Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 37, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 June 1875 — BESSIE CAMPTON'S FAITH. [ARTICLE]

BESSIE CAMPTON'S FAITH.

BY LINA MARSHALL.

I think you would have known her name was Bessie. It just suited her, from the time she doubled up two tiny fists and opened two soft, brown eyes curiously upon the new world, until that fair summer morning as she stood in the old verandah, under the roses, with the bright sunshine lighting up the golden gleams in her bonny brown curls. The brown eyes were just as soft as of old and the baby dimples still lingered around her mouth, although seventeen summers had come and gone since first she was laid in Judge Campton’s arms, his wife’s dying gift. Health, beauty, social position and the fondest admiration of father and four grown brothers had only developed the better nature of the young girl and caused ner bright face and winning ways to be everywhere loved. Her brother’s friendtfVwere hers also, and many of the honest farmer youths of the neighborhood and young men of the village indulged secret hopes in regard to the beautiful mistress of “ Campton Holm” as the great old house, with its stately elms, was everywhere known. Among these friends came Arthur Doraine, and none found a warmer welcome.. He was a particular favorite with the old, white-haired Judge, who admired him for the manly independence with which he labored to support an invalid mother and the persevering ardor with which he applied himseli to the study of law. Playmates in childhood, Arthur and Bessie carried a warm friendship beyond childish days. She sympathized with him in his manly endeavors to overcome adverse fortune, and many a sacrifice was made easier to the young man, many a page of Blackstone took a deeper meaning, because of her sisterly encouragement and words of praise. Her oldest brother, Ralph Campton, was a thriving merchant in Boston. His wife, many years his junior, gay and fashionable, had been spending several months at “ Campton Holm,” and had insisted upon carrying Bessie back with her to her city home. The pictured delights of tne great outside world, into which she had never entered, were very attractive to the young girl, and, with her father’s reluctant consent, she eagerly accepted the opportunity. Mrs. Campton Wished to take a short trip to visit an only sister, and induced Bessie to also accompany her there, as they could then very conveniently continue upon their journey to Boston. The sun shone out bright and fair upon this first day of September, and the corded trunks and various traveling paraphernalia scattered near told that very sOon the ladies would be upon their way. —7 — It was Bessie’s first real journey, and she could not restrain a sort of homesick feeling as she visited each familiar spot. Standing in the verandah, in her pretty gray traveling dress, with the late roses falling above her head and the sunshine glancing through the leaves, she made too fair a picture for Arthur Doraine as he hastened up the graveled walk. ”So you are really going, Bessie?” he said, half regretfully, as he joined her. “But you have a very dolorous look for one going off on a pleasure trip.” “ Have I, Arthur?” laughed Bessie. “ Well, to confess, I don't believe I want to go, for all my old haunts would be altered by the time I return. Old Jack Frost will have visited my dear old elms and nothing but bare branches will greet me.” “Your friends will not be changed, Bessie. Warm hearts can easily dispel the gloominess of Nature,” almost tenderly replied Arthur. ‘ “To be sure; but you know how I love these stately old trees and how lovingly I watch the leaves quietly flutteadown, and it makes me almost sad to tnink that this autumn, for the first time in my life, will gather the leaves without my watching and sympathizing. I wonder,” musingly, as if she had forgotten the young man’s presence—' 1 1 wonder if they will miss me. " There now. Arthur, I have been talking ‘ moonshine’ to you again, as Charlie calls it, and I know you want to laugh.” # “ Indeed, no, I am selfish enough, though, to regret your going. We shall all miss you dreadfully,” and Arthur placed his hand over the plump little one resting upon the balustrade. '■ Indeed, I hope you will. There comes papa now for me to go bid farewell to mamma’s grave,’ so you won’t see me again until we start. Marion is almost ready.” “ Farewell, Bessie. I won’t be able to wait. Don’t allow city sights and new friends to cause entire f orgetf nlness of the past,” and Arthur clasped the dainty little hand in both his own and turned and walked rapidly away. As Bessie watched hig retreating figure a "feeling akin to pain” cameovei: her and she slowly turned and joined her father. Arm in arm, parent and child visited the little inclosure where the Camptons for many