Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis ivt. gritist, proprietor, j ^ii Jnitepenirent Jfamilj ftetospajicr: Jfor % ^promotion of t|e political, Social, ^gricnltnral anb Commercial Interests of % SontJj. | TERMS?$3.00 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. "VOXj. 24. YORKVILLE, S. O., THURSDAY, JAHUARY 24. 1878. NO. 4. jttt Original Jdotg. ^ Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. MARIPOSA; OR, THE HEART OF A' BALLET GIRL CHAPTER VII. If Jim Stratton had looked like a ruffianly outcast on the evening when he had first j presented himself before his wife and Posy, i he now looked more ruffianly, more beggarly, I more of an outcast than ever. Then, he had I been dressed with some attempt at decency. ; Now, his clothes were dirty and torn, and it needed but one glance at his face, to show his wife that he had been drinking freely, and was in a state of, at least, semi-intoxication, at this moment. To say that the sight of him, in this condition, at that late hour, and her lonely room, (where she was quite removed from the possibility of obtaining assistance in any sudden emergency) did not cause her a thrill of fear, would be giving her credit for a degree of courage which she certainly did not possess? particularly, just at a time when her body and mind alike were suffering and oppressed. Her breath came quick aud short, and her hands involuntarily clasped themselves more tigbtly about her knee, as he came forward, with no steady step, and planting himself before her, eyed her with fixed and angry gaze. "What d'you mean by behaving this way," he blurted out, with one of his accustomed oaths. "What way, Jim ?" she faintly rejoined. "What, way? Why, shuttiu' up house at t'other place and clearin' out, bag and baggage, so'81 couldn't find you agaiu ? You'd thought you'd hide from me, hey ? You see you was mistaken, though There's mighty few pla ces where you can hide from me, I cau tell you. D'you s'pose I'd ha' kept away from you all those years, if I hadn't been shut up in that rat hole ?" (He alluded to the penitentiary, where he had been serving out a term, most of the time which had elapsed since their separation.) "Now, just you tell roe that." "* * - " -' AAAtn/V f K Q f Ko "1 (lOU t KQOW, sue repueu, occiug cue. paused for an auswer. "Don't know, hey ? There's lots of things you don't know, I reckon. What have you done with the girl ?" As he spoke he cast a searching glance around the apartment, which was sitting-room and bed-room in one. "She's gone away," his wife answered, mustering courage to meet his fierce eyes, as they returned to her face. "Gone away I I believe you lie. What's she gone for ?" "I sent her away, Jim. She's boarding? and?and being educated," the woman faltered forth, trying to think how she could best frame her statement, so as to conceal the truth, without uttering an actual lie. "Educated !" he broke into a scornful laugh. "You 8'pose I believe that, don't you ? More likely you've seut her somewhere to earn higher wages, so's to keep you from working, you lazy jade! Who'd pay for her education, I'd like to know ?" * "She has got some friends, who takes care of her now. I didn't send her off to work for me. I can work for myself, enough to make a support." "Where's she gone to f That's what I want to know," was his fierce retort. "It's no concern o' yourn. You let her be." She made the answer with a show of defiance, but she quailed, iuwardly, with the fear of the wrath that it might provoke. With a step forward, he laid bis heavy hand upon her shoulder. "Woman, do you wan't me to kill you ?" he asked, between his set teeth. "I tell you, I'm ju\ in the humor for it, to-night. You know me well enouerh to believe that I can be pretty dangerous, when I like." "Why should I tell you about the girl ?" she rejoined. She's in safe hands, and you can't trouble her. I ain't goin' to have her live with tne no more, again." "Ain't you ? But I'll find out where she is, if I want to, for all that. Now you just answer ray questions, or?" he cast a glance around, and seeing a short, heavy iron poker leaning against the side of the chimuey, reach* forth his hand and laid hold of it, "or I'll brain you with this." "You daren't do it, "she gasped, though an iuvoluntary shudder ran through her frame. "You'd swing for it, if you was caught." ? ?.9 Tko?'o " All I UUt WIIUU laitn IUCI i Liut c 1.11b question. Now see here, Stell.?" he released her from his grasp, and spoke in a more pacific tone," you needn't try to put me off this way, 'cause I ain't going to be put off. I won't hurt you if I can help it; but if you don't tell me what I want to kuow, as sure as ' I stand here, I'll kill you, and nobody'll never know who done it." She looked in his face, and knew that he meant what he said. Rapidly she revolved in her mind the probable result of his knowledge of Posy's whereabouts, if she should impart it to him. Could she trust her present protectors to keep her out of his power? They might guard her while she was with them, but they could not watch her continually and in one of those times when she was : necessarily removed from their surveillance, might he not discover ami take advantage of ! ? the fact ? She knew not whether he had de- i signs upon the girl, beyond his threatened at- | tempt to restore her to her family. But she felt that she would far sooner die, than be the means of placing her iu his hands. "S'posin' you do find out where the child's I gone," she said, by way of temporizing a little,1 "what'll you do about it?" "What's that to you?" he rejoined. "You know it's a heap to me, Jim. That child's been like my own these twelve years, i nearly, and she's all I cares about in this life. ! Tell me if you've found