wbich was certainly not the least good tliing about her, considerably ueeful to herself. The little Parisian household had, therefore, settled down upon a calm and comfortable basis when Beverley, with the suddeness which usually cbaracterized his movementa, rcappeared . He never came to Piiris at this sea8on oí the year, and Mrs. Valentine reminded him of the fact with some sharpness. "Oh, I thought I would try it," he said, carelessly. And ho remained on without any very definite purpose that Mrs. Valentine could sec, day aller day and week after weck. Mrs. Valentine's temper began to grow very imcertain as time went by. lierbrother did not, jwrhaps, notice the fact, but Others did, and Lucille chief among the number. One day the gatherina storm broke loose. Beverley was sitting in his sister's pretty boudoir when the latter, with an uncontrollable irritation, askedhim how much longer he thought he should keep Miss Ventnor. "Why,"1 queried Beverley, "bas she shown anydesire to go?" "She? No!" cried Mrs. Valentine, impatiently. "But you don't expect the girl to go on living in perpetuity this way, do you? I onderstand, of course, that you thought we might give hora home until other arrangements could be made tor her. She must have some one triend or relation -some kith or kin to whom she can turn for protection!" "She has no one, Clara," said Beverley, coldly, "and you know it. Slie is earning her living with you, as the poor girl would have to do elsewhere. You need a nursery governess for th boys " "Let her be nursei'y governess somewhere else!" cried Mrs. Valentine, exasperated. "You have taken a disllke to Miss Ventnor, Clara." said her biother, slowly. "Why?" "It is you who have taken an unaccountable liking to her. I believe you are in love with the girl!" "Clara!" Beverley 's voice contained a note of warning. He had turned palo. But Mrs. Valeitine's prudence had forsaken her. "Yes, indeed, I think so. Blanche Con way is forgotton at last itseems." The words were Bcarcely spoken before Mis. Valen) ine could' have bitten her tongue out for uttering them. She was frightened and sorry. It was a very sore spot in her brother's memory that she had touched. She was going to make such blnndermg amends as she eould hen the port ere was baetily drawn aside, and they both saw Lucille Ventnor on the threshold. "I have heard every word," the girl began. There was not a vestige of color in her face, but her voiee was steady and her gaze brave and direct. "I did not mean to; but I was going through the next room. and I stopped before Iknewit. Forglvo me, and Iel me go. You havo been very, very kind to ïsic, I shall neverforget t. But ' I must not be the cause of misunderstanding. I see now that I tshould not have stayed so long." She pauaed suddenly and put her hand toher head. "Never wind, child - never mind," said Mrs. Valentine SOOthingly. She was rather startled at this nouncement to the scène she bad brought about. But Beverley said very quietly: "Enough, Clara. Let Miss : do as she thinks fit." And Lucille turned and left the room. "Perhaps it is just as well that she did hear," Mrs. Valentine reflected when her brother, too, liad gone, leavina; her alone. "If I can only net h r away quietly now, and before anything happensl" She did put lier fears into a move ' precise iornmlathan tliia of "anything happening." Had she been called ! on to particulíirize, however, Sha would have said impatiently that "of eourse it would be extreinely tryingto have Ilugh at this late day rharrying an obscure and penniless girl twenty } ears his junior." Meanwhile.Beverley had gone to the j ante-room, whieh led into his litilo nephew's sehool-ioom. and taking a book had Bat down in the window. A very short time paseed before Lucille camehastily througb. She started on soeinghim, and made a inotion as though to escape. Hor eyes were red with weeping. Beverley quickly laid a firra detaining hand upon her arm. "I doivt want you to go, Miss j nor, I want you to stay - a?i my : wife." The words were spoken. For a minute they both looked in silence into each other's eyes. "Oh, no, no!" cried Lucille then. "That can't be. Let me izo!" But Beverley, in that one moment, had leamed her secret too. Hesnailcd and took her hand. "My child, I have loved you from the very fitst, since you looked at me : with those pathetic eyes the day your mot hor dicd. My poor lost lamb left alone in this bleak worldl Do I sec-m too oíd for you, Lucille? Bèlieve me, my dear, I will cherish you as the j ple of my eye." What other fond nonsense he whispered over the dark head pillowed on ': nis breast it behooves us nottoknow. Presently he said: "There is one thing more Lucille. j You heard my sister inention a wom-"' name, You havedoubtless heard her say, luu, „.... c meant t0 marry. Perhaps the iwu n.my are connected in your mind. I did love that woman long yearsaeo, dear. But she was unworthy. It was a deep wound. I thought it would never heal - but it is oblitoratednow - gone - : gotten - since the day when I found ' my poor little girl alone in thé Tyrolean inn?" Is all clear to you now, Lucille, mine?" In words Beverley had noreply, but he seenied to wish for none; her eyes spokc. Suddenly, blushing rosy red, shedisengaged herself frora the strong encircling arm. "Oh, what will Mrs. Valentine say?" she murmered. "She will be so - so - " "Disappointed?1' supplemented Bevevley. "Poor Clara! I am afraid so;" and he laushed. "But she is excellent at bottom. She will get over it.dear."

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Subjects
Old News
Ann Arbor Democrat