Democratic Sentinel, Volume 8, Number 50, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 January 1885 — A GREAT TEMPTATION. [ARTICLE]

A GREAT TEMPTATION.

BY LILY M. CUBRY.

If any one was to blame, it was Clemnce Arlington, who had first conlived the idea. Bat this young lady, sauty, heiress, only child and mistress I her father’s house, was by no means Mjostomed to having her plans thwartL It would have been absurd for annie Rae to have opposed them, annie was a lately acquired protege, khom Miss Arlington delighted on Mrious occasions to caress, shower Pivors upon,, swear by in matters artistic, and even to patronize. Six years |revious the two had been school Fiends; that was before Fannie had pme to the most terrible experience of ger life. She had often entertained bemence at her suburban home, which bemence had declared a most poeitc md fascinating place. Later on, Miss Irlington, duly chaperoned, was sent broad to complete her education, and be two lost sight of each other for a pace of three years. During this time Bidden reverses swept the Raes psnni■ss; father and mother succumbed to lie shock, and Fannie stood facing the orld a homeless orphan. Nerving hertlf with heroic resolve, she had forthwith set out for the city. She possessed pnsiderable talent for art; had studied pme and made fair progress. She hose this, therefore, as her profession. I She had ■ been for some time enhonced in a dear little sky-studio, with |st enough pupils to keep her from larring, and just enough courage to bld despair at bay, when, one day, ie late November afternoon, Clembce Arlington walked in upon her. [he same old Clemence, very tall and lender for her height; elegantly dressII and characteristic in manner. | She took Fannie’s face between her linds and gave her a light kiss on |ther cheek; after which she decided nat Fannie’s natural enough emotion gas very becomming, and, moreover, nat Fanny, in her plain, black dress las beautiful as ever, with an intelecgial, interesting sort of beauty, not lere pink and white and Grecian sea-

|She had heard all about her friend’s loubles, she had been looking her up, |e said presently, since returning lorn Paris, ■“And how are you succeeding ?” she Ignt on. I“O, fairly,” said Miss Rae, trying to Inile. ■"Which means ybu are having an Irfully hard time. Never was a real Inius yet that didn’t. Well, tell me ■ about it.” ■And Fannie obeyed with some reactance. ■The sat conversing so until the early Inter dusk had fallen about them, and ley could hardly see each other’s'fabea. men Miss Arlington suddenly rememE“How late it is! And there are a Bousand things I want to ask you. lime home with me, can’t you? |in Bing to the opera to-night; I want you I look at my dress and put a decent Bggestion into it. Come, you can stay itnight, I’m sure.” ■And Fannie, of course, obeyed. ■ They numbered but three at dinner I the Arlington mansion that evening, ■(mediately after which Mr. Arlington Hired to his library tp write letters, Bid Clemence took Fannie up to her Ha apartments. If Fannie had not IBn in mourning it would have been |Bs Arlington’s way to insist upon her ■Bid's accompanying herself and the gftherly matron who was to act as ■jjperon. As it was, Miss Arlington iitnissed her maid from the room, imibdiately the v oman had laid out the |®tnmering satin gown and all its fine if Please to look at me,” said the heirby and by, when she had slipped liaided into her elaborate toilette, “and Be me an artistic touch or two.” If I do not see much to alter,” said Knnie, seriously. ■Olemepce, though slender, was beauEully formed and graceful in every lavement. Her very long neck bore, Ke a gleaming cpluinn, the dark and Ijugbty face. She wore r'are pearls, [id carried a bouquet of white carnaKfiss Rae adjusted her friend’s draKifts, lengthening lines where possiB, and giving touches that should tend ■[picturesque effect. BjClemence, meanwhile, appeared to low thoughtful. I "I have an idea about you,” she said | length, as she drew on her long I-“ About me?” IT Yes; art is all very nice, but, as the Bet says, ‘art is long and life is fleetand I have made up my mind to Ifablish you; in other words, to get |iu a husband ” I’A husband ?” |*Xes; you are toe beautiful and inBeating to have your Imt years mkd. That’s the trouble with all M Taawm* women, don’t you know—-

they’re mostly old and hideous. It’s because they have had to make slaves of themselves. Now, I would like to see you become famous, but you might as well enjoy life meanwhile. If you had a home of your own, yon could get on twice as fast. You’ve got a great deal in your favor,” Clemence went on, “looking at it in a practical way. You are of good family, for one thing; they can’t put up their eye-glasses and say, ‘Only fa-a-ncy! Who is she ?’ ” Fannie sighed. “I am sure I don’t know how I should succeed, Clemence. I’m afraid my art would amount to very little, if it were not a case of necessity. Necessity is a great master ” “There, there! Don’t say another word; I can’t argue. I’ll talk to you in the morning. ” And Clemence, having caught up a ruby velvet carriage-rug, swept down to the drawing-room. Miss Arlington was scarcely attentive to the music that evening. She conversed more than was her wont with the various gentlemen who came to pay their respects to herself and chaperon. Among these was one who seemed especially to claim her consideration—a fine-faced man of perhaps 40. Clemence spoke with the freedom of long acquaintance. “You have neglected us lately. Only yesterday papa was wondering why you stayed away.” “I have been out of town,” said this gentleman. “I had thought to call upon you to-morrow.”