generations had laid their dead. Bessie knelt down beside the grassy mound and kissed the tiny white blooms over the grave and with tearful eyes murmured her farewell. When they returned to the house Marion Campton was awaiting them. The final farewells were soon spoken ana the family coach rolled away. An hour after Judge Campton was busy over his books, with his favorite young student beside him, and both hearts were already aching for the gentle girl who had left them. The carriage containing Bessie and her sister-in-law rolled rapidly along, and about nightfall they reached their destination. The carriage returned, as the travelers intended taking the cars from Foaming Brook to Boston. Mrs. Campton's sister resided in one of the most silent and solitary mountain villages. A dissipated son had driven her from the bustle and temptations of the city,; bat she had scarcely succeeded in inducing him to remain there with her when a malady seized him and in a few weeks he was no more. Mrs. Mendon, under this new affliction, with no one but a family servant, resolved to remain apart from the world and seek, in this quiet, mountain retreat, peace for a broken heart She received her sister and Bessie with delight. They had only intended remaining a few days, hot the rare beauty of the mountain enchanted them and they lingered several weeks. At length Ralph Campton grew impatient and wrote so beseechingly that they resolved upon immediate departure. The day before they bade a final adieu they went out for one last ramble among the hills. Bessie, ever enthusiastic over Nature, rein up and down, leaping, as a merry child, from one mossy-rock to another, shouting over precipices to hear the echo and wreathing her head with the trailing vines. In the exuberance of yottth. health and spirits she ran far ahead of her companions, and at length threw herself, tired out,, upon a projecting rock to await their arrival. Unknown to her she had a companion. But a few feet away, his arms clasped upon his breast, his back against a lofty pine, stood a gen-

tleman, curiously regarding the maiden, almost wondering if he did not behold a mountain nymph that his first movement would cause to vanish. Evidently not, for she was soon joined by two earthly mortals, by no means possible to be mistaken. A flush of pleasure and surprise came over his countenance as he caught a view of the faces of the two ladles, and, as they came nearer, he advanced with outstretched hands. “Is it possible! Do you not know me?” Mrs. Hendon in a moment recognized the stranger, and, greeting him heartily, turned to Mrs. Campton. “ Marion, you certainly have not forgotten Gregory Marshall?” “No, indeed,” said Mrs. Campton. “I have reason to remember him. He has tormented me often enough with his snakes and snails to cause me to remember him,” and she laughingly extended her hand. -• Gregory Marshall smiled one of those beautiful smiles habitually grave men so often have, and warmly shook the dainty hand. At her Bister’s approach Bessie had darted forward, but the sight of a stranger so near embarrassed her, and she had turned her back upon the group. “ Here, Bess, is a rara avis. Prof. Gregory Marshall, this isJtalph’s only sister. Bessie, love, have a care. Don’t venture too near this innocentlooking mountaineer. He always carries his pockets full of snakes, and spiders abound in his fiat. I’ll wager now he has a few choice toads in his handkerchief,” merrily rattled Mrs. Campton. Marshall smiled again over his friend’s raillery, and acknowledged the novel introduction to the wood-nymph with becoming grace and far more ease than could Bessie, remembering her wild, flowing locks and vine-decked head. Mrs. Mendon remarked: “ Bessie, I am proud to introduce as a very old friend one of the finest naturalists of the age. If you are interested in such things I expect Prof. Marshall can show us some rare specimens now.” “ I should be so glad,'” said Bessie. Marshall expressed! himself delighted to show the few specimens henad collected, regretting that he had no wonderful '"fire bug" or anything approaching the wonderful at all to disclose them Carefully lifting the lid of a small ebony case, resting on the ground, he exhibited some black object which caused a cry of terror from Mrs. Campton. “ This, ladies, is the finest specimen I have ever seen of the Lucanus cervus ! Perhaps you have read of it under the name of stag-beetle.” Bessie curiously regarded the insect but did not venture to touch it. “ This is my only valuable acquisition this morning,” said Marshal! R I can’t say I think it beautiful,” said Bessie; but it is curious, and I am interested in such things.” “ I should take great delight then in showing you my cabinet. I have a great many specimens of birds and insects. They are in Boston, however.” “We are on our way to Boston now. How