Jasper County Democrat, Volume 7, Number 5, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 May 1904 — FORGIVEN AT LAST [ARTICLE]

FORGIVEN AT LAST

In tbe center of one of the loveliest Of Somersetshire Coombes rests in all the stateliness of antique architecture the manorial home of the ancient family of LnttrelL One mellow evening in early autumn there sat looking out to sea, with sad and anxious faces, Walter Luttreil and his bride. “And so, Walter," murmured the girl, “there is no hope of your father relenting. Walter, I have been cruelly selfish, and you, my darling, should not have sacrificed so much for me.” “Don’t grieve, dearest. Bear up. The fate is hard, *llß true, but better thus, and so go forth and struggle with the world than to be separated. Come, we will meet tbe future bravely, and In America there is no family pride to mar our happiness.” Walter Luttreil was the only child of Sir Wulter and Lady Luttreil, who looked upon alliances of their blood with all exacting exclusiveness. During a summer vacation In his university career be had been the solo occupant of his father's house. She was the grandchild of his father’s gatekeeper. He took his fate in his hand and hushing or evading all Maud’s scruples presented themselves before the rector of a distant parish and were wed, with the proviso that the marriage should be kept a secret But almost tbe first guest who enteral his father's balls after his parents’ return was no other than the kindly rector who so recently had officiated. So the decree went forth, and Walter Luttreil, as a discarded, penniless man, bade adieu to the home of his ancestors and sought consolation in the love of his plebeian bride. For seven oar eight years I lost sight entirely of the friend of my boyhood, and the story of his fortunes never reached his home. EHe mother had died, and a gloom bung around the mansion. I had long become a permanent rutdent of New York. One wet. boisterous night I Jumped on the front plalr form of a crowded street car on my way home. I was alone with the driver, whose manner of talking to bis horses as he stopped and started rather attracted my attention. “You don’t appear exactly at homo with this bind of driving,” I remarked. “I am not a professional coachman," he replied -with an English accent. "How far do you go before you change off?” I Inquired. "I change close by. at tbe station,” I got off and watched for him as bo came out again and turned to go borne in the pelting, pitiless rain. Overtaking him, I stepped np and, slapping him on the shoulder, exclaimed: "Luttreil, how are you, old boyT* "How came you to call me that name?” he half angrily answered, starting back. "My name is Loring—but, by heaven, can it be? Oh, Frank, how glad I am to see you!" In an upstairs room in a ditopMated tenement we found the bride erf his youth, pale, but still beautiful, huddling close to her three little children. "My old college chum, Mand." be said, answering her inquiring glance. My first impulse was to get them out of their present wretched abode and into a respectable house until other arrangements could be made. I obtained for Walter some employment more befitting his education, but as his prospects here were by no means flattering I struck upon another scheme that, If successful, would aid him effectually. I was on the eve of making a periodical visit to a connection whose estates in Somersetshire adjoined those of Sir Waiter, and I proposed to Waiter and Mand to take over with me their little son Walter and try if through the child a reconciliation could not be effected. The little fellow and I set sail and reached our destination without incident of any kind, and one bright summer morning I took him to pay my respects to the old baronet Of coarse with his usual partiality for children he petted the boy, who answered to his name—by previous tuition—" Walter Henry,” and I was encouraged to observe that the mention of tbe name, in conjunction with the little fellow’s bright swarthy faoe, sent a pang through his heart "I was very harsh," be said, "to my Walter, and now his poor mother is gone I feel sadly alone in the world. Would to God be would write." And the miserable old man sighed as be turned toward tbe lawn where the little boy was playing. I saw at once that Sir Walter’s pride was tbe obstacle to a first concession and, stepping out on to tbe lawn, resolved to make our coup without delay. I called tbe child to me and gave him some flowers, with Instructions to take them to the baronet and likewise what he was to say. The child approached his knee and, holding np his little face, said: "Here are some flowers for yon, dear grandpapa.* That one word was sufficient The truth flashed through his mind. and. gathering him to his bosom, the old man cried over him as though he was himself a child.—New York News.