Democratic Sentinel, Volume 8, Number 48, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 December 1884 — SAVED AS BY FATE. [ARTICLE]

SAVED AS BY FATE.

BY SARA B. ROSE.

“What can it be, Louise, that is so charming about Alice? Any one but her would be pronounced homely, with those features; besides, she is a ‘strawberry blonde,’ she is freckled, and she has the most immense feet—wears a six, at the very least. ” “I am sure I cannot say, but fascinating she certainly is; it must be in her manner or in her accomplishments. W,ho would ever have thought when she came here six months ago that she would now be the belle of Lancaster ?” “1 didn’t, I’m sure, or I never would haye allowed papa to offer her a home with us; just listen to that voice!” And Jeannette Taylor paused as the sweet tones of her cousin’s voice came floating up to them from the musicroom. “She is practicing up for the concert. I’d give the world to keep her away from there. Claude Moltrop is sure to fall deader in love with her than ever, for she does look stunning in her coricert dress, in spite of her red hair.” “Do you think that would make any differenoe, Jeanne? Wouldn’t he follow her just the same if she did not attend the concert?” “Hardly, for, you see, Claude knows nothing of this sudden eummans Alice has received from Uncle George, and if he should not meet her to-night, I feel sure I could secure him before Alice would ever see him again, for you know she goes in the early train.” “I rather think so myself,” mused Louise Lorton, Jeanne Taylor’s married sister. “He seems to be almost as attentive to you as he is to Alice; it may be only her singing which attracts him. What are you going to wear tonight, Jeanne?” “My white tissue, but I know it’s all vain to think anything about it, if she sings at that concert. I wish I dare send her away this minute,” and Jeanne Taylor looked at her sister with despair and, anger in her black eyes. “It was a mistake, father’s bringing her here,” said Mrs. Lorton. “But you must do nothing Pash, Jeanne; perhaps I may find a way to prevent her attending the concert.” “Oh, Louise, how? I have positively begged her not to go, have even hinted that it was unladylike to sing in public, but she is not to be turned from her course a single iota.” Mrs. Lorton smiled, and, bending over, whispered in her sister’s ear a few words which acted like magic upon the despairing look in Jeanne’s face. “Oh, Louise, if you only could,” she said. “I think I can,” replied Mrs. Lorton. “And now go down stairs and offer to help Alice with her packing, and then when you are both dressed come to me in the dining room where, I will have a glass of lemonade prepared for you.” Jeanne departed with a little triumphant laugh,’and Mrs. Lorton took up her sewing with a self-satisfied look. Alice Taylor was an orphan. Her parents had left her a small fortune, and when her uncle Harvey had offered her * house with his'own daughters she had accepted, not because she could not support herself, but for the companionship she had hoped to find with her cousins, who were about her own age. She had missed something in their demeanor from the first, but they had never been particularly unkind. Still the lonely girl missed the love she had craved with such intenseness. Soon after her arrival, her cousin Louise had married, and was soon her father’s housekeeper, and acted as chaperon for Jeanne and Alice on all society occasions. After she had been in society a few times people had discovered that plain little Alice Taylor possessed a beautiful voice and an indescribable charm of manner, and she began to be courted and flattered until six months after her arrival she was the acknowledged belle of the small town. Mrs. Moltrop, one of the leaders of society, had decided, just as the story opens, to get up a charity concert for the benefit of the indigent of Lancaster, and Alice Taylor’s voice was to be the particular attraction. Mrs. Moltrop was very popular, and her only aon Claude was considered the best “catch” in town, and Jeanne Taylor, before Alice’s arrival, had been reasonably sure that the prize was her own. But there was a' change, yet she strove with all the tact which is given the young society lady to place herself first in his regards; but, alas for her, Alice’s company was preferred to her own. She was secretly very angry, and Alice perceived an unpleasant change in her, which she could account for on no other grounds than the trne ones. About this time she received a letter from another uncle of hers, who wished her to fill a daughter’s place to him. She hailed the change with joy, and had planned to start for his distant home the morning after the concert. All this had been kept perfectly quiet by her cousins, for they feared she would receive an offer of marriage from Claude Moltrop before her departure. Alice knew all this, but she expected to Ijjlitet Claude once more before leaving, her gentle heart fluttured at what wwflfrt happen on that portentous even-

