Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 26, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 July 1892 — A WOMAN'S INFLUENCE [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A WOMAN'S INFLUENCE

BY LULU JAMISON

CHAPTER I. MARGARET. On the afternoon of a day early in April two ladies were driving along a level country road. One was evidently a stranger to the place and its surroundings, for she observed the scenery with curious interest, and frequently questioned her companion about the persons and residences they passed. The other, who drove the handsome bays with an unmistakable air of proprietorship, was an old resident. She had found her way to this small but pretentious town some years before, and, building a handsome homo, had since devoted her energies, supplemented by the magical influence of money, to gaining an entree into its exclusive society. Both were deep in conversation, when a turu in the road brought them face to face with a young girl riding. Mrs. Downs was in the act of checking her horses, but the newcomer, as though quite unconscious of aDy such intention, nodded indifferently and rode on. “The proud piece,” commented the slighted lady, endeavoring to hide her chagrin. “Who is she?” questioned her companion, glancing after the rider with some curiosity. “Miss Leigh. You remember I pointed her home out a few moments ago.” "Ah! Then she’s the heiress?” “Yes, an heimess now, though a year ago 6he was poorer than her own cook. I never could tolerate her, but I manage to keep up a show of friendship. She’ll be one of the leaders of society here when she gets rid ol' her mourning.” The speaker concluded this remark with a very visible frown. She was forcibly reminded of her own doubtful position and her inability to disregard any person or thing that could contribute to her social advancement. Annexation was indeed a burning question with her. and while she found her dollars an important ally, her lack of a presentable grandfather was decidedly a drawback in the furtherance of her ambitious aspirations. “A graceful rider and quite a pretty girl," remarked ‘her companion, breaking in upon these unpleasant reflections. “Where did she get her money?” “From her uncle. The case is altogether peculiar. It seems that her father was disinherited for marrying contrary tb his father's wishes, and her uncle, being the only other child, came in for all the property. A fortunate thing for him, as you say, though, apparently, he had some scruples about enjoying his good fortune, for his father was scarcely buried before he began to search for his brother. “Yes, he found him dying, I believe, in some obscure California town. Miss Leigh came to Elmwood. That was five years ago, and now she has inherited all of her uncle’s money. He died last October, and his son ” “His son! Youdon’ttell mo he has a son.”

“He certainly has. lam not surprised : at your astonishment. It seems almost impossible that a father could enrich a niece at the expense of a son, yet that is what Mr. Leigh has done. “The young man gets something, of course. Two thousand a year, I believe. A small sum in comparison with the whole.” “A very unusual case. Pei haps he intends the young people to marry.” “Perhaps, but as they have never seen each other, the result is scarcely probable. The son has liecn in Europe for the last five years. He was considered quite wild, I am told, and lie and hi 6 father quarreled frequently. No doubt, that fact had some connection with the terms of the will, but, I think there was undue influence somewhere ” With this broad accusation the subject was allowed to drop. Meanwhile the object of these remarks was pursuing her way homeward. Mrs. Downs’ companion had called her pretty, but the word scarcely did her justice. Her face, while lacking perfection of feature, was singularly winning and attractive. If the mouth were a trifle broad, the full red lips with their expression, half pleading, half imperious, made ample compensation. If the nose deviated from the straight and perfect line, the fault was forgotten in the clear contour of the beautifully molded brow, the liquid depths ot the clear gray eyes, and the sweet personality beaming from the expressive countenanco. Absorbed in thought of an unpleasant character, as evidenced by her very perceptible frown, she rode on, quite lost to her surroundings, until her horse, through force of habit, rather than the guiding hand of his mistress, turned into a broad elm-lined avenue, and she looked up in some surprise to find herself at home. Ten minutes later she had divested herself of her riding habit, and made her way to her sitting-room. A bright, cheeiful apartment whose tasteful furnishing revealed something of the individuality of its owner. “I was sure I should find you here,” she said, approaching the old lady established before the;glowing fire, and laying her cool hand against the warm, smooth cheek. “I’m afraid I shall have to assert some authority. You should be enjoying this delightful weather, Miss Hilton.” “I dare say I should,” was the agreeable reply, “but you see I’m lazy, my dear. I’ve had a nice nap. Did yo'a ride alone, Margaret?” “Yes. except for my thoughts. I had a whole host of them for company. Really, I’m as cross as a bear." “I am sorry to hear it. What have you been thinking of?” “Oh, everything. Papa, grandfather, and yes, and this' hateful money. ” “Hateful, Margaret? Then you don’t share the world’s opinion of that useful article.” Margaret drew a chair close to Miss Hilton, and seated herself upon it, as she replied. “Not the world that Mrs. Downs represents. I met her a while ago. She wanted to stop, of course, but I just rode on. Awfully rude, wasn’t it? I couldn’t help it. I detest her. She wouldn’t care a snap of her finger for me if I were poor, but simply because Oh! I hate such people! Thadk heaven, I’ll soon be away from them for awhile. I told you I was cross, Miss Hilton." “I see it, my dear,” was the half grave response. “Have you quite decided to