“Pray do. I know papa will be delighted. Cannot you dine with us, quite alone, you know, at 7 ? Do!” Whereupon he promised, and went awav. Clemence was very mysterious in her manner the following morning, while she breakfasted alone with Fannie Rae. “I think I have found him, ” she said, after a time. Fannie looked innocent. “Found whom?” “The happy bridegroom-to-be.” “Oh, Clemence!” “Yes, dear; that is very nice and proper; that deprecation, that remonstrance. Nevertheless, I have found him. His name is Elliot Lindsey. He is an old friend of ours—what they call, in London, a ‘city man.’ He has about $30,000 a year—altogether eligible, you know, good-looking, and clever. Papa thinks the world of him.” “If he is so nice,” said Fannie, rather feebly, “he is probably in love with you.” “No; you are on the wrong track. Besides —I’ve an interest elsewhere—in Paris just at present. * * * But that is neither here nor there.” Clemence put up a long, slim finger to warn against interruption. “Before going any farther, I want to ask you one serious question. Are your affections already engaged ? Is there any one you care for?” Fannie shivered.

“How could there be? I have lost the world I always lived in,” she said, rather vaguely.

“I am very glad you are heart-free. You cannot help but like Mr. Lindsey. He is one of the kindest-hearted men I ever knew. He is a traveled man; something of a connoisseur in paintings besides. *, * ♦ He j 8 coming to dine with us to-night. You will be here.” “But ” “Silence, my dear! No objections.” “I have nothing to wear.” “So much the better. Beauty unembellished. I shall lookout for that.” Fannie was not certain that she liked Mr. Lindsey. She said so to Clemence when it was all over • and they sat in Miss Arlington’s boudoir discussing possibilities. “You hardly looked at him,” said Clemence, with an effort to express indignation. “You kept your eyelids pown; however,” and she brightened r somewhat, “your lashes are beautiful; such length, such pure gold! Perhaps after all you were wise. Your face looks best in meditation; sly minx, I dgre say you’ve often let it droop before the mirror. * ♦ * What do you think of his looks ?” Fannie laughed hysterically. “Oh, he is handsome enough for a man. His features are rather long; his nose is ipiitestraight, and his eyes are expressive. I think he is turning gray. His “Ahem! L.wap evidently mistaken in supposing you did not look at him. * * I • believe my plan will succeed. He dees hot Care for women, but he will care for you—if he is thrown much in your company. ” “But— I—, it seems too much like scheming. And I can’t—“No, I know you can’t. But I can. Leave everything to me.” Miss Rae started as the clock struck 10. “I ought to be at my studio this minute. I must run, or my pupils will have gone.”

Clemence followed her up stairs. “Think how much nicer if you need not take any pupils. Only suppose you had a comfortable home, and your own studio, and everything you wanted.” Fannie had finished buttoning a sealskin which began to look passe. “It’s a great temptation,” she said, and hurried out into the chilly winter morning. Clemence was very much in earnest. Early the next day she called at Fannie’s studio. . ‘ See here, my dear, ” she said, authoritatively, “I can not wear my life out climbing these horrid stairs.” “I know,” Fannie responded, thetically; “they are awful.” “At the same time,” Clemence proceeded, “I must see you every day. Now, the best thing, and the only thing for you to do, is to come and stay at our house this, win ter.” Miss Rae was busy cleaning a palette. She did not speak at once, offering the direct protest, which Clemence was prepared to combat. She waited a little, still working away at the palette. “It’s very kind of you, Clemence,” she said at length, in a tired voice, which seemed inclined to tremble. “I know you wouldn’t suggest anything unless yen meant it. I—l am so discouraged. It 5s so hard to make mere expenses—” her voice broke; a single tear fell upon the paint-knife in her hand Time p«e»ed with singular swiftness,

when Fannie found herself installed as a member of the Arlington household. The weeks fairly flew. She spent only the mornings at her studio; Clemence always had something to occupy afternoon and evening. Elliot Lindsay was a frequent visitor. Ere long Miss Rae was forced to admit he appeared interested in her. Clemence was jubilant at the prospect of success.

“I don’t see how he could help falling in love with you,” she si id. “Do you know, Fannie Rae, that you are a very beautiful girl? You have a delicate, spirituelle, uncommon sort of beauty. You have that tender, timid look in your blue eyes. Your hair is magnificent. » * * And everything is sure to come right. But what makes you sigh?” “Did I sigh ?” asked Fannie, looking plainly lugubrious. She could not bring herself to confess the uneasiness which was slowly developing into heartache.

