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A NOBLE SAGRIFI
CHAPTER
On the follovring morning, when
Henry Wyatt arrived at •the office, be
received an intimatiou that there was
nothiug for him to do, and that he was
to wait until Mr. Inglefield made his
appearanoe. At eleven caelock he was
called into his employer's private room,
and, he saw immediately, from Mr.
Izglefield's stern face, that Son3.ething
grave was inmen.ding. He judged cor-
rectly that it was with reference to
What had passed between him and Ra-
chel, and he was filled with sad fore-
bodings. Mr. Inglefield did not beat
about the bush ; he came to the point
'without delay.
"When you applied to me," were his
opening words, "for a situation, you
informed me that you were a gentle-
man."
"I informed you correctly, sir," said
Henry, respectfully.
"From a gentleman," said Mr. Ingle -
field, "one naturally expeets a cer-
tain course of conduct. I am aware
that the title is often asserted where
it Zs not deserved; and had I suspetted
that it would be so iu your ease, I
Should certainly not have considered
your application. 1am, however, my-
self partly to blame. 1 took you upon
trust, in the belief that you would
Justify- my expectations."
" In what way have I disappointed
you, sir?" asked Henry. "I have at-
tended to my duties regularly and
faithfully."
"I might have forgiven you,"
said Mr. Inglefield, "If there
had been an occasional lapse on your
part in that respect; but you doubt-
less knew what you were about, and
you did not wish to disturb the calm
security I reposed in your honer."
" Your pardon, sir," said Henry Wy-
att, "for interrupting you, but I trust
you will not forget, whatever passes
between us during this interview, that
I a,m a gentleman and that the family
to which I belong always bore an hon-
cned name until we Pell into misfor-
tune."
" And then," said Mr. Inglefield, in a
tone of such strong contempt, that the
young man had some difficulty in re-
stzaining his indignation, "you lost
your honored name."
"That is not just, sir," said Henry;
"my father fell into the hands of
tricksters"—
" As I have done," interposed Mr.
Inglefield.
It was only out of his fear and love
for Rachel that Henry Wyatt was en-
abled to keep himself in control. He
felt that the happiness which he had
hoped was in store for hire had slipped
fzcoxi his grasp ; he felt that he was itt
the presence of an enemy; but that
enemy was the father of the girl he
loved, and if the love he bore for her
had brought misfortune upon her, he
would. not by any act or word of his
add to its weight.
"I do not," said Mr. Inglefield, "re-
cognize you as a gentleman. You are
my servant, and I am your master.
That is a correct definition of the posi-
tion in which we stand to each otlaer ;
In my domestic relations you are an
utter stranger. I tell you plainly that
you have taken a base advantage of
me, and of a helpless girl, who is ignor-
ant of the ways of the world, and of
the real character of such men as
yourself. My daughter has informed
me that she has been for some time
on terms of intimacy with you. Had
you been an honorable man, it is you
who would have given me this informa-
tion. She has, moreover, informe.d
me that you have forced her into an
engagement of marriage with you,"
"Forced her I" cried Henry
"I use my own words," ssid Mr.
Irgiefield, "and am ocountable for
them."
"Your words are not hers," retorted
Henry, "of that I am convinced, know-
ing her as I do."
"Knowing her better," said Mr.
Irglefield, "probably, than I, her fa-
ther, do. It is a fitting presumption
en your part to make that assertion.
understand the motives for your con-
duct. You, a begg-er, without a shill-
ing in the world, hoped to raise yourself
into a position 'which you ha,vo lost,
by Means of my money. It would
have been more fortunate for me it I
cnuld have exposed you before matters
had gone so fan but I have hopes
that it is not yet tog late. I annul
the engagement into which you have
tricked my daughter; and I tell you
to your face that you are unworthy -of
respect or confidence. If the necessity
arises, she will have to choose be-
tween you and me, She has been
brought up with plenty around her:
she has never known what it is to
want. If you induce her in spite of
the strong warning I ani giving you,
to cast in her lot with Tou, you will
be inviting her to a life of poverty and
disgrace ; for in that case I shall re-
nounce her; she shall be no longer a,
daughter of mine ! Should this ex-
pression of my determination have no
effect upon your manhood, it may upon
your Sense of caution ; for such men
as you, when they seheme, sche.me de-
liberately with a certain end in view --
that end their own advantage. Un-
der no eircurestances shall a penny of
my money ever, through her, pass into
your pOesession. The game you have
played is lost, a,nd you stand before me
defeated, not in honor, but in shame.