out who her folks is, ! or anything about her." "I'll not tell you a thing raore'n I i >? i ii ? i ?r ?:?i, cnoose, ne Sliucuijr OI15HCICU. lam tguiug to bandy words with you, in this way." She bethought herself again for a moment. ' If you'll just let me alone, Jim, I'll try and furnish you with a little rnouey, now and again, to keep you goin'. I get my wages reg'lur, you know, though they ain't ruuch. I've ! saved up a little more, since I seen you last. I You can have it now, if you want to." "You think you can buy me off, hey?j Why, you fool, what you earn couldn't pay Die for losing the big sura I'd get by by peach-1 | ing oq you, and giving back the girl! You j ! ought to know that." "But you can't give her back without knowi in' her name, nor nothin'. And, I don't j j know that raore'n you do, nor she neither, j i Better take what I'm willin' to give you, j ( than to count on a chance that wouldn't turn out nothin'." j " 'Spose I do both?" he retorted, with a , look of villainous cunning. "You can't bin- j der me, you know. As to your money, of i course, I mean to have that, anyhow. Show me where you keep it." What could she do? She knew too well j that she was in his power, and resistance would be worse than vaiu. Without a word j she produced her little store, and emptied it in his hand. It was but forty dollars, this time, for Posy's earnings were no longer in her keeping. At her own request, Mrs La /? ? I comoe, nerseu, iook curt ui tuciu ?w* ???., uow. "Why, this can't be all," he exclaimed, in a disappointed tone. "It is, I swear, Jim. You Lnow I don't get the child's wages now. And oven this much I saved, mostly from extra jobs, outside my reg'lar pay." He thrust it into his pocket with a savage growl. "Much good a mis'rable sura like that can do me! Come now, don't fool any longer, but tell me plaiu and square, where is the girl ?" He returned with dogged persistence to that one question. She felt, despairingly, that no effort of hers to evade it, would be of any avail. If she had only told a falsehood at first, and denied all knowledge of Posy's whereabout ? But unfortunately she had already committed herself by her answers, and it would be useless for her to try and deceive him in that way now. As she hesitated, casting about in her mind for some possible expedient by which she might still save herself, she caught his eye, and read her danger, more plainly than before, in its expression of concentrated hate and rage. The fumes of the 11 ? t- ?--r 1_: L?_ ? liquor ne nan uruna, ueiuruace&iug uci, nuc raountiDg to his braius, adding to natural ferocity of temper, and provoking him, as she well knew, from experience, to a rashness beyond the control of any restraining fear. A sudden, sickening terror rushed over her. The sense of her peril, her loneliness, added to physical weakness, overcame her, and with a blind clutch for support at some object not within her reach, she fell heavily to the floor in a swoon. Maddened by what he supposed a mere piece of acting, on her part, resorted to for the purpose of avoiding giving him the information he desired, the iutoxicated brute, with a horrid imprecation, dealt a violent blow on the prostrate from. "You're sham- j raing, are you ?" he exclaimed. "So much the worse for you ; get up, or I'll beat you to death. I'll-" He stopped suddenly, arrested in the tide of his vindictive fury by the sight of her face, as he pushed her over on her side. It was ghastly white aud rigid, the half-opened eyes stariug and Gxed, aud a small dark ! stream of blood was trickling from her temple, where one of his cruel blows had fallen. His expression changed. He bent down, looked intently at her for a moment; then j with an apprehensive glauce around, uoiselesslv and rapidly made his exit, and issued j forth into the darkness and silence of the narrow and deserted street. Motionless and senseless, though not dead, as he had supposed, the woman lay there through the remaining hours of the uight. Early in the morning she was discovered by a man who came to bring milk to one of her j neighbors, and who, catching a glimpse of' her through her open door, which Stratton, | in his hurry, had not stopped to shut, entered | her room, to see what was the matter. An I alarm was quickly given, and an inquisitive group collected on the scene. It was proposed to carry her to a hospital, but before ? ? ?? h?a1?a?i fha ovorM/vno af any measures cuuiu uc la&cu, cA&itiuug Uj . a charitable individual, to restore her to consciousness, proved successful, and she came to herself sufficiently to ask for Posy, and to give Mr. Lacorahe's address. In a half hour her adopted child was with her, and lying on her bed, her wounds bandaged up by a surgeon, who had left her with the assurance that nothing more was to be done. Mrs. Manuel, with a strange peace on her poor, bruised, pallid face, spoke of what was corning, while Posy, cliuging to her hand, hid her face on the pillow and listened in au agony of grief. "I didn't look for this, my darlin', to be the end, but it's all for the best. Me and you ; would have had to part, sooner or later, and j you're irt good hands now, a heap better than mine, and I'm satisfied to leave you with them, as I know'll treat you good and kind." Oh! mammy, mammy," sobbed Posy, the old childish epithet coming more naturally to her lips, in this hour of distress, than the ) more formal "mother," b) which she had j lately learned to call her adopted parent, j "Don't die and leave me. Oh ! what'll I do? What'll become of me?" "I knew you'd fret, darlin'?you've al ways been i good, lovin' child. But Posy?" the weak voice faltered, and a spasm of pain crossed the colorless face, at the thought of; the revelation she felt bound to make?"Posy, j my precious, I've got a secret to tell you, be-1 fore we part, as I've had weighing on my heart this long time, aud may be it'll make it easier for you, kuowin' the truth, to let me go. Promise me you won't be mad with your poor old rnaiumy?though 'twas a sin, I know?" , She stopped, exhausted, by mingled excite- ' raent aud the fatigue of speaking. Posy, in wouderment, lifted her tear-stained face, to j listen for what was comiug next. The dying woman mustered all her strength j to go on. "I'm afeard to go to the Judgment seat, without makin' the confession to you. 1 I've got so many sins weighing me down, as 11 can't make amends for, without carryin' this ??i? one into ray grave, uumiimn HI juu. X vioj, you ain't my own child, though I've taught you to call rae mother, and loved you, God knows, as if I was." And then, in broken accents, she told how she had found the little stray child, in the lonely wood, at nightfall, aud taken it under j her own protection. Told, too, how carefully 1 she had kept out of reach of discovery, and ended by asking, humbly, to be forgiven for the wrong she had done. "I hadn't no right to do it, ray darlin', no j more than if you had been a hag of gold or a jewel, I'd picked up, and ought to restore t<? its rightful owner. I could have made enquiry, etisy enough, and found out where you J belonged. But, Posy, you seemed to me one of God's angels, sent to save my soul, and I couldn't let you go 1" "Mammy, my own mammy ?" was all poor Posy could sob forth, in reply. She was too much overcome by grief to take in the start- j ling truth, all at once. She was bewildered | by it, without realizing its import. "Ay! call me so still," said the woman, faintly. "I likes to hear it, and it can't do no harm. Maybe?you'll find?your own mother. Posy, ray precious, won't you say a prayer." Feeling compelled to fulfill the request, the poor child, though scarcely equal to the effort, managed to falter, amid her sobs, through the Lord's Prayer. A kind neighbor coming in, at the moment, asked Mrs. Manuel if she ?it - 1 would't like to see a minister, one anew m i one, who, she thought, would come. "No?no! I couldn't talk to none of 'em?'twouldn't be no use. This child's minister enough for me," was the reply. And to Posy's weak hand she clung, as to an anchor of refuge, through the long hours of the day, as she slowly drifted onward toward the dark shadows which would be lifted for her no more on earth. As evening approached she grew restless, and kept looking anxiously out at the gathering dusk. "They'll be missin' you at the theatre, Posy," she said. You'd better go now?and come back?when you're through." "No, no, mammy, darling 1 Mr. Lacombe said I should stay with you now, all the time. I couldn't dance to night," said Posy, weeping. "He's a good man, honey. There's some on 'em as wouldn't let you off," said Mrs. Manuel. She spoke more strongly than she had done yet, and Posy was almost tempted to hope that she might still recover. But it was only a feeble self-assertion of that vital power which was rapidly dying out, like, the last flicker of an expiring flame. The gray shadow of death already rested on her face, which turned presently to her adopted child with a piteous, appealing look. "It's comin'?it's very near," she feebly muttered, clinging more tightly to Posy's hand. "Pray, Posy, pray !?ask Him?to forgive?." Terrifled, the girl bent over the pillow. Her lips essayed in vain, at that moment, to utter a word, for all unread as she was in the dread mystery hanging over her, she felt, instinctively now, that the end had come. A moment later, the hand that clasped hers relaxed its hold ; the half-raised form sank gently hack on the pillow; and the struggling soul, released from its lowly prison-house and the dark clouds which had encompassed it, escaped, let us hope, into the light of everlasting day. There were not wanting those who, prompted by a charity that sought for no reward, were ready to give the aid of their services in this hour of need, and Posy was not left alone in her grief and desolation of heart. Later, when the performance at the theatre was over, the manager himself came round to see after her. He was truly a kind man at heart, notwithstanding the touch of native sharpness which he displayed in business transactions, and the sight of Posy, in her forlorn surroundings, appealed to all the sympathy he was capable of feeling. But he would not consent to her request to be allowed to stay uutil the funeral was over. It was no fit place for her, he said, and she could do no good there, now. So she went home with him, as he desired, and the next day was allowed to attend the humble funeral, for which she paid out of her own earnings, that her adopted mother's body should not be consigned, at the city's expense, to a pauper's grave. It was a sort of satisfaction to her to do it," Mr. Lacorabe said to his wife; "but she shan't suffer bv it. I'll take care to put it all back after a while. We'll keep her now, Susan, out and out. She's a good girl, and will always do us credit." So Posy stayed on with her present protectors, and in time came to occupy the position rather of a daughter than anything else. The manager was inteusely proud of her talents, while Mrs. Lacombe prized the qualities of mind and heart which she had been, chiefly, instrumental in developing. The young girl repaid their kindness by a warm affection, aud an earnest endeavor to meet their wishes in all things. She strove to excel in the profession which had been chosen for her, loving it for the sake of her who had first instructed her in it, and seeing no evil in a line of life to which she had been bred up from early childhood ; while at the same time she passed many