Rensselaer Republican, Volume 14, Number 45, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 July 1882 — HILDA'S TRIAL. [ARTICLE]

HILDA'S TRIAL.

BY F. G.

’‘While,” said Carrie Nelson, “with broad, blue sashes, and forget-me-nots in our hair. Every competitor to wear a turquoise locket round her neck, and to have six-buttoned white kid gloves, stitched with pale blue on the backs.” ‘•Won’t it be exquisite!” said Jane Torrington, clasping her plump hands. The seven young girls who were that day month to take part in the half-year-ly examination at Minerva House were sitting, schoolgirl fashion, under the bowery beeches on the lawn—seven fair, human pearls, happily unconscious of all the pitfalls and trials of life that lay before them—seven half opened blossoms, basking in the sunshine of school-life, whither as yet no. haunting shadow had followed them! “But,” said cautious Mabel Hill, “will it be expensive?” “Not at all,” said Carrie, loftily. ■“The whole won’t cost more than ten guineas each, as there are seven of us. Xml-” Just then, Hilda Reynolds, who had been absorbed in a letter which the blue-ribboned parlor-maid had brought her, looked up. “Wait a minute, Carrie,” she said. “I—l am afraid I cannot afford so expensive a.dress.” “What nonsense, Hilda,” called out Miss Nelson. “You, the heiress, to talk about not affording a paltry ten guineas.” “But I am an heiress no longer,” said Hilda; with a curious quiver in her voice. “This letter is from my guardian. It seem* something is wrong about some investments that have been made, and—and I am as poor as a fac-tory-girl. I must go out as governess, l suppose, or companion, or something of that sort.” She burst into tears, with her face hidden in her hands. For a second or two the other six girls sat looking at one another in dire dismay. Then Carrie Nelson sprang up and threw her arms impetuously around Hilda's drooping neck. “You shall do nothing of the sort darling!” she cried. “You shall come and live always with me. I never had a sister, and I shall treasure you with the fondest affection.” But Hilda shook her head. “No, Carrie,” she said; “I must go home at once.” And she went; and Mrs. Clarendon’s class for examination numbered only six that year. Hilda’s guardian was grim and uncommunicative. The loss of the investments, he stoutly* maintained, was nobody s fault No one could have foreseen the deprecation of stocks; no human provision could have guarded against the calamity. It was the fortune of war, neither more nor less. Hilda went to her aunt, who had always declared that she loved her darling niece as if she were het own child. “Dear aunt,” she said, “yon will at least give me a home.” “I am very sorry, my dear,’’saidMrs. Carlyon, “but your uncle has been unfortunate in business, and wo are compelled to retrench in every possible •way. An additional member to our family, just at this time, would* be an absolute impossibility.” “But what shall I do?” inquired poor Hilda. “Oh, get a situation somewhere, my dear,” said Mrs. Carlyon, smiling sweetly. “Any girl who has received so expensive an education as yours ought to be independent of the world.” “Shall I advertise?” said Hilda. “Mydear, I really know nothing of the way people do such things,” said Mrs. Carlyon, beginning to grow impatient, So Hilda advertised; out apparently no one wanted either a governess, or a “well-qualified ladies’ companion.” Her little stock of money began to dwindle. Her earnings failed her. Not one of her relatives cared to assume the burden of her support. No one else took the responsibility of advising her. One day she timidly entered the plate-glass doors of a mammoth fancy warehouse and asked for the proprietor, to whom she explained her wishes. “Perhaps,” hesitated the poor, shrinking Hilda, “you can help me to a situation. If there should be a vacancy -among your lady-clerks—” “How—ha!” said Mr. Cartwright, feeling bis lank cheek thoughtfully. “Had any experience in the business?” “No.” “Ob, then the idea is quite impracticable,” said Mr. Cartwright. “We don’t take apprentices here.” And be oivilly bowed Miss Reynolds OOt of bis little sanctum. « Hilda applied at a neighboring shop for flae, silk embroidery. She worked »*reek’*t a child's cloak, and was paid —seven shillings! - “Bnt*bi»4s very little,” said Hilda, pUemmtf regarding the silver pieces. “Our usual-rates,” said the forewoman, frigidly/ *‘lf vou are uot satisfied with them* yo« need not come again. Wo have treaty of bands.” Hilda crept home in the frozen, win-