She was. therefore, a little surprised at Jeanne’s kindness that afternoon when she came down and offered sc pleasantly to help her about her pack* ing. “I am sorry you are to leave us, Alice,” she said; “although I don’t doubt you will like it at Uncle George’s. ” “I hope so,” said Alice, brightly; “and I never shall forget your kindness in giving me a home when I had nonet Jeanne.” “That was nothing,” said Jeanne. “How time does fly; we ought to b« dressing now, and Louise has set out a lunch for us before we go.” Alice did not know what to make oi this unusual kindness, and went awaj to her dressing room thinking that she had possibly misjudged her cousins after all, and they were sorry she was leaving them. Dress made a great change in the plain little girl’s looks, and it was an airy, graceful figure that accompanied Jeanne to the dininf room where Louise, also attired for the concert, was await ing them. “We will have to go alone girls. Paps and Mr. Lorton will drop in before the concert is over,” she said, and thee she observed, “I have some splendid lemonade here, as cold as ice can make it. I thought you would like some, it is such a warm evening. ” “Thank you,” said Alice, “I do not care for anything to eat, but I will take a glass of lemonade.”

“I knew your taste, you see, my deal coz,” said Louise lightly, handing each of the girlß a heavy goblet which stood ready filled at her elbow. “How do you like it?” she asked, when Alice had half emptied her glass. “It is excellent,” was her smiling reply* “We must get on our wraps,” said Jeanne, hurriedly, setting down hei glass. “It is getting late; drink up your lemonade, Al. I hear the carriage.’ Alice drained the last drop of the delicious draught and followed her cousin into the sitting room where her wrapt were lying. “Sit down in this chair, Al, and lei me arrange those lilies of the valley in’ your hair,” said Louise. “That could not have been our carriage, Jeanne.” Alice sat down, and that was the lasi she remembered distinctly, for she fell into a deep doze, and soon after the two sisters laid her limp form upon the couch in the corner of the room. “You are sure it will not hurt her, Louise ?” asked Jeanne, a little regretfully. “Of course not,” was the reply. “I’ve taken it for a greal many times; she will have a dreamless night’s sleep—that is all. ” “And then?” “Then she will start for Uncle George’s in the morning train, and you, if you play your cards right, will marry Claude Moltrop.” Jeanne threw a shawl carelessly ovei her white-robed cousin, overlooked her toilet, and then followed her sister to the carriage and was driven to the large hall where the concert was to be given. The two ladies rustled to their seats, and it was not long before Claude Moltrop joined them. “Did not Miss Alice come with you?” were almost the first words he said. “No,” replied Mrs. Lorton. “She starts for the East in the early train, and so gave up attending. ” “But what will we do without her solos ? My sister will be at a complete loss. ”

“That’s just the way with Al,” replied Jeanne. “No one can depend upon her in the least if she gets a little miffed at anything; she always acts just so.” Mr. Moltrop said but little more to the two ladies, and then made his way back through the hall, which was crowded, to the green-room. “Mary,” said he, “Alice Taylor is not going to come. What will you do?” “Not going to come ?” questioned Mrs. Moltrop, in excited surprise. “She must come; we would not have any concert at all without her. What is the matter? Is she ill?”

“I believe not. Mrs. Lorton, or rather Jeanne Taylor, gave me to understand she was milled at something.” “Impossible,” said Mrs. Moltrop. “Claude, you get the carriage and we will go after her. 1 would not disappoint this great audience for anything. If Alice Taylor is in town she must sing." They had driven but a block or two when the fire-bell began to ring excitedly, and the street idlers rushed toward the indicated locality. “That’s somewhere near the music hall,” said Claude, as he harkened to to the bells.

“That’s true,” said Mrs. Moltrop. “What if it should have caught fire? It was fearfully warm. ” “Let’s go back,” said Claude. Their forebodings were too true. When they arrived a frantic mass of people were pouring from the building, and the engines were pouring a steady stream of water upon the roaring flames.

It was not long before the fire was subdued, but the scene was a heartrending one when the mass of burned and crushed humanity was taken from the crowded building. Many lives had been lost in the swaying living mass who had wildly attempted to escape, and many had been more or less burned by the hungry flames. Claude Moltrop assisted Edgar Lorton, as he brought out his dead wife, all crushed and bleeding, and Jeanne Taylor was found with her beautiful face and hands deeply burned by the falling embers. It was the saddest oc ourrence which had ever happened in the little town, and the survivors never forgot that scene to their dying day. Poor Jeanne Taylor was scarred deeply for life, and when at laßt her cousin and Claude Moltrop were engaged, for Jeanne would not let Alice leave, she told them the whole story of the evening of the concert. Alice freely forgave her, as she looked at her scarred face, and thought that she herself, had been saved as by fate. In boy under twelve can not for any offense go before a magistrate ; the schoolmaster must inflict the neoessary chastisement. Between 12 and 18 years he may be sent to a reformatory and detained till 20,