of her spare hours in reading and studying, thus gradually mastering the difficulties with which, through long neg lect and ignorance, her mental progress was surrounded. She could now read and write correctly, and her speech was no longer what it had formerly been, replete with uncouth terms and grammatical errors. She looked, moved and spoke like a lady, and no one, ignorantof her profession, would have dreamed, on seeiug her, that she was anything else. But still?poor Posy !?she wore the tights and spangles, and was but a dancer after all. CHAPTER VIII. Let us return to Helen Forester, whom we left at the boarding school in the neighborhood of Le Bocage. Three years have passed since then, and we find her again seated one afternoon in Madame Preville's parlor, in company with Victor Duclos. It is a gusty afternoon of autumn, and the branches of the trees, half denuded of their foliage, are swaying and bending in the chilly wind without, while the brown leaves that once clothed them in verdure are whirled and tossed about on the bare earth beneath, emblems of the fleeting nature of mundane beauty and show. Notwithstanding the wind, Madame Preville has gone out for a walk, to see certain of her poor tenants who are in need of a little help, which the good lady never refuses to accord them. Helen is a little displeased to fiud that she has been kept in ignorance of this expedition until too late to join it; the more so, as, coming into the parlor, she discovered that she is destined to a tete u tile with Victor, from which she cannot, in courtesy, make her escape. Not that she dislikes Victor. Ou the contrary, she acknowledges that he has much merit, and to her has been uniformly kind. But his kindness has taken a shape which makes her rather shy of him; for the truth of the matter is, she has found out that he is iu love with her, and she is by no means in love with him. Victor Duclos is a pale, grave, reserved . man of business, neither handsome nor talent- ' ed. but with an excellent disposition and a solid mind. He is not bad looking, either. His eyes, indeed, are very fine, being large,' dark gray in color, and singularly soft, yet; penetrating, in their expression. His brow is : lofty, and denotes candor and reflection. The somewhat square mouth and firmly moulded chin indicate resolution and stability of purpose. In figure he is not remarkable, being i neither tall nor short, heavy nor slight To J '""If o* Kini vnn wniiM arrive at. t.hfi nninion I that his face and manner are more than ordinarily intelligent and attractive. Helen is a decided beauty, of the genuine Southern type. Her features are delicate and piquant, her eyes dark, and rather languishing when in repose, and their lashes unusually long, almost sweeping the rounded outline of her cheek, with its soft yet rich coloring, as she sits now apparently engrossed with her embroidering. Victor envies the cushioncover, with its half-completed device in gay scarlet and gold, because those eyes, whose glance he prizes so highly, are fixed so persistently upon the senseless thing. Her dark-brown, abundant hair is loosely braided, school-girl fashion, and tied with a pink ribbon. Her dress is of some simple sober-hued material, fitting perfectly her pliant form, and unrelieved by any adornment except a tiny ruche of lace around her white throat. Victor watches the movements of her slender, taper hands as they ply their task, thinking how pretty they are, and how much happiness it would afford him to hold one a few minutes in his own. Then his eyes ascend to the slightly drooping face, which he likens in his mind to a flower, though far fairer than any flower he has ever seen, taking in every charm of its contour and coloring and ex* pression, with an ever keea sense of the lovliness that sways his being to the very core. "Mademoiselle," he presently says?it is thus he is always in the habit of addresing her?notwithstanding the intimacy which constant intercourse has established between them. "Plait-ilt" Helen looks up with a smile. "Mademoiselle, I wish that you bestowed half the attention upon me that you do upon that gaudy sampler." "It is not a sampler, Monsieur Duclos," says, Helen, demurely; "is a cushion for your aunt's priedieu." "All the same; it is the object of your constant regard, to the exclusion of everything else. Is it so necessary that you should complete it within a given time?" "It is very necessary, for I intend it as a gift to Madame on her birth-day." "Her birth-day! Why that occurred three months ago." "People have birthdays every year, Monsieur," Helen gravely answers. "I allude to her next birth-day ; not to the one which is past." "Then it will take you nine months from the present date to accomplish your work ?" "You forget how many other occupations I have. My studies engross a large portion of my time, and it is only on holidays or exceptional occasions, that I can make much progress in work of that sort." "Ah ! those studies. However, in four months more, you are to be released from the thraldom of school. Then, you will have more time to work, and to bestow some notice on your friends." "I am not rude, I hope, Monsieur." "By no means; you are simply absorbed. It is natural, of course, that you should pay ?? ? * most attention to tnat wmcn uiiereais you most." Half laughing, hut with a heightened color, Helen put her embroidery aside. "Now, Monsieur, that inuendo is too plain. You force me to prove to you that I do not 6ud you uninteresting, as you imply. I am at your service to entertain you in any manner that is most agreeable to you. Shall I play for you, sing my last new song, or conquer you at a game of chess? Or, perhaps, you would prefer taking a walk down the avenue. We might meet your aunt and escort her home." "I do not wish you to do any of those things, Mademoiselle. I am in no mood for music? even yours?nor your games. As to my aunt, nAnrla nnw/lnoirno on aanrxrt Kavnnrl bllt; Lie I til CI UCCUO 1IU1 UMHVO UU vwvui v, vwj VM the one she is already provided with, in the person of old Jean. I want you simply to talk to me?and, to look at me a little." "Hebien; what shall we talk about?" rejoined the young lady, affecting to yawn slightly, for she had no desire to drift into a sentimental vein. "I cannot entertain you with the gossip of the day, for at Mademoiselle Laclerq's I hear none. "So much the better. The gossip of the day is seldom improving, and I am no better versed in it than you are. Tell me, rather about yourself; what are your anticipations in regard to leaving school ?" "My anticipations I?Oh! they are pleasant ones, of course ; freedom from rules, liberty '? ?11. ?i/ln nti mif and droaa no T Him alppn lu nam, nuct gu v?w muv* * ??..v, wV|# late in the mornings, and find time for everything, including ray embroidery," said Helen, mischievously. "They do not include anything more important?a journey of any sort, for instance?" "A journey ?" Helen looked interested. "What do you mean, Monsieur?" "I had an idea?I feared, from something my auut one day said?that possibly there was a chance of your returning to your native land." "I know nothing of it," said Helen, a little startled. "I don't think Madame Preville can have received any communication from my uncle without informing me of it." "No, certainly; she has not told me of any such communication. Only it seemed probable to me that, your education being completed, your relatives in America would be anxious for your return." "My relatives in America have certainly never testified any anxiety on that score hitherto," said Helen. They have appeared willing enough to dispense with my presence." "They know not what they lose," said Victor, in a low tone. "However," continued Helen, allowing this observation to pass unheeded, "I have no right to feel wounded or even annoyed at this indifference, considering that they know absolutely nothing of me. My uncle, I suppose, vaguely remembers me as a young child; but his wife, you know, I have never even seen." "There is a cousin, also, is there not?" asked Victor. "A cousin?no. My aunt's son is by a former marriage. There is no blood relationship between us." "Is that all ? But for yourself, Mademois- j elle, putting aside all feeling in regard to ! their anxiety or indifference for your return,! have you no choice in the matter? Are you at liberty to decide whether you will go or stay ?" "As to that," said Helen, reflectively, "I have never thought about it, because I really don't know bow far my uncle's authority over me may extend. He is not legally my guardian, I believe; yet, as my father's halfbrother, I presume I would be expected to yield to his guidance as long as I am under age.'' "Has he not virtually forfeited all right to control your actions, by refusing you his protection on your father's death, and leaving you, since that time, to the care of others ?" "It may be so. But, Monsieur, why do you ask these questions ?" "Do they displease you, Mademoiselle ?" "Certainly not. I merely wish to know their object." "They are the natural result of my interest in you, Mademoiselle, and of a desire to know, in case you are left to follow your own inclination, in what direction that inclination will lead you." "Well," said Helen, "if lam left to follow my own inclination, I certainly shall not go to America, to visit people who- refused to take care of me, when I most needed their care. You cannot suppose that I feel any very tender regard for them. As to this un known aunt, I can fancy her being a worldly, dashing, selfish sort of person, horribly afraid of any one obtaining any influence over my uncle but herself; not a person with whom I should care to become intimate." "And the son?what of him ?" "The son?Oh ! I know nothing of him, at all," replied Helen, indifferently. "I don't even recollect his name?something beginning with a B, I believe; no, L?, let me see ; Lambeth?Lambert?yes, that is it?my aunt was the widow Lambert when uncle Dashwood married her." "I think I know something of him," said Victor, slowly. "You do? How? Where did you ever see him?" asked Helen, in surprise. "In Paris, some four or five years ago. His mother was there also, a Mrs. Dashwood, very stylish, very dashy, though quite gray; a panic beauty, I should judge. They were from New Orleans. His name was Allan Lambert. I think there could be no mistake " "You surprise me very much," said Helen. "Was ray uncle there also ?" "I think not Indeed I am sure he could not have been, for she transacted her own business entirely, not even entrusting it to her son. They were in Paris about three months. They came on to see about some property to which it seems they had a short time before become entitled." "It seems odd that I should never have known of this," observed Helen, in a musing tone. "And yet?of course these people, my aunt and her son, never thought of my being so near; probably did not not even recollect my existence. Had my uncle been with them, I suppose he would have come to see me." "Could he.not at least have sent you some measage?some token?through their hands ?" suggested Victor. "Their journey out here certainly afforded him an excellent opportunity of communicating with you." "It is but an additional proof of his total indifference to me, that he should have neglected to do so," rejoined Helen. "Mais, qu' importe f" she added lightly. "I do not need n/\p rloairp his nfFrtrtinn ? T have heen too haD py and too kindly cared for in raj adopted home to vex