go to that outlandish place?* “What a doleful expression. If that outlandish place means Siasconset, I'm afraid I must plead guilty to such a dreadful decision, and t think I shall find my experience both novel and delightful. 1 mean to do just as I please. Take another name and forget Margaret Leigh entirely. I'm tired of her.” “Poor Margaret Leigh. I fear you don’t appreciate her; and since you are quite determined to go to that land’send of creation I suppose the best thing for me to do Is to hope you won’t regret it.” Margaret laughed at this view of the matter. “You see, lam not looking for beaux," she said, with mock gravity. “I’ve always liked old men better than young ones. I’m sure those delightful old fishermen will suit me immensely. Besides, I’m tired of civilized life and shams generally, so I welcome something genuine for a change. I suppose you think I have a very carping disposition, but I do so want to air my grievances. If it were not too undignified I should like to lie on the floor and scream. ” “Don’t do so, my dear. The doctor is right. You do need a change. I don’t recognize my old Margaret. ” “A flattering way of expressing an unflattering opinion,” laughed Margaret, giving Miss Hilton’s hand a rebuking little pat. “I am growing degenerate, am I not? I feel outrageously reckless to-day. I have a most overpowering desire to shock this prim and severely proper neighborhood. Don’t look so reproving, Miss Hilton. You couldn’t, scold if you tried, and I’m afraid I take advantage of that knowledge. You* expression reminds me of Mr. Webb. He was dilating on my grandfather’s virtues this morning—to me, of all people, mind you!—when I stopped his eloquence, and horr.fled him In the bargain by saying if my grandfather was a specimen of the good men, I preferred the bad. I do, too. I don’t believe that because a man goes to church every Sunday and occasionally puts his name to a subscription list, where It can be seen and read by the neighborhood, that he is entitled to any admiration on that account. “Don’t scold me, please, Miss Hilton. I know such feelings are neither kind nor just. I try so hard not to have them, but when I think of papa I ” She paused abruptly, her face and voice filled with emotion. Miss Hilton stroked the bowed head with an infinitely tender caress. “I would be the last to blame your loyalty to your father,” she said gently, “but I wish you could forget." “How can I forget?" was the tearful answer. “How can I forget the poverty and want that embittered my father’s life and caused my mother’s death? If you had known papa as I did,” she continued, more quietly; “if you had understood his hopes and ambitions; if you had seen how his sensitive nature shrank from hi 6 uncongenial surroundings, or guessed how his heart longed for the sweet peace and restful influence of home, you would be unforgiving too. His father deprived him of all that made life worth living. I can never forget that. The time has been when I felt hard and bitter to all the world, because one man had been so cruel to him. The money I enjoy now would have made his life so different. It is so bard for me to think of this. I know I shall regret all my life that uncle found us too late. All these thoughts rush over me when I think of my grandfather, and then I feel inclined to express my opinion strongly. “You can’t understand my bitterness because you are always easy and gentle. I don’t believe you could be angry if you tried; but I have a very Are of passion in me, and it flares up on occasion. “Let us talk of something else. Did I tell you of my letter from Cousin Brian? No? I intended to. It came after luncheon. I wonder he cares to write to me. Ye 3, I know I wrote to him first, but I felt called upon to do that. I was so unhappy over the will that I wanted him to know how I rebelled against it with all my soul. You remember what a candid, generous letter he wrote in answer. This letter is equally characteristic. He tells me he is coming to America soon. Do you know, I am really anxious to see him. ” “I am sure you will like him,” pqt in Miss Hilton, with suspicious haste. “I confess I always had a tender place in my heart for Brian. He has some excellent traits, despite his shortcomings. He lost his mother when he was very young, poor boy, and his after training was left in the hands of servants, and »as not very judicious, as you may imagine.” “He and uncle quarreled a great deal, didn’t they?" asked Margaret, after a thoughtful pause. “Yes, quite often,” was the answer. “Brian spent money more freely than his father approved. Your uncle once remarked to me: ‘lf Brian were not sure that I would pay his bills he would be less industrious in making them.’ I think he was rather anxious for him to marry and settle down to the practice of his profession. He could not tolerate a man with no occupation. ” “I agree with him there,” returned | Margaret quickly. “I perfectly abominate a man without ambition. If I had a husband of that disposition I’d make h’m do something or I wouldn’t have i him around me.” “Still,” she added more thoughtfully, “uncle need not have disinherited him |on that account. Such a course seems to be a peculiarity in this family. It j humiliates me to fed that my coming ] here had anything to do with it.” “I am sure your mere coming had not, 1 Margaret. Your uncle evidently had j some good reason for his action. I think he believed that leaving Brian an in--1 come sufficient only for the necesities of j life would morally force him to use his | own exertions to secure the luxuries he prizes. You can see the force of such an argument.” Margaret shcok her head unconvinced. “The argument and reason may be ; good,” she agreed, “but I don’t care to j be the instrument for the working out of the benefit. It makes me feel responsiI ble for my cousin’s inconvenience, and j I hate it.” “You allow pride 1o blind your judg--1 ment. Your regret is quite ineffectual. You couldn’t, if you would, return the money to Brian, unless ” “Unless what?” Miss Hilton hesitated. “Unless you marry him.” Margaret flushed at these words. “He is not the kind of a man I admire,” she returned after a thoughtful pause. “Indolence and want of ambition ure not commendable characteristics. I i fear I should become disgusted, or he would, which would amount to the same | thing. Try to think of some other plan, j Miss Hilton; and while you are puzzling your dear old brain, I’ll answer some letters. And do forget the things I’ve said. I’m always repenting of something I’ve said or done. I can’t afford to lose your good opinion. ” With these words Margaret left the room, and Miss Hilton’s eyes followed j her with a very loving glance. “Dear Margaret,” she said gently. i “Dear, dear child.” |TO RE CONTINUED.]