——■ ■ v. ■ ■ ter cwuignt, crying softly behind her veil as she went And, her eyes being blurred with tears, she did not see an ill-omened piece of orange-peel on the pavement but slipped and fell breaking her ankle and losing consciousness through the intensity of the pain. When she came to her senses she lay in a little white bed, No. 619, of a great, airy, sweet-smelling hospital, with a white-capped sister Deriding, over her—a woman whom she had known in former days as a gay young girl. “Why am There?” she asked, in vague wonder. “You fell, my dear, and broke your leg’” said Sister Eunice. “It was not convenient for your Aunt Catiyon to receive you, so they brought you here. I recognized you at once, and requested permission to nurse you.” “And why are you here?” persisted Tilda, still only half conscious. • “For two reasons,” said Sister Eunice, spriifkling scented, water over the little white pillow. “One is, that it was necessary for mo to earn my living in some way; another was that I could do some good to my suffering fellow-creatures here.” Hilda made no comment, but sho pondered over that matter; and when she recovered, she also assumed the white cap and black surge dress, and took the name of Sister Hilda. “As a hospital nurse,” she said to herself, “I can at least be sure of a good home, a small salary, and the privege of being of some use to tho world.” Sister Hilda became one of the most popular and efficient of the whole corps of nurses. Her head was cool, her nerve strong, her seir-possession perfectly imperturbable. The of blood never'dismayed her—the of pain only excited her gentle sympathy, instead of chilling her nerves; and it came to pass that whenever Dr. Marston, the head surgeon, needed an especially self-reliant and able nurse, the edict went forth, “Send for Sister Hilda.”

One day there was a terrible accident brought in. A pair of fiery horses had run away, the carriage was all splintered in pieces, its occupant had been flung out upon the pavement.Juntil all semblance of life seemed to be crushed out of him, “Will he die, doctor?” Sister Hilda asked, with a very pale face. “To all intents and purposes, my dear,” the physician answered, “he is a dead man already.” “I knew him once,” said the hospital nurse, in a low tone. “Everyone knows him, I belieVe,” said Doctor Marston. “It is the millionaire, Mr. Fullerton. But all the gold that ever was coined can’t buy him a reprieve now.” And Doctor Marston bustled into tho next ward, leaving the white-capped nurse to keep her solitary vigil at the bedside of the man who was slowly, slowly slipping out of time into eternity. At midnight, he roused up. as if from a dream. “Am I dying?” he asked. The doctor answered—- “ Yes.” “How much time have I left?” “Perhaps three hours—perhaps six,” was the answer. “Send for my lawyer,” he said. “lam in the full possession of my senses. 1 tell you I cannot die until I have made my peace with heaven.” “I oan call the chaplain in a minute,” suggested Doctor Marston“l tell you I want my lawyer,” persisted John Fullerton. ’

The lawyer was roused out of hie midnight slumbers, and came at once, and there, in the hospital ward, John Fullerton made his will, leaving all he had in the world to Hilda Reynolds. “I have defrauded her cruelly,” he said. “I used her money to aggrandise myself, and'let her think it was lost in speculation. I have been an unjusl steward, but it is not yet too late to make some sort of reparation.” “Reynolds!” repeated the doctor, turning to the nurse. “Surely thal must be some relation of yours?” “I am Hilda Reynolds,” she said, quietly, laying aside the white-flapped muslin cap that overshadowed her face The dying man lifted his glazing eyei to hers. “You my ward?” said he. “Thant God for that! .Say once before I die, ‘1 forgive you’!” And Hilda forgave him freely and fully; and when the day broke dimly in the east, the chained spirit was set free. People could hardly credit then senses when they heard that Hilda was an heiress again. Mrs. Carlyon was taken with a violent excess of affection for her “dear niece,” but Hilda had learned the lesson of discernment. “I have passed through an ordeal,” she says, “and I hope it has left me wiser and more merciful toward my suffering fellow-creatures! But at the same time it has taught me to beware of friends like Aunt Carlyon.”