will enter into no argument with you;
I clO not admit your right to argue
With me. I have summoned you here
in 'order that you might listen to a
clear expression of what is in my mind
with respect to you, And now I dis-
miss you from My employment. reu
were ertgaged at a week's salary, which
Will be paid to you upon application to
my manager, One word more, and
one only. A watch wfil be kept Upon
our movements, and upon the move-
ments of my daughter. I forbid you
to approaeh her, directly or indirectly,
forbid you, frotn this •moment, to
communicate or correspond with her."
Re strode to the door and throw It
open, There was no mistaking the
meaning of his worde and action.
Henry Viryatt efeW that be Wee in the
presence of a merellese Judges and that
THE EXETER TI1VIES
Ei
there was no appeal; and, with a bow
to Itachere father, he Passed out of the
room.
He did not apply to the manager fer
his week's salary, With a blindness
not only upon his eyes but upon his
heart, he made his way into the streets.
The full sunlight was upon hint, but
he beheld it not. .A. darkness had fall-
en upon hbu which enveloped Dim as
in, a prison, into which no ray of hope
or gladness could ever shine.
But later in the day, when he return-
ed, crushed and despairing to hie gar-
ret in Rosemary Court, lie saw upon
the table a letter addressed to hire, It
was in the handwriting of a lady, tend
he recognized it as Rachel's. With
eager fingers he tore it open and rend:
"My dear Henry :1 do not know for
certain, but I believe that my father
will take the opportunity of speakiag
to you to -day about our engagement,
and I write a line to say that you may
rely upon my c:onstancy and truth. I
have given you my heart, and it is
yours. forever; 1 have given you my
love, and I will be faithful to you to
the last hour of my life. Take com-
fort, then, whatever may occur. I be-
lieve I know where my true duty lies,
and nothing* in the world can, change
nee. Do not write to me. I will seek
and find an opportunity of seeing you.
Till then, and forever, my dear Henry,
your loving Rachel."
-The common room became filled with
light, the sun shone within it, flow-
ers bloomed around. Henry Wyatt
pressed the letter to his lips, and Itiseed
it again and again, xnuemuring, "God
bless her ! God bless the faithful
girl 1"
Before this comfort came to him
events were marching on. Mr. Ingle -
field, after his interview with his
clerk, went straight from his office to
his living rooms, and sent for Rachel.
She came irnm.ediately at his bidding,
and in her pallid face he saw signs of
a sweet resolve which still further
hardened his cruel heart.
"Have you reflected upon what I
said to you last night ?" he demanded.
"Yes, papa."
"And you have formed the resolu-
ticn to obey me ?"
"I cannot obey you, papa. I have
given Mr. Wyatt nay love, and I shall
never withrira.w it from hian."
"Never !" he cried.
"Never, papa."
"Do you know what that means ?" he
asked.
"No, papa; except that I shall be
faithful to the man I love."
"I will tell you weat it means, then,"
he said. "It ;means that, unless you
give me the promise I ask from you,
to banish this man from your heart
and mind forever—forever 1" he repeat-
ed, "that 1 oast you froni my heart,
and that you are no longer a child of
mine in
She was prepared for it. During
the terrible night she had passed, a
night of self -communing and self-ques-
tioning, a night during which she prob-
ed to the innermost depths of her na-
ture, and had sedulously reviewed all
the circumstances of her acquaintance-
ship with Henry Wyatt, there had come
to her a fuller recognition of his good-
ness and nobility; and there had come
to her, also, in. some hidden way, a
true perception, of her father's hard.
nature. She thought of her childhood
and of the manner in which she had.
been, as it were, thrust from her fa-
thers' heart ; she thought of his neglect
of her, of his indifference toward her,
during the time she had spent in his
house since the death of Aunt Carrie.
She could not recall one tender look,
one truly tender ward, to woo her to
him. The description Aunt Carrie had
given of her character wa.s correct.
She was not to, be swerved from the
path of love and. duty.
"You surely cannot have consider-
ed," said Mr. Inglefield, as she did not
reply.
"I have been awake all the night,
papa, considering what it is right for
me to do."
" And you have decided ?"
