Democratic Sentinel, Volume 1, Number 48, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 January 1878 — FOR $50,000? [ARTICLE]

FOR $50,000?

There is not n quainter, prettier village in the southeast of England than Harbury Market. At all times of the year this is true of it. In winter, when the great fens are covered with skaters, and the streets gay with hunting parties, and the houses full of company, it is beautiful. In autumn, when grapes ripen on every cottage wall, and the hopfolds are full of pickers, it is beautiful; and in spiing and summer, when the tall poplars rustle over sweet old flowergardens, and quiet, sunny streets, it is still more beautiful. I am thinking now of one summer morning, many, many years ago, when there was a great wedding in Harbury church. The bride was the rector’s daughter, and every house had au interest in it, I made the carriage drive slowly through the village, that I might not lose the rustling music of tho leaves, the scent of the wall-flowers, and the pleasant smiles and good words that came from every open door. It was only 8 o’clock, and the first beauty of the day was still untouched. I thought when I saw the bride how fitting it seemed that she should choose such n sweet, untroubled hour, for she herself was yet in the first blush of girlhood, and fresh and lovely as tho lily-bells and rosebuds she held in her hand. There were four bridesmaids, three youug girls and a white-haired woman who was quite old enough to have been the bride’s mother. Somehow it is generally easy to tell an old maid, but this time I was quite at fault. Dressed in rich, soft, gray silk covered with a mantilla of white lace, and cleverly busy in arranging with exquisite taste the dress of the bride and her younger maids, I took her, at first, for some sweet matron of about 40 years of age. I was amazed when I ic mil that she was chief bridesmaid and Miss Abagnil Fisher. She had been very beautiful and she was still lovely. There was not a youug girl at the wedding that had the subtle charm of this calm-browed woman, over whose pleasant face the dove visibly brooded. Her hands put the last graceful touch to everything; she thought for every one’s pleasure; she was the gentle, helpful spirit that everywhere presided. 1 could not avoid noticing her continunlly, because she so continually forgot herself. 1 was glad to see that she was on terms of the closest intimacy with the bride’s mother, for the latter was a talkative little woman, who never could resist telling a story or giving a frit ml pleasure. Bo when the bride was gone, and the excitement over, and she had im I a couple of days to feel lonely in, I took my crochet one afternoon to the rectory resolving that I would stay to tea sad hear something about Miss A ban-ail Fisher. b

Before I had aa opportunity to speak of her she came into the rectory parlor. She had with her two beautiful you tig women, ivho sang and played with a grace and skill I had never heard equaled. All three staid to tea, and, after an hour’s music, the rector walked back to the village with them. Then I said, “I like Mies Fisher; she interests me very mu'h.” 1 “Abasrail interests every one. Poor Abagail!” “ Why do you say ‘ Poor ?’ ” ' 1 Because she had a great sorrow when she was young; for that matter, we both had; only I had Ralph to help me bear mine; she had only me, and I could do nothing but weep with her.” “She appears to love you as a sister.” We ought to have been sisters. Come under the beeches, and, while the sun sets, I will tell you all about it. It is no secret; tiie whole village know her wrong, ami the whole village saw the retribution that avenged her. It hus seen, also, how “ God has tempered all things well, Worked patience out of hitter pain, And out of ruin golden gain. s ’ As we sat down under the beeches, my friend pointed out a pretty house surrounded by great apple orchards’ and a large, old-fashioned garden! “ That where Abagail lives now,” she said, “but, when I first knew her she was poor. Her father had been’ the doc'or of the village, but he never saved anything, and, when he died, Abagail had nothing but the littlo furnished house in which he had lived. But she had been well educated, she took some scholars, and gave several young ladies lessons upon the harp. I was amoDg them. We were about the same age. 1 had no sister, and she had no friends. Wo soon loved each other truly and tenderly. “ Soon there arose another tie between iia. My only brother, Gerald, was induced to settle at Harbury Market. Ho had been studying medicine in London, and wished to practice there, but my father could not bear to have him so far away, He gave him >I,OOO to Btay here,