myself because ray American relatives choose to ignore rae_." "Are you, indeed, so happy here?" exclaimed Victor, with kindling eyes. "I am, of course. Your aunt is goodness itself, as you well know, and I have many friends," replied Helen, in a more guarded tone. "May your sentiments on this subject never change, Mademoiselle! But I fear, I fear something may yet occur to make you alter your mind 1" said Victor. "I am perpetually haunted by the idea that events will fall out in such a manner as to necessitate, or at least induce, you to return to America. I regard it almost as a presentiment." "They say the wish is parent to the thought," said Helen, rather provokingly. "Take care, Monsieur, that I do not accuse you of wishing for my departure, since the i < i * i_ JlKeunooa or it seems iu ue ?u airuugij uu* pressed od your mind." "You do but jest, Mademoiselle," replied Victor, iu a grave tone. "You well know that such an event would be the greatest misfortune, almost, that could befall me." "That almost is well added," said Helen, laughingly; "for I am persuaded that there are many other things which would be much greater misfortunes to you than my leaving France." "I know of one other," rejoined Victor, in a suppressed tooe. He looked eagerly at her, | as if about to say something more, checked himself with an effort, and rising from his chair, walked somewhat hastily to the window, where he stood for a moment or two in silence, looking out. Helen, Bomewbat embarrassed, took up her embroidery again, drawing her needle through with fingers that were a little nervous in their movements. She began to wish for Madame Preville's return, and the wish was speedily gratihed. Victor, turning away from the window, presently, remarked, in his ordinary manner, "There is my aunt coming up the avenue now." Shall we go and meet her?" exclaimed Helen, springing up. "If you wish it," he quietly replied, one ran to get her shawl and hat; and during the five minutes occupied in their walk, before coming up with Madame Preville, their conversation was of the most commonplace kind. "Here you are, my children," cheerfully exclaimed the old lady, extending a hand to each. "Helen, mon ange, I have something for you?a letter, which Jean got from the poste as we passed by. It is from America, but not in your uncle's hand." Old Jean fumbled in his pocket, and producing the document, handed it to Helen, who received it eagerly. It bore the usual postmark, New Orleans, but was directed in a femiuine hand, quite unfamiliar to her. She opened it quickly and turned to the sig- i nature?"Augusta Dashwood." "From my aunt!" she exclaimed; and turning back to the first page she rapidly ran j her eye over the contents. Victor watched , her face as she did so. He saw her color j come and go, and read evident surprise and < perplexity in its expression. i "Read it, Madame," she said, excitedly, 1 when she had come to the end, holding it out ^ to the old lady. The latter, however, shook ' her head. ( "V-.. atnffttni T tionfl n/^ mr 1UU lUlgCIl, limit CllfUIII) J. UHTV UVV ? J glasses on; besides, I could not read it while walking, without difficulty." "Then I'll read it aloud," said the young girl; and in a tremulous voice she began? "My dear Niece"? "Hon Dieu," interrupted the old lady. "Is it from your uncle's wife, say you ?" "Yes, Madame." "Ah! She recognizes you as her niece at length! It is a marvel; but go on, ma ehbre." "My Dear Niece:?Your uncle requests me to write to you in his stead, as he has recently been ill, and is still suffering from excessive debility, which will not permit him to make any exertion ; and as he has a piece of news of an interesting nature to communicate to you, he wishes it to reach you without delay. It is briefly this: Your greataunt, Mrs. Mary Forester, (a very aged lady, whom perhaps you do not recollect, as she spent all her life in a remote country place) died on the twelfth of last month, and it is discovered by her will that she has left to you nearly the whole of her large property, amounting to a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, all securely invested, besides her two plantations and some city lots, all of which are of considerable value, though of course depreciated since the war. Your uncle says that had this inheritance become yours prior to the emancipation of slaves, you would have been perhaps the richest heiress in the United States, for she owned a large number of very fine negroes, who would, doubtless, also have descended into your possession. As to the business part of this matter, dear Hel en, (I mean regarding the securities in which j the money is vested, and so on) all that will ] be properly explained to you hereafter. I ( have neither the head to explain, nor you, ( probably, just now, the wisdom to understand, ( all these details, which can be more clearly | communicated to you in a business form, , either by your uncle or his lawyer. What I . wish chiefly to say is, that I offer you my warmest congratulations on the good fortune which has befallen you. It could not, I am sure, have come into better hands. The sin- { cere interest I have always felt in your welfare makes me rejoice in your prosperity ; , and this sentimeut is shared by your dear , uncle, who sends all manner of kind mes- , sages to you, and by my son Allan, who, j though unknown to you, like myself, feels a friendly regard for one so closely connected , by the ties of mutual relationship. "Your uncle begs me, in addition, to recall to your mind the fact that, on the expiration . of your school term, which must now be at hand, it is understood that you are to return to your native home, to the roof which you must henceforth consider as your own, and to the hearts which are anxious to welcome you back from tbe land of the stranger, with ! all the warmth prompted by their sincere and ! affectionate esteem and regard. "Hoping, dear Helen, soon to become personally acquainted, I remain. "Your affectionate Aunt, "Augusta Dashwood." Madame Preville listend to the reading of , this letter without a word. An inscrutable ( expression rested upon her face. i As to Victor, he had become even paler than usual. His lips were firmly set, and with 1 his eyes fixed steadily ahead, and an erect air, he, too, walked on in silence. Helen, ( agitated and uncertain whether to laugh or j cry, followed the example of her friends, and ' not a word was uttered again until they j reached tbe house. [to be continued.] fgisttttawMMis gUadhtg. SPEECH OF SENATOR VOORHEES. . i MORE MONEY WANTED. ' i In the United States Senate, on Tuesday of ' last week, Senator Voorhees, of Indiana, called up the resolution submitted by him, on ' the 13th of December last, deolaring that it . is of the highest importance that the financial credit of the government be maintained, ' and in order to do so the government itself, ' in all its departments, should, in good faith, ' keep all its contracts and obligations entered | into with its own citizens. He referred to the continued agitation of the financial question, * and said that it would never cease until the ] i ?xi.i 4 j.Li II people were sausueu tutu uur vast uoui 10 iu process of extinction upon principles of justice to tax-paying labor, or until, on the other hand, they are subjugated into silent submission, and the government itself becomes changed in spirit and form into a moneyed aristocracy. It may be that this latter alternative is to overtake us. There are dark and plentiful omens in our recent history, indicating such a conclusion, and there is a numerous and powerful class in our midst who believe, as Alexander Hamilton declared, that the British Government on this, as well as on other points, is the best ever devised by the wisdom of man. Those entertaining this opinion have thus far triumphed in the finanoial legislation of the United States, and the time has now arrived when their victories must be reversed, or this government will soon cease to be Republican and this people be no longer free. He argued that to a great extent our whole financial system is an organized crime against the laboring, tax-paying men and women of the United States, and those who thought, as he did, that a great financial reform is demanded in order to secure the people from slavery in fact, if not in name, were denounced. 8 He spoke of unholy avarice having its strong- c holds, and privileged classes having entrenchnnr] n o 1 rl tkla nl aa aP fTAA^ C CU tliCllJSClVCOf ai!U DH1U VUIO piv? Ui gwuu m faith dow so loud in our ears, has been in- i voked in behalfof every wickedness that ever t cursed the world. He then spoke of the act! t of February 25,1862, as the beginning of our ( bonded debt. The precious metals were found ] to be unequal to the emergency of war. Spe- s cie payments were abandoned as soon as ( the hour of trial came, and gold and silver i cowered in the rear, while the legal tender s dollar went to the front with the flag, and i stayed there. He was amongst those who i doubted our right to issue it, but experience ? had shown it (all things considered) the best < money that ever circulated on American soil. ( He argued that by this act, and by similar i legislation at subsequent periods, every bond i issued by the government which did not, on i its face, stipulate for payment in coin, was t made payable by the express words of law in s legal-tender notes. He quoted from the lan- c guage of the late Thaddeus Stevens to the ef- 1 feet that even the payment of the interest on s bonds in coin was an odious and unjust dis- s crimination in favor of the bondholder. He 1 also quoted from the speeches of Senator Sher- 1 man to show that he expressed the opinion that the bonds were payable in legal-tenders. The speaker characterized the acts of Congress proposing to pay the bonds in coin at the beginning of repudiation. The presens secretary of the treasury was the chief of repudiators, foremost among the violators of contract, and a leader among those who in no instance kept the good faith of the Government with its own people a moment after they found that bad faith would bring them richer gains. Mr. Voorhees commented at some length on the act of 1869 to pay the bonds in coin, and said that in some countries the habit prevailed }f building a cairn, a pile of stones, to mark the spot where some tragic event bad happened. So let the American taxpayers, whenever the act of 1869 is cited, each cast a stone upon it to mark the place in American history where repudiation began, and where the rights of the people were mercilessly and treacherously slaughtered. He next commented on the refunding act of July 14th, 1870, and said that it was brought in to aid in the false assertion of the act of 1869, that oar wnoie oonaea aeot was payaoie in coin. He argued that both of these acts were framed in the interest of the bondholders, and under their dictation. Bat even ander these acts the bonds were payable with either gold or silver coin, and not payable with gold alone. Mr. Voorhees then spoke at some length in regard to the advantages of silver coin, and said that the silver dollar came to as with the birth of oar government. It was devised as a unit of value by Thomas Jefferson and adopted by Congress in the days of Washington, Hamilton and Morris. It stood as honored as gold through every storm that beat upon this government. It is associated with all our developments, our strength, our growth, and our glory. He then spoke of the act of 