Rensselaer Standard, Volume 1, Number 21, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 November 1879 — A SHOWER OF RAIN. [ARTICLE]

A SHOWER OF RAIN.

Down came the rain in a pelting merciless shower. - ' - At oqe crowing a miniature lake had formed; several feet in length and breadth, and three'or four inches deep; its shores on every side were mudblack, slippery mud. It was amusing to see the hurrying people drenched, chilled, uncomfortable, lpipatient to be home, come to a dead stop at this one cntssing aud hesitate, with faces expressive of digust and dismay. What chance had Ethel Thornton’s poor little weary feet, so small, so miserably clad, in such a slouch as this? " * She glanced around despairingly. And the next moment shafound herself lifted in a pair of strong arms carried high and ary over the mud and inire, ami set down on the other side while her rescuer, ruis-ing his dripping bat, with a pleasant bow aud smile, passed quickly op his way. Bbe stood where he had placed her, as if turned to stone, following his fast disap|>earing figure with her dark eyes, her hands wore clasped convulsively, the color was flaming in her cheeks under her wet black veil. « “It was Frank!” she gasped. “It was Frank himself, and he held me in his .arms and never knew me.” A quick sob buret from her lips. O hard, hard fate, to meet thus —so close —and part Without a word! Her lover—her promised husband o one year ago. Just then her foot struck against something hard. She stopped and picked it up—a large pocket book. “Frank’s!” she said, quietly ans hopelessly; then tflie wiped it tenderly with her' handkerchief, pressed it to kf>r lips, and slipped it into her oosom As she did this she threw her veil aside, for the tears and rain nearly blinded her. I doubt if Frank would recognized her, eveu if he had seen her face —it was not so worn and wearv-look-ing, and stained by the wet black veil. Not much resemblance there to the pretty, piquant, blooming girl whose love he had sought so eagerly a year ago; not much in her appearance just now to atempt any man to woo her. 80 thought Mrs. Benton, the landlady, as she let her in, and stared at her utterly drenched condition. Glad indeed was Ethel to reach the quiet of iter own room —glad of the cup of tea her mothbr gave her—glad to lie down and rest. She groped blindly to her little desk and put the

pocket hook away. “To-morrow she whispered to herself —“his address will be iuside—l'll send it back to-morrow.” Then siukiug wearily on her bed, she murmured: “Mother, I feel so strangely. I wish —now —that I had taken —your advice, and stayed at home to-day—” The words came - faintly, in low, broken gasps, from her parched lips. She lay without speakiug for some time, and thsn articulated. t “I failed again—no work—no hope—no—” Her eyes closed, her voice ceased, she fell back, burning and shivering. The poor child had contracted a serious illness in that merciless shower of rain. Meantime Frank Merrifield was an- . athematizing bis ill luck in losing a valuable p cketbook with bills, receipts, money—all sorts of important matters in it. “It must have been when I carried that girl over the muddy eroding. I had it the minute before, and missed it shortly afterwards. Confound •my quixotic folly 1 Why couldn’t I miud my own business and' let her alone? Poor little thing, she looked so wet aud miserable, and something about her aomel ow reminds me of—s*He >aused and leaned his head upon bis bauds in p&infhl thought. “Why cau’t I ever forget her? Poor little frail, false heart, why can’t I let her go? Why does her sweet face haunt me everywhere—not bright and •parkling as I used to-know it, but pale aud reproachful looking? Reproaching me! Ab, Ethel, how much ljoved you! How happy we might have been to-day had you only been He aroee with an impatient gesture, as of one who, hy an effort of will, puts Vain regrets aside. “How to recover the pocketbook? uTbat’l the present question. There was moDey in it; the tluder is welcome to (hat; the bills and papers are what I want, and—her portrait. Yes—there’s no use in denying it to myself, I am fqbLenough to care for that. I’ll adTertise in the papers. Confound that •bower of rain!” l. # * • • « • *

“Throe weeks, mamma? Throa weeks lying'' here delirious. Why, what could have made me ao ill?” My bead Lb bo strange. I seem to forget everything.” Mrs. Thornton gazed anxiously on the girl’s wasted sac as white as the pillow on which it lay. "You got badly drenched and chilled in rs shower of. rain!” — , “A shower of rain?” The weak voice rang oat clear and strong—the dark eyes flashed excitedly, she clasped her hands, while.'® vivid crimson suddenly dyed her cheeks. “0,1 remember it all now. Please reach me my desk!” Then she told her mother her adventure in the rain, and drew out of the desk Frank’s pocket book. “Three weeks ago. In all probability he has needed it. We must open it mamma, to find his address aud send it back to him at once.” Mrs. Thornton looked pityingly at the flushed, eager face and trembling hands. She shook her head doubtfully and sadly, and said: “You love Frank still, Ethel—now don’t you?” No reply in words, but the noor pale face was hidden upon the pillow with a great sob, and a little hand stole iuto the mother’s pleadingly. Mrs. Thornton caressed the hand and put it to her lips. “If he were worthy, dear, I should say nothing, but he abandoned you, Ethel. 0 child, where Is your pride? You are hoping against hope, my tlaugbter. It would be cruel mme to encourage you. Mr. Merrifleld could have found you had he wished; our address was left. for all who might en-' quire for it. He has not even written to you since your fortune was lost. I remember well that his last letter arrived just as we were going to your cousin Et’iel’s wedding—that was just a week before our trouble came.” Ethel made no reply. Her face was hidden again, Arid sobs shook her slender form. Mrs. Thornton continued: “Would that you had never seen Frank Merrifleld! He forsook you in poverty, aud even when the far greater sorrow of your poor father’s death came upon us, he gave us not one sympathizing word. O, Ethel, think no more of him, but rather try to reward the pure and devoted love that has S roved so true a iriendjto us. Dr. ones has been like a son to me through all your sickness. S«jrelv, in time to come you will get over the infatuation for one so uuworthy, and reward a devoted love as it deserves.” Ethel looked up wearily. “I dou’t love Dr. Joues, mamma, though I esteem him, and am grateful; oh! verj grateful for all his goodness to us both. But I shall never love ny i man but Frank! Some day I will tel the doctor so, and then —if he chooses to accept esteem aud gratitude—l will for your >ake. mamma—” She stopped, and quite broke down in a storm of sobs and tears. Her mother soothed her, and preseutlv she became calmer. “Don’t let us talk of it any more,” said she, sighing. “Bet us find his address, aud him his pocketbook.” So they opened it and examined its contents. Notes, bills, memoranda, receipts, a considerable amount of money, but no address. At last in an inner pocket they found a letter, and in it a photograph. Ethel took it out; it was her owu picture. “Mamma, mamma, look here!” and the poor girl’s trembling fingers clutched at a scrap of newspaper tliut was fluttering to the floor. “O, what is this?” Bending their heads together they read the following notice: “Married —On June 4th, at Grace Church, Henry Rollins, Esq., to Miss Ethel Thornton. Immediately after the (ceremony the happy couple started on a bridal tour.” Mrs. Thornton looked up in bewilderment. “Why, what is this doing here?” said she. “It’s the announcement of your cousin Ethel’s marriage.” “Yes, yes! and Frank thought Pit was mine! I’see it all now—he has believed me false to him? Oh, my noor Frank! he has been suffering too! The photograph—see, what is" that written underneath it in his own

handwriting. Oh, look!’ 1 “Wert thou but constant tbo« w.rt perfect —that one error Fills thee with faults.’’ “Oh, my poor Frank!” cried the happy, weeping girl. “Oh! why were cousic Ethel and I named the same? And Frank never met her. Don’t you see, mamma, bow the mistake has occurred? And it might have remained unexplained forever but for that shower of raiu! Look at that letter, mamma I must find his address now.” The letter was examined, and, happily for all, supplied it. Next morning a little note came by mail to Frank: “Sir—My daughter, whom you kindly assisted during a shower of rain three weeks ago desires to restore your pocketbook, which she found. Sickness has prevented our attending to this earlier. Please call at your earliest convenience, and inquire for Mrs. Thornton.” - An address was given. Mr. Merrifield stared at the name. “An odd coincidence,” thought he. “There are plenty of Thorntons in the world, of course,” and he set off to reclaim his property. A lady in deep mourning received him; he stared violently. “Mrs. Thornton!” he cried, “can it be really you?” and stopped oonfused and angry. She was perfectly self-possessed. “I thought you would have recognized the name,” she said, quietly, “though our circumstances have made a change of residence necessary. It was Ethel whom you carried across the street; she has been 111 ainoe then, or ” He interrupted her in surprise: “Ethel ill!” “Ethel whom I carried!” Then getting more and more bewildered. “I thought that Mrs, Rollins was abroad. I understood ” “Mrs. Rollins! Oh, certainly! Mrs. Rollins was my niece. I was not aware you were acquainted with her. It was of my daughter Ethel I was speaking.” Frank started to his feet excitedly. > “Your daughter Ethel? What does 4 this mean ? 1 heard she waa married.

Oh, madam, hare pity on me—l have been deceived? You know of ourlove and our engagement. Are there two Ethels, and can mine still be true?” A cry answered him —a cry from the next room Mrs. Thornton flung open the door. “Go to her,” she whispered. The next iustant Ethel was clasped in her lever’s arms. Who shall describe this meeting? Suffice it that they were as happy as they had lately been miserable; all misunderstandings were cleared away, and confidence returned. “And as soon as you are strong and well again we will be married my darling,” said Frank. • “'Thank God for the storm!” cried Ethel, earnestly. “And God bless the dear muddy crossing! Oh, Frank, it see ms to me that—under Heaven’s mercy—we owe all our happiness to that shower of rain!”