and Gerald, who was not insensible to the advantages of a fine hunting country and a practice ready waiting for him, made a kind of merit of his concession, and stepped into Abagail’s father’s place. “ One day, Abagail and I were together in my father’s drawing-room. She was leaning over the harp, but not playing. We had finished the lesson, and were talking softly of my engagement to Ralph. Suddenly a bright blush overspread Her face, and turning, I saw (Jerald standing in the open door watching us. “ From that hour he did nothing but watch Abagail. He got tender-con-scienced, as well as tender-hearted, and my father and he had warm disputes about Abagail’s right to a sum of money for the ‘good-will ’ of her father’s business. Father got first to dislike her through this, for when he absolutely refused to offer her the £SOO which Gerald tnought she ought to have, then Gerald offered her the sum himself. Abagail was in love, and thought this act splendid ; of course she positively refused it; but then father never liked her afterward. “All the more Gerald followed her wherever she went. He sent her flowers and books, and was continually bribing me to say good words in his behalf. There was not any need for me to do that, for, though Abagail was shy and proud enough with him, one woman reads another, and I knew very well she loved my handsome brother with all her pure, good heart. “Very soon every one began to connect their names, and one day after dinner, when father had drunk more than usual, he got very angry about it, and said, ‘ Gerald must go back to London. ’ “ Gerald said ‘it was too late now; that he preferred Harbury.’ “ ‘But,’ said ray father, ‘you can not trifle with Miss Fisher, sir! Her father was the doctor of this place for forty years ; there is not a man within twenty ndles.who would not defend her— and ■you ran't marry her, air!' “ ‘That is my intention, sir,’replied Gerald. “ Father looked for a moment as if lie would throw his wine-glass at him; but the next he was quite calm, and said: ‘ We won’t quarrel, my boy, about a gill that is no kith nor kin of ours; if you will come with me to the library, I have something to say, which will perhaps make you reasonable.’ “ I do not know what passed between them, but the next day Gerald began to make arrangements for a return to London. Of course this could not be done at once. He had a young friend whom he wished to put in his place, and he was determined not to leave Harbury without Borne oertainty of Abagail s love. Poor girl ! She could not bear to keep him at a distance, with the piospect of a long parting between them. She frankly acknowledged that he was very dear to her, and he promised, over and over again in my presence, that no woman but Abagail should ever be his wife. ‘ ‘ I am quite sure he meant all he said. No one could help loving Abagail, and Gerald was not by any means the only lover she had. It was this fact that made him so anxious; he knew that Mark Gaudy of Harrow Hall followed her like a shadow, and that the rich banker, Joseph Butterfield, had been her suitor for a year. But Gerald also knew if Abagail promised, she would never deceive him.

“He was a proud, happy man tiie day she promised to be his wife; and I agreed to watch carefully over his love while lie was away. All at once a great fear about his going took hold of me; I begged him to remain at Harbury. I could see nothing to gain, but everything to lose by the movement. “ Then it came out that there was another lady in the case. My father’s corn-factor in London had left his daughter £50,000, and it seemed there liad been for years a scheme between the parents for uniting their children. The heiress —whose name was Caroline Waite —had been at school when Gerald was studying, and they had therefore never yet met. It was now evident to me that Gerald had been heavily bribed to go to London for one year on this business.

‘ ‘ Gerald was always ready for change and pleasure; he had secured Abagail’B love, and he had no fears or scruples about trifling away time in meaningless attentions to a girl whom he had never seen, and whose influence over him he could not estimate. Now to play with Caroline Waite was to play with fire. She had dazzling beauty, a passionate temper, and an indomitable will. AVhen I had been in her company half an hour I knew that, while he was with her, Gerald would be wax in her hands. If she should wish to marry him, his only chance of escape would have been flight. “But Abagail and I had no suspicion of what was going on in London. We were very happy; I had been quietly married to Ralph, and Abagail never missed her weekly letter, and a letter once a week in those days was a very great attention indeed. These letters never named Caroline, nor indeed anything which oould lead us to suspect that Gerald was really leading the very wildest and most extravagant life. There had been no necessity of labor or study imposed upon him; he became acquainted with a class of young men far above him in fortune and social position, and he only too readily joined them in dissipations far beyond his means. ‘‘ My father paid his debts several times, but, finally, pressed and driven by a hundred liabilities, Gerald obtained money by using a certain name as he never ought to have done. The matter \v;.s settled hastily by Gerald’s marriage wit!) MisS Caroline Waite. But the <’Vi u(s leading directly to this consummation Abagail and I knew nothing of tor years; tlio first news we had of the ill-starred union was its announcement in tlie ifurburv Herald.