1873 demonetizing silver, and said it was passed without a note of warning to the American people that their favorite coin was about to be destroyed as money. Its enactment was as completely unknown to the people, and indeed to four-fifths of Congress itself, as the presence of a burglar in a house at midnight to its sleeping'inmates. He argued that the silver dollar was eliminated from our money system under cover of false pretences, and that silver bad not failed in its functions as a specie basis Etny more than gold. Of the entire trading and commercial populations of the whole sarth, 696,250,000 more have silver alone as their standard of values, and transact all their business upon it as a specie basis, than those who have gold alone for similar purposes, and 754,200,000 more people use silver alone than use cold and silver both as their metalic cur renoy. Referring to tbe specie resumption wst of January 14,1875, he said that an attempt to force the resumption of specie payments with gold and silver both as our metalic basis, would be a cruel failure at this time. He spoke of the great shrinkage in values arising from the shrinkage of money in circulation, and said it was the immediate cause of that general bankruptcy and ruin which now fill tbe land. If the policy of this government has been to inflict the greatest misery on the greatest number, its success has been complete. He was not an inflationist in any sense that would disturb the true interests of trade and commerce. During the whole four years of 1863, 1864, 1865 and 1866, when the volume of our currency averaged over a thousand millions, the business failures of the entire country, reached only 2,167, less in number than occurred in any three months of the year just closed. During the period which is now stigmatized as one of inflation, the windows of business bouses were not darkened, and business men did not go as mourners about tbe streets. The laborer did not go home without bread to his wife and children. Helpless millions did not cower and tremble at the approach of winter for tbe lack of food and shelter. The publio peace was not broken by riots in resistance to starvation wages. The courts were not principally occupied in enforcing collections, foreclosing mortgages, ordering sheriffs' sales, or in punishing the destitute and the outcast. These are some things which did not take place. Others that did are equally striking. Good wages and good prices stimulated every laboring man's muscle, every business man's brain, and every power of machinery, into the highest and most productive activity. Hope and encouragement were in every heart. New farms were bought and cultivated. New workshops were opened. New manufactories were established. New mines of iron, coal and silver were sunk into the earth, whose contents in return assisted in the glad acclaim of a universal individual and national prosperity. Mr. Voorhees argued that there is not a dollar to-day in the hands of the people on which they have not paid a tax for the privlege of having it put in circulation by the government The national bank is the middleman between the government and the people, and is enormously paid for doing what hn ornvArnment micht directlv to do itself. Be spoke of the evils of the national banking system, and said that if the national banks were a blessing, then our public debt was a blessing, for the debt supports the banks. In including, he said that those for whom he spoke demanded the restoration of the silver dollar and its unlimited coinage, not fearing it would become too plentiful, and that it be nade a full legal tender. Second, they demanded the repeal unconditionally of the specie resumption act of January 14, 1875. rhird, they demanded that the national banking system be removed and a circulating medium provided by the government for the people without taxing them for the privilege )f obtaining it, and they ask that the amount bus placed in circulation should bear a easonable and judicious proportion to the jusiness transactions and the population of be United States. Fourth, they demanded bat the currency authorized and circulated >n the authority of the government shall be nade a legal tender in payment of all debts, >ublic and private, including dues to the government. Fifth, they demand that heresfter the financial policy of the country be V?mo^ normanflntlv in thfiir int.nrp.flfc. that bey shall not be discriminated against in uture legislation as in the past, and that their )ro8perity, and not the mere growth of income md retired capitalists, shall be the primary luty of the government In conclusion, Mr. Voorheee quoted from an irticle he had noticed in certain Eastern lewspapers in regard to the rights of the )ondholders, the duty of the laboring classes, md the policy that should be pursued by capitalists to counteract the efforts of anticipated legislation on the silver question, and laid : "Sir, I have no word of menace to utter >n this floor; but in behalf of every laborer ind every owner of the soil whom I repreient, I warn all such as value their investnents, that when these doctrines of despotism ire sought to be enforced, this fair land will igain be oonvulsed in agony, and the fires >f liberty will blaze forth again as they did >ne hundred years ago in defence of the natiral rights of man. [Applause in the gallere8.] May the wisdom of our fathers and the MDigmty of our (iod avert such an issue; >ut if it shall come, if infatuation has eized our councils, the result will only add me more instance to the long catalogue of luman crime and folly, where avarice, like tmbition, overleaps itself, and in its unholy attempt to rob others of their possessions, oses its own," [Great applause in the gal* eiy.]