She was beginning to realize her feelings toward Elliot Lindsey; to entertain the conviction that she could never love him. Respect, esteem, these were all; she liked him very much; she could not love him. And as the weeks passed she knew that he had come to care for her in a way which could have but one ending. She began to wonder what she should say to him- Supposing he should ,ask her to become his wife ? Could she consent ? She shivered 1 at the thought. Suppose he asked her if she loved him ? She must speak the truth. Then, would he be content? Would she be happy, or wretched for all her life ? She grew sick and feverish with this internal conflict. But Clemence was overjoyed at the approaching result of her labors. ♦ * ♦ * ♦ Late one afternoon in February, Miss Arlington’s boudoir seemed a cozy place. The firelight threw a rosy tint upon the violet hangings of the room. A strip of orange sunset was visible through the purple dusk, where the windowcurtains fell as yet apart. Fannie was watching this with sympathetic eyes, and rocking slowly to and fro in a deep rocking-chair. Clemence was curled up on a white rug before the grate. She glanced up occasionally at a golden clock, which swung tipsily from side to side upon the mantel.

“I fancied” —she was beginning, when a servant brought up Mr. Elliot Lindsey’s card, “for Miss Rae.” As the door closed upon the man, Clemence sprang up with low, triumphant note. “He has asked for you! You understand ?” Miss Rae remained seated. She spoke feebly, as if dazed. “Clemence, I—l daren’t go down. I am—afraid.” “Afraid? Nonsense! Be brave. You know what he has to say. There is no one I would rather see you marry. He will be so good to you.” “But I—l don’t love him. I like him—but I can’t—love him!” She had risen, and was moving toward the door. Her voice was desperate, and her hands twisted pitifully before her. “I know you’re been very kind, Clemence, giving me dresses and things to wear; you've done it all for the best. I’ve —l’ve tried hard to care for him. And it’s such a great temptation!” “What do you mean to do?” asked Clemence, excitedly. “I mean to be honest, and tell him I’ll—l’ll do my best—but I—can’t love him.”

“Fannie!” Clemence had sprung before her, passionate and imperious. “You won’t tell him that. You musn’t. you shan’t! I will not allow you to spoil everything!” * * “Spoil everyth ng?” Fannie repeated, laughing hysterically. “Let me go, Clmence. Perhaps—l don’t know. At least he has not spoken yet.”. Clemence stepped aside. “Fannie, for heaven’s sake, don’t throw away this chance. Don’t be foolish—reflect how much it all means!” The slim, little black-robed figure passed slowly from the room. • “You mustn’t, you shan’t!” Clemence’s words still rang in the girl’s ears. “Don’t throw away this chance. Reflect how much it means!” Surely Clemence had a right to . say these things, Clemence had done so much for her in the past three mpnths. Clemence had longed to secure her a happy future. Clemence wcfald be sb disappointed! Instead of all that Clemence had desired for her, she would go back to the troubles of the past—the gjpom of a boarding house, the slender income from her pupils and what few orders she could obtain. She might fall ill, become destitute; and here, here was sure escape. Oh, it was a great temptation, a great temptation! She was busy with conflicting thoughts. She groped her way down to the hall, and entered the drawing-room. “I asked for you,” he said, with gentle emphasis, when they Lad exchanged greetings. “I think you must know why I asked for you.” * * * She .could only look at him while he spoke. They were sitting side by side upon a sofa, yet she felt as if she must shrink from him. * * * Especially if she meant to 2 —deceive him. She could hear other sounds than his low voice. She could hear the words of Clemence Arlington, a ringing sort of nionotone. She could see everything about her with unusual clearness. The luxury of the great drawing-room came upon her with a mighty pressure. Her heart went out with passionate yearning to all things beautiful. She craved delight and comfort as her due. She heard him speaking, yet she could not look.upon him. His voice, falling distinctly upon the light and warmth in which she rested, was like that of some one speaking sentence which should consign her to everlasting darkness and misery. “I hope,” he said, “I hope that you can care for me!” And now she knew that 'she must speak. She turned her gaze t<J re§t upon his face. How gray his eyes were! What an anxious light they held. She remembered that afterward,, and she remembered, noting just how carefully his hair was brushed away from his forehead. • • • “I am sorry,” that seemed the burj den of her answer. She had risen, and

he, too, stood up and leaned compassionately to her. “I am sorry; you must forgive me —I did not deserve it. * • * ” she trembled on the verge of sobbing. “I thought I should care for you—in that way—but now I know how I should wrong yon. Only believe—that lam sorry. I shall just go back to my hard lot—you can never know. It has been a great temtation!” He fell back, pale and startled. “You don’t care for me!” he said, with piteous comprehension. “Well, I will—go.” But she sprang toward him, impetuous, tearful. “No, no! I do care —only not in that way—too much to wrong you. Do not go!” Now she sobbed hard. “Hnsh!” he said, gently; “do not cry, dear child, do not cry. * * * Shall we be friends? ♦ * * Perhaps in time you may care for me as I would have you * ♦ * Only do not cry!” * ♦ ' * * m< Six months later they were married, and Clemency Arlington declares she never met or heard of happier bride than Fannie Rae. But a woman’s heart is something beyond the comprehension of ordinary mortals.