“It shocked the whole village; it nearly killed Abag.iil; she never left her room for a year; arid, when she was able to come down to the rectory again, Gerald and his wife had bought a fine place about three miles from here, and were living as if they owned the county. People who live grandly, keep a houseful of company, and plenty of horses, are always popular, and for a couple of years my father was very proud of the marriage he had made. “ I went often to see Caroline, for, in spite of her high temper and her reckless extravagance, there was something very attractive about her. Abagail liked me to go; nothing pleased her more than little details about their house and company; her love had no root of bitterness in it; she longed for nothing more than for Gerald’s happiness. “At the end of two years we had a frightful blow ; Caroline became ravingly insane, and did not recover her reason until after the birth of a son. But a fear was over"all that we did not dare to whisper, and it sood began to have terrible confirmation. Her conduct, always extravagant, became utterly reckless; her paroxysms grew longer and fiercer; neither her property, her husband, nor her children, were safe from the cunning, cruel spirit that possessed her; and Gerald was compelled to place her in an asylum. “Then he went away from Harbury, and for three years nobody heard a word from him. One Sunday afternoon, as I came from church, up yonder hazel walk a tall, thin, miserable-looking object called my name in a whisper; it wus my brother Gerald. A broken man in every respect, he had come home to die ; his father would not know him, he had come to me. “Ralph and I gave him all that love and care could give, but there was nothing left to save. After a day or two’s rest, he was able to talk a little, I Pkked hip* \yher@ be bad beep.

“ * Over all the world,’ he said, ‘ seeking rest, and finding none.’ “ ‘ And your children, are they still with their grandmother ?’ I asked. “ ‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘but one is dead, and the others are miserably cared for; sometimes petted, sometimes beaten. Oh, Mary ! If anything could be done for them.’ “‘Caroline?’ “ ‘ls hopelessly insane; it runs in her mother’s family, breaking out generally every second generation. If my little girls could only have some one to care for them wisely and kindly they might escape.’ “ ‘ Will you trust them to me ?’ I asked. “He was very grateful, and I promised that afternoon to have the proper legal documents made out, giving me the guardianship of the children. But in the interval Abagail came. She had heard of Gerald’s return, and had oome to help me in the last kindness we oould pay him. Her life for the next few months was lost in that of the dying man. I heard her voice at all hours reading blessed, comforting words to him. She seemed never to know fatigue. Her face was always calm and cheerful. Both Ralph and I got to love the quiet, sunny room where poor Gerald waited for death. And when death came at last he came as a friend; Gerald died m Abagail’s arms, with the sound of holy, loving words in his ears. He was only 33 years old; that one false, cruel step, taken ten years before, had forced him with frightful rapidity into the grave. Alas ! alas! for those who must die in order to learn how they ought to have lived. ‘ ‘ Even while he was dying a distant relative of Abagail’s left her a handsome fortune, and this immediately suggested to her a plan she has carried out with beautiful results. She begged Gerald to give Jier his two children, promising to devote her whole life to controlling and subduing the fatal taint they had inherited. After that Gerald was quite happy; he knew that, as far aB it was possible to do so, the wrong he had done would be righted. “ The task has been no light one. The children wero both passionate and melancholy; but patient love and wisdom watched them constantly, up to a beautiful and accomplished womanhood. Abagail has made them understand clearly that there is a frightful wrong in perpetuating disease, and that a life spent in doing good to others is a compensation for all our own life misses.” “The difference between Gerald and Abagail was this,” said the rector, who had entered as his wife was finishing her story, “ Garald sold his life for £50,000, and Abagail gave hers. Now, one can never sell life, one must give it; for what price for a man’s life will at the last content him ?”