long do you remain here? 7 ’ “Indeed, Mrs. Campton, I scarcely know. I go and come at my own sweet will. These old hills are very attractive to me, and,” he added sadly, “ you know I have no one to care whether I am in the city or buried in the depths of the forests.” “Now, Gregory, don’t be so absurd. You know we are all anxious to keep yon, and you repay our affection by making a hermit of yourself. Promise me you will emerge from your shell this winter. I Intend to bring Bessie out and I shall certainly depend upon you t 6 play knight,” gayly cried Mrs. Campton. “ Thanks. I fear, though, under such circumstances, Miss Campton would suffer sadly. However, you shall see me as soon as I return,” answered Marshall. “ Marion, Bessie, it Is near sunset and we must go. Gregory, ytm Know my home in the village will be only too glad to receive you,” remarked Mrs. Mendon. “ I was not at all aware of yonr living away up here, or I should certainly have found your fireside before this.” “Adieu, Gregory,” said Mrs. Campton. “Remember your promise. We shall expect you soon.” Gregory Marshall bowed low over the three dainty hands and watched their owners gracefully flitting down the grassy path until all vestige of their draperies had vanished. A tall, dark man, fully twenty-eight, with cheeks bronzed by the exposure to burning suns, you would scarcely have called (die man handsome, yet there was something in the broad shoulders, erect carriage and flashing dark eye that impressed you with a convincing sense of strength and manliness, of vigor of body and mind alike. Quietly sitting with clasped hands, he gazed far away into nothingness. The sun set; the glamor of twilight fell upon the hillside; the quiet stars came out in the evening sky before Gregory Marshall remembered himself. Then, quickly gathering up his boxes, he strapped them over his shoulder and with rapid, nervous, fearless tread descended to the village. On their way home Bessie learned that the neyv acquaintance was really the naturalist of whom she had so often read. Wealthy, traveled, educated, entirely alone in the world, he was absorbed in his favorite pursuits. The sisters had many anecdotes to relate of his school days. From childhood he had seemed to possess some magic charm over every bird, beast and reptile he met. He had finished his education in Europe and upon his return, two years since, he had entirely devoted himself to his studies. At the present he occupied a prominent position in the educational world. The morrow dawned bright and clear and the travelers bade a regretful adieu to Mrs. Mendon and the “ everlasting bills.” They arrived in Boston late i the evening and were rapturously greeted by R ph Campton. “ Well, Marion,.ain’t I worn to a skeleton?” he cried, shaking his substantial body with laughter. “Ain’t I just been pining away? And Bessie, you are handsome enough to eat. I’m blest if you won’t take all Marion’s exquisites by storm. Well, we will see if we can’t give you a gay winter, little sister.” Mrs. Campton had gathered fresh strength during her summer sojourn and returned to the city.pre§ared to indulge to the fullest extent in the gay issipations of pleasure and fashion. Soon they were in a whirl of enjoyment. Balls, operas, concerts, calls and drives occupied their time, and ere long Bessie’s claims to belleship were everywhere acknowledged. One evening, some weeks after Bessie's introduction to the beau tnonde. Mr. Campton's elegant apartments were comfortably filled with the elite or the city. Among all the perfumed, lovely daughters of affluence and fashion none more admiration than the village maiden. Her dress of pale, rose-colored satin set off her rich complexion and sparkling brown eyes to the greatest advantage, while the filmy overdress of softest lace toned the dazzling effect, and with the costly pearls twined through her long, flashing curls made Bessie Campton a perfect vision or loveliness. Surrounded by a group of admirers, young and old. attracted by her simple, unaffected manner and childish enjoyment of the scene, she was suddenly made aware, by some subtle attraction, of the penetrating gaze of a pair of dark eyes, and, lifting her own, oeheld Gregory Marshall beside her. Why did she tremble? Why did her voice suddenly fail her? “Areyou glad to see me. Miss Campton?” he inquired, in that deep, quiet tone, as he clasped her little fluttering hand. “ I am, indeed. Have you only returned from the mountains?” “ I am only a visitor now. I came down on some business, ana true to my promise to Mrs. Campton immediately made my way here. I imagine, though, from appearances, that you scarcely need my knightly attentions.” “Ah, Gregoryl” at that moment cried Mrs. Camp ton, advancing in the midst of floating silk and greeting him warmly. The evening passed as a dream to happy little Bessie, with the courtly stranger almost constantly at her side. The next morning as the two ladles were languidly breakfasting, hours after the usual family meal at “ Campton Holm,” the morning letters were brought to them. Bessie immediately recognized an unfamiliar handwriting upon one of her envelopes and, hastily breaking the sea! read the following: “ Miss Camptok—Remembering your expressed desire to examine my cabinets, I shall take great S'easure in showing them to yourself and sister. °Ping you are suffering from no fatigue from last evening's pleasure I shall do myself the honor of calling upon you this afternoon at three and, if convenient, conducting you to my home. “ Very respectfully. “ Your obedient servant, “ Gregoht Marshall.” A glow of surprise and pleasure overspread Bessie’s face as she passed the note to Mrs. Campton. “Really, now,” exclaimed that clever lady, “this is something wonderful. lam dreadfully afraid of his snakes and bugs; but I am dying with curiosity to see the interior of that elegant mlniiion. I don’t believe a lady baa crossed that threshold since the death of ms sister, six years ago. Old family servants take care of the house;-as Gregory is at home so seldom.”

Three o’clock found Marshall at the door, and the ladies were soon seated in the elegant barouche and rapidly driven to his stately mansion. “ I declare, Gregory, it is too bad to have this place closed. It ought to have a mistress,” cried merry Mrs. Campton as they entered the wide, arched hall, followed their host across the beautiful tasselated floor, by the stately drawing-rooms and into a small, elegantly furnished library. “I fear I shall have to make some apology for my bachelor household arrangements,” said Prof. Marshall, inviting his guests to be seated and partake of some fine fruit and rare wine already placed upon a small, curiously-wrought Indian “ Old Annt Katy, my faithful housekeeper, is so little accustomed to my receiving lady visitors that I could scarcely prevail upon her to make any provision for you.” -“ I don’t wonder, Gregory, when you allow her such undisputed sway. Do tell this child, though, about those portraits. She has a passion for family portraits. I know this one was Emilia,” said Mrs. Campton, pointing to a rich painting of a beautiful maiden. “ Yes, and this my mother. These three were my elder brothers and that one my father. They have all gone—left me alone. You know the saa history of my family, Marion. Miss Campton. my father and mother were lost at sea: two brothers perished in the Alps, on an exploring expedition. The remaining one died, I believe, of grief. Then Emilia and I were left, but six years ago consumption took her from me, and her grave is In a foreign land.” Tears filled Bessie's eyes as she noticed the quivering about the strong man’s tones as he spoke of his loved and lost, but he auickly recovered himself and led the way to his “nursery,” as he called it. They could not avoid noticing the exquisite order in the management of every detail, and their appreciation of Prof. Marshall’s acquirements was much increased as he proved his thorough knowledge of his subjects. The habits, structure and entire life of the hundreds of specimens of birds, reptiles and insects arranged in the beautiful crystal cabinets seemed as familiar to him as did his own. With her great though uncultivated love for nature Bessie thoroughly enjoyed each one of the specimens, while her volatile sister expressed only disgust. “Now, Mrs. Campton,” said Marshall, “I am confident I can get you to admire my birds. Did yon ever see anything more gorgeously beautiful than this emerald bird of paradise? Its plumage seems to glow with resplendent luster. I myself shot it one morning before dawn, in the isle of New Guinea. Here, Miss Campton, you recognize this little creature, do you not?” continued Marshall, lifting a brilliantly colored bird from the case. “Oh! a bob-o-link, abob-o-link. How lovely,” cried Bessie rapturously. Even Mrs. Campton was interested in the gorgeous plumage of the tropical birds, and an hour passed pleasantly by, Marshall explaining the habits of the various specimens and often growing eloquent over their perfections. Bessie listened almost fascinated. His glowing words opened new avenues of thought in her minC Here were the same little birds which daily flew under her windows, the gentle dove, the robin and the wren; here were the busy bees and household flies and the beetles to whose drowsy drone she had so often listed. Had she ever thought of their wonderful lives? Had she ever entered the sacred Penetralia and discovered the secrets of the very world around her? A great longing arose within her to study these children of Nature and understand so many sources of enjoyment. Perhaps Bessie's impulsive nature would have caused some sueh words to have escaped her lips had not Mrs. Campton declared it time to return to dinner. Passing out into the hall their ears were greeted with a hoarse voice, calling: “If you please,” “If you please.” The ladies started in surprise, but Marshall pointed out an airy cage suspended from an arch in the hall, which contained a beautiful green-ringed parrakeet. “Daurita wants to be noticed, too,” said Marshall,. and he spoke some pet words to the bird. “ Prof. Marshall, I feel as if I had been in fairyland.” said Bessie, as they drove homeward. “ flow can we thank you enough?” ■■ “ You are very kind. I think the best way to thank me will be to consent to go again after I get my conservatory in proper order. Perhaps I can induce Aunt Katy to look upon you with more favor,” he replied, laughing. The invitation was accepted and the friends parted at Ralph Campton’s door. Day followed day, and each one seemed shorter than the one before. Almost every morning found Gregory Marshall in the boudoir of Mrs. Campton, and happy, golden moments flew by as the ladies listened as he read them the tender story of “Lncile” or told them tales of foreign lands. Ralph Campton was too thoroughly a business man to enjoy the fashionable follies in which his lighthearted wife and sister found so much pleasure, and he was only too glad to find an escort for them in Gregory Marshal! Hence, almost every evening the fresh young girl and the lonely man were thrown together. One morning, as Mrs, Campton and Bessie were wondering what new amusement to find, their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Gregory Marshal! He came with an invitation for Bessie to accompany him on a ride to a beautiful spot, beyond the city. “ I know,” he added, “ it would be useless to ask Mrs. Campton’s company.” “ Yes, it would, and I’ll be delighted to have you take this troublesome child off my hands until dinner—so, there." and she saucily left the room. It was one of those delightful, farewell days of Indian summer when the hills are half concealed in a purple haze and the warm sunshine seems to mournfully, tenderly linger over the frost-painted, falling leaves. The air seemed laden with a richness and fullness as if summer was filling the measure with sweetness to overflowing. The ride, this beautiful morning, was thoroqghly enjoyed by both Marshall and Bessie. The richlytinted foliage caused the somber, gray old mountain sides to bloom as with rich gardens. The spot to which they directed their course was beautiful in the extreme. Springing lightly to the ground; Marshall led Bessie to a mossy rock, covered with autumn treasures, saying, “Here, Miss Bessie, is a ===== ‘ carpet of leaves That frost-fingers paint and the wild wind weaves.’ Is it not a charming place?” and the young man looked ground with soul-lighted eyes. “It is glorious. I certainly enjoy this time of the year more than any other. What exquisite leaves. I'll make you a crown of them, Prof. Marshal! lam sure it will be becoming.” Bessie threw off her velvet cap with its long, waving, white plume, and deftly began to weave the many-colored leaves together. The wind blew the long ringlets back from the fair, girlish brow, and brought a fresher glow to cheek and Up. Marshall enjoyed the childish abandon of her manner, and joined in it with unusual zest. At length, with mock solemnity, she placed the bright wreath upon his forehead. “ There, sir. you are crowned, and the crown is thornless, too.” I ~ “True; but it will fade. These leaves are emblems of too many things in life. Like many of our joys, they are brightest just .before we lose them.” Bessie did not reply. Glancing up from the variegated bouquet she was arranging, she met the longing gaze of those deep, grave eyes. Obeying some subtle instinct, she extended her hand toward him, and in a moment he was beside her. “ Miss Campton—Bessie—do you—can you mean it? Do you know that I love you?” and her hand was clasped, and she felt his warm, quick breath upon her cheek. The dinner hour had long since come and gdne ere the radiant, beaming face of Bessie Campton disappeared within Ralph Campton’s doorway; but her promised husband rode down the street with a new light in his face, a new joy in his heart. Bessie, qnietly flitting up the broad staircase, entered her own room. Sinking into a chair, she in-” dulged in one of those delicious cries—those restful, joyful tears! How new it all seemed—could it be true? Yes. there was the antique diamond ring—his mother's parting gift. Slipping it loosely up and down upon her finger, dreaming, half smiling, half weeping—she was awakened to the outside world by the entrance 6f "her maid with a letter—b Recognizing her father’s penmanship she quickly Broke the sea! murmuring, “Dear papa, how surprised he will be,” and read at follows: “ Beloved Child— l met with a sHght accident last evening which may make me a prisoner in my room for some time to coine. A broken leg is no slight matter to an old man. Be not alarmed.'The boys are all gone, bat Arthur Doraine fills almost a son’s plsce. Am I mistaken in believing that one day he will be my son indeed? He is the only one to whom I can ever willingly give my treasure. I do not wish to hasten your return, but the days grow long without my little sunshine. “ Affectionately, your father, » “Axaniaa Campton." * “ Poor papa. I must go to Urn—yes, I must go,”

and a little flush of anger at herself came over her as she felt how hard it would now he to return to the quiet home and leave the new love behind. Remembering Gregory had asked to spend a quiet evening with her sfte arranged her toilet with nnusnal care. The shining silken folds enwrapped her little figure and softest lace shaded throat and wrists. How the diamond ring flashed and sparkled and how often foolish little Bessie pressed it to her lips. Mrs. Campton had gone to some musical entertainment before Bessie’s return, so the young girl was alone with her new-fonnd happiness. Slowly pacing up and down tne long parlors awaiting the well-known step, she wag met by a servant Dearing a card with the name of “ Arthur Doraine.” “ The gentleman Is waiting in the reception- “ Ask him here immediately,” replied Bessie, and the sudden fear made her almost fall. As Arthur crossed the threshold she sprang forward. “My father?” “Is worse, Bessie. I have come for you. You have not a moment to spare, as the only train leaves in fifteen minutes.” Forgetting to thank Arthur, forgetting her Hch dress, yes, forgetting even her lover in tne sickening fear of being too late beside the bedside of her dying parent, she hastily wrapped herself, and in a few minutes, with white face, was beside Arthur again. “ I have written a few lines for Ralph on this card,” said Arthur. “ I will leave it with the servant, and we will hurry on.” Few words were spoken until they were safely in the car and being rapidly whirled along. Thelu Bessie learned how her father had been thrown from his carriage and had his leg broken; how at first the physician had scarcely thought it really dangerous, hut how violent inflammation had set in and the worst was feared. His constant thought seemed Bessie, and at length he had asked Arthur to bring her. Overcome with fright and grief, Bessie cried herself to sleep on Arthur’s shoulder, from which she was awakened by their arrival at Southgate in the dawn of a cold, drizzly morning. Soon she crossed the threshold of her father’s house and sank exhausted and fa nting beside his death-bed. A few moments after Bessie and Arthur had left the Campton mansion Gregory Marshall ran lightly np the steps, and without questioning the servant, with his usual familiarity, entered the parlors, expecting to find his betrothed wife awaiting him. Her handkerchief, with its faint violet perfume, rested upon a chair; but its fair owner was tone. Questioning the servant, Marshall heard, to is extreme surprise, that Miss Campton had a few moments before driven away with a gentleman. The servant added that he thought they had probably gone to the opera, as Miss Bessie wore an evening dress. For a few moments Marshall stood confounded. What did it mean? Had Bessie Campton been trifling with him ? The dark, angry blood rushed to his face, and with quick strides he left the house, resolving that Bessie,of her own accord, should explain her conduct. The next day and the next passed, and still came no message. On the morning of the third, as he gloomily left his home, feeling very bitter to all womankind, he met an old associate, a man several years his senior, who had been his companion on many a mountain ramble in foreign lands. Ih a few moments his friend had informed him that he intended sailing for Cuba that afternoon, and urged him to take tne trip too. “ Perhaps it will do me good, and I believe I will go for a few weeks,” he said. New York was reached in time for the steamer, and that night, as poor Bessie Campton listened to her father’s dying words, Gregory Marshall was walking the deck of the “Moro Castle,” on its watery path to the “ Queen of the Antilles.” Ralph and Mrs. Campton had followed Bessie the next morning after her departure; but when they arrived the feeble lamp was almost extinguished. Bessie was constantly at her father’s side, and three days after held his head upon her bosom and listened to his last word as he passed from them all into the dark valley. A little, hastily-penciled note reached Gregory Marshall’s house two hours after he had left it, too late to save both him and its writer many a weary heartache. Over-exertion, the wise doctors said, caused Bessie Campton’s long illness. Perhaps it was—at least'she never gave any other reason for it ; but the warm breaths of May found her still an invalid. Faithfully had Marion Campton ministered to her young sister-in-law, and, however much she may nave wondered about the antique ring upon Bessie’s wasted finger, she was discreetly silent and only puzzled herself trying to connect it with Gregory Marshall’s seeming neglect. At length Bessie grew well enough to resume her old habits and Mrs. Campton began to plan for the summer. She had promised a gay party to be one of them at Long Branch; but whatshould Bessie do? “ I have made np my mind, Marion. Of course I can’t stay here. Bob intends visiting a college friend, Ray will not return from Europe until the autumn, and of course I can’t remain alone. lam going to your sister, to Foaming Brook. I have Known sorrow now and I can be a more suitable companion for Mrs. Mendon than for you, Marion,” Bessie replied one day when Mrs. Campton was urging her to accompany her. Seeing Bessie's heart was set upon it. and hoping much from the influence of her gentle Bister, Mrs. Campton made no objection, and on the first day of June accompanied Bessie to the quiet mountain retreat. She was wailpy welcomed by the sad, lonely widow, for the sweet young girl had found a warm place in that bereaved heart. Before leaving home Arthur Doraine, who had been so kind and thoughtful, asked Bessie to be his wife. It was a terrible blow for Bessie to refuse, as that hope had so often inspired him, and it was hard for Bessie too, remembering how her father had desired their union. But her woman’s heart, that heart that “ loves on to the close,” would not allow her to wholly doubt Marshal! Circumstances and her reason were all against him, but still she wore his ring, believing all would some day be fully explained. Bessie soon resumed her wild mountain rambles in which she had taken such delight in her past visit. Her only companion was her father’s faithful Newfoundland dog. Day after day the simple village folk saw the lovely, sad-eyed maiden, in her plain black dress, with her long, glossy curls flowing as a mantle about her, pass through the one wide village street. With a little basket in one hand and the other resting upon old Brave’s shaggy head she courageously climbed the steep mountain paths. Toward sunset she returned, with tired, listless feet, the little basket filled with wild flowers and the bloom of the hills upon her cheeks. Daily she gained in strength and beanty, and, what was far better, peace and consolation for her wounded heart. One delightful morning as the maiden was preparing for her ramble one of the village youth tapped at the door with a letter for her. On opening it she found it to be from her hrotherßay. He had returned from Europe and wished his sister to welcome his English bride. It was not until after midday that she and Brave set ont for their last jaunt over the mountains. One by one she bade farewell to the spots that had grown so dear to her. Here a green, moss-covered old tree, there a laughing little cascade or ice-cold spring; again, a bed of graceful ferns, a grassy grotto, or perhaps only a bleak, gray rock—all were dear, and all were visited for one last farewell. The shadows were beginning to lengthen as Bessie and her dog approached a high plateau overlooking the country for many miles. Sinking down upon a soft cushion of greenest tnoss. she threw aside her mountain hat and, resting her head upon her hand, gave herself np to one of her waking dreams. The mellow tints of autnmn were already seen among the maples, and afar down the slope her eye took in the beautiful landscape picture. As she sat. she heard the faint sound of the chapel bell in the village, which, in old English fashion, rang ont the evening chime. The fading sunshine scattered through the leaves and fell over her head, tenderly, softly. A low growl from Brave caused Bessie to quickly spring to her feet. Was it a phantom of her own thoughts of did Gregory Marshall stand before her? “ Darling, darting, can you forgive me?” With a glad cry she reached toward him and was clasped in nis close embrace. There, on the quiet mountain side.they sat down, and the story, so simple and yet so full of pain to both of them, was told each to the other. “I knew yon were.true,” said Bessie, with womanly trust shining from her brown Syes. “ Even while I lacked your trust, I loved on,” replied .Marshall. “My intended two weeks’ visit in Cuba was extended into months and from there II iatlessly sailed for England. By the merest chance I met Itsv in London and learned of your bereavement and illness. Resolved to see you and hear from your own lips the very truth, 1 sought and found you again ' r .if “My faith has been rewarded,” was Bessie's quiet reply. The next spring time Bessie became the happy wife of Gregory Marsha!! and their little dark-eyed son bears “Uncle Arthur’s” name.—Our Flresid* Friend.

fire Sing Stag Convicts Steal a Locomotive and Sake Their Escape. A Poughkeepsie telegram of the 14th of May, to the New York Times, flays: “ One of the boldest and most desperate attempts to escape from Sing Stag prison was made this morning, and it might have ended disastrously to more than a score of lives had it not been for the gresence of mind of Dennis Casein, a [udson River Railroad engineer. Just north of Sing Sing prison, between the extreme north guard-house and the first arched railroad bridge as you go south, is located the prison quarry, on the east side of the railroad trace. Prom it, over the railroad trick to the prison yard, on the west side, extends a bridge over which stone from the quarry is trundled in wheelbarrows by the convicts. At 8:15 o’clock this morning an extra freight train bound south approached the prison bridge slowly, moving not faster than three miles an honr. The train was drawn by locomotive No. 89, Dennis Cassin, engineer, and the conductor was Mr. Hauerwas. They were slowly following the Sing Sing passenger train which left at 7:50 a. m. As the engine reached the prison or trestle bridge five convicts dropped upon it from the bridge, four of them running into the engineer’s cab and the other hurrying to the coupling which fastened the engine to the train. The convicts on the cab, with drawn revolvers, ordered the engineer and fireman to jump off, and they did Just before the convicts jumped on the engineer had three gauges Of water in the boiler, said had shat off the pumps; but as he turned to go, when ordered, he shoved the pumps full on—the convicts not noticing the movement —knowing that if they did not discover the pumps were on that the engine would not run far before she would become choked with water and would have to stop. The convicts then put-on steam and the engine started down the road with them like lightning. Their escape was detected almost immediately and several shots were fired after them by the prison guard, none, however, taking effect. Then commenced the pursuit. The Superintendent of the railroad was notified quickly, when a telegraph alarm was sounded at all points sooth of Sing Sing. A dispatch was sent from the Grand Central Depot to Station Agent. Revere, at Tarrytown, directing him to turn the switch at that station on the river side so as to let the engine with the convicts on board go off the bank into the river. Danger signals were also ordered to be set on the down track and, prompt measures of every kind were ordered to prevent serious disaster by collision with the stolen locomotive. The trackmen in the vicinity of Scarborough saw the engine coming like lightning, or rather saw a vast cloud of steam, and smoke, and water whirl by with a deafening roar, and gazed with terror at the frightful speed the engine had attained. At Tarrytown crowds of people were gathered, expecting to see the en-. gine dash into that station and off the switch into the river, but it did not arrive. After waiting a short time Station Agent Revere sent an engine up the track to look for the stolen property, and found No. 89, with both cylinder-heads broken, three miles north, and about opposite the Aspinwall place. The boiler was full of water, and the steam down. The convicts left the disabled engine a half a mile further north, and fled to Aspinwall’B woods, having first stolen all the clothing that could be found in the engineer’s and fireman’s boxes on the tender. Soon after Engineer Cassin came running down the track, and once more recovered his engine. Their names are as follows: Stephen Boyle, sentenced Feb. 4, 1869, for twenty year?; Peter McKenna, sentenced Sept. 30,1873, for life ; William H. Hawley, Feb. 25, 1874, for five years; Charles Fowler, Feb. 18,1874, for four years and six months, and William Sullivan, alias ‘ Big Mike,’ March 9, 1875, for five years. It is not positively known how the rascals procured the ro volvers, but it is thought their friends brought them up from New York and secreted them in the quarry, where the convicts could get them.”