" Yes, papa,"
" Do you owe me no duty ?"
" Yes, papa, but I owe other duties."
" Stronger than that you owe to me,
your father ?"
She said no word.
"Have you seen your—your lover
since yesterday ?"
"No ; but I have written to him."
"You dare to tell me this to my
face 1"
"It is the truth, papa."
"You wrote to him to renounce him,
to tell him that all was over between
You ?"
"1 wrote to him to assure him of
my faith and constancy."
Mr. Inglefield's face grew livid, and
Lor once his passion mastered him.
"And you will see him ?"
"I have told him in the letter that
would see him."
And you will? Answer me."
"I will papa, because I believe it IS
right. There is nothing that you can
ask me to do that I Will not do cheer-.
fully—eXcept this."
Sweet, faithful champion! Her
strength lay in her very weakness, his
weakness ley in his strength. •
" I have heard enough," he said, in
terrible wrath. "1 you off 1 MY
relations with yon are no longer those
of father and child. There is a cer-
tain sum of money left to you by your
aunt, whieh amounts now, with Inter-
est to"— .He paused, and, taking
some papers from his desk, consulted
them arid wrote down some figures;
then he took mit his check-bOok and
filled up and signed a eheck.
" Your aunt's legacy ;Mounts to seV-
en hundred and forty murals. I-Iere
is a check for the sum. Ti by twelve
o'clock to-morroW you do not voluntar-
ily cOrrie to me and express perfect
and comp: ete submisolon to my wishes
with respect to Mr. Wyatt, you Will
leave my house forever and seek an-
other shelter,"
" rather t"
"I will not listen to anything. What
I have said is irrevocable. No poWer
on earth can move me from thatto
which I ant resOlVecl,"
-^
And then Mr, Ingledeld repeated the
act which had brought desolation to
Henry Wyatt, 'who was silting in his
rcom. with it open, and beckoned to it
with stern fore -finger.
With meek face and drooping figure
She walked toward. it, and then turned
onee more pitifullee implJringly, to b.er
Lather, The hard, cold, creel face
which met her view caused her to
ahlver and to shrink within herself,
and with head bowed. clown to her
breast, site left hint standing there, a
lonely, loveless max
* * "'
At one o'clock the following day,
Henry Wyatt, who was sitting in the
room with his father, heard a soft tap-
ping at the door.
" Rachel I" he cried, as he opened the
have come to you, Henry," she
door.
,
said, with tears running down her beau-
tiful face, "because I have no other
home, no other shelter, Will you re-
ceive nee ?"
"My darling 1" he cried, and he drew
her into the room ; while old Mr. Wy-
att, starting up, hastened to her and
took her hand,
Then she told, there all, in a voice
broken by sobs ; and when she had fin-
ished, Heary, awed bY the noble sacri-
fice almost shrunk from her, as he neer-
mured
"Is it right? Is it right?'
It is all that is left for me to do,
Henry," she said. "If you oast me off
I am homeless, indeed 1"
What could he say? He kissed her
unresisting lips, and vowed to be true
and faithful to her, as she was to him.
Humbly, worshipfully, he accepted the
sacrifice, and felt, indeed, that no tnan
had ever been blessed as he was bless-
ed..
"1 do not come quite empty-handed,
Henry," she said, "It is not much I
bring with me, lout it will, perhaps,
help us on our way."
She handed him the check, and he
said;
"How can I ever hope to be worthy
of you'?"
"It is for me, Henry," she said. "to
make myself worthy df you. I will
try—inde/ed, indeed I will try! I learn-
ed a great deal about housekeeping
when I was with Aunt Carrie, and I
think you will be satisfied with me.
We will work. together, dear, to the
end."
A fortnight afterwara, venen it be-
came known in the neighborhood that
ITenry Wyatt and "the goad lady" were
to be married, there came to Rachel
many small evidences of affection from
those he and she had befriended. They
were, it is true, but humble tributes,
but if the leaves of the flowers had been
fashioned in gold they could not have
been more precious to the happy bride
and bridegroom. Rachel wrote to her
father of the corning wedding, but he
took no notice of the letter, as he had
taken no notice of other letters she
wrote to him. They did not forget
him on the happy day. They drank
his health with sad and tender words.
"Perhaps he will forgive us by and
by," said Rachel, " wh3n le knows you
better, Henry."
So commenced the wedded life that
bade fair to be clothed with comfort
and happiness; and so, upon flowers
of affection, and heart's sunshine, and
sweet faethiolpes, and true lave, let the cur-
ta
CHAPTFR XI.
Twelve years had passed. Time flies
according to man's mood and circum-
stances. To Mr. Inglefield the days
were long and cheerless, and his revil-
irgs against fate for having denied
him hapPiness did not lighten them.
He would not listen to the still, small
voice which whispered that he, and he
alone, was accountable for his wasted
life. But he could not stifle it; im-
perious and self-willed as he was, it
abided ever with him, and lived with-
in him like an aecusing ghost.
He was uneucoassful Nothing af-
forded him pleasure, and forgetfulness
would not come to him. He travelled
ia foreign lands, he tried the excite-
ment of the gaming tables, he sought
new scenes and new fares, he frequent-
ed the theaters—and the Spirit of the
Past, with its veiled face and sorrow-
ful form, walked ever by his side. But
still he doggedly persevered. He
thought of Basil Penrhyn, and wonder-
ed where he was. He journeyed over
the old roads of the holiday tour they
had enjoyed together. There was no
change in the scenes with which he re-
newed acquaintances. Valley and
mountain, streamlet and waterfall,
there they were as they had been in
the time gone by. Snow ranges, flow-
ers growing on icy peaks, forget-me-
nots and Alpine roses blooming, bright
cascades babbling as they fell from
crag to crag, bright brooklets dancing
between messy banks—nothing was
changed; and his spirit grew more re-
bellious and his eyes more stern as he
gazed upon the reflection of his hag-
gard face In the clear water. It was
indeed a fight between him and good-
ness.
He heard no news of his daughter.
Indeed, it was impossible that news
could reach him, for he had cut himself
completely away frOm his old life, and
She could not but be ignorant of his
7 hereabouts. Could he have purchas-
ed forgetfulness he would have been
gladly wil'ing to pay a large price for
it. But he could not forget by day or
by night. Often in his dreams did he
re-eriact the last cruel interview with
Rachel, and his hand was raised to
strike, and he would Mutter bitter,
merciless words, These dreams al-
most maddened him, but he could not
prevent their recurrence. The watere
of Lethe are not for man when he is
haunted by the shadows (:),f shame and
wrong -doing.
At the end of the twelve years Mr.
Inglefield had exhausted all the Plea-
sure grounds of Ilutope. Then it was,
being excited by something he heard
about America,, that he resolved to
bevel thitherway. There new experi-
ences overtook WM. ln a Soilthern
State he Was attacked by malaria, and
lay on a bed of fever for many months.
The dreamt and tattaies which oppress-
ed hint during that time were terrible
and agonzing. His dead wife often
appeared to hint, and, with accusing
voice, asked hint or her datighter, the
only flower of love which .511e had be-
Ineathed to his eare.
"1 intrusted my child to you," said,
the Spirit; "what eaave you done with
her ,7 She should be by your bedeide,
attending and. comforting you. Why
is she not here ?"
ln his delirium he had no words of
self-justification to offer, and his state,
therefore, was all the more wretched.
He rose from his bed, weakened and
Prematurely aged. It wee fortunate
for him that, upon sickness overtaking
him, he had fallen into honorable
hands; for, of course, it became known
that he was a man of wealth and
means, It was this knowledge which
opened up to hien the prospect of a,n
enterprise which he eagerly seized as
a means, not of making more money,
for that desire ha.d entirely left him,
but of mental occupation. This enter -
Prise was in connection with a new
railway line, and before he had fully
committed himself to it his inquiries*
and investigations led him to Washing-
ton.
There it was, during the first week in
December, that a strange adventure•
occurred. He had been in the city
but a fear days when, walking in the
direction of Capitol Hill, s man walked
past him whose face flashed upon him
as a memory. Mr. Inglefield was
weak and attenuated, and his steps
were necessarily sloev. Now, the steps
of the mao he saw were brisk and
buoyant.
" And yet," thought Mr. Inglefleld,
as he mused upon the memory, "11 that
really be Basil Penrhyn, his movements
would scarcely be so lithe. He is as
old as I am."
He judged of others by himself.
In his waking moments during the
night the idea that it was Basil, his
old friend, who had passed him in the
street, became strengthened, and on the
following morning he made inquiriee
whether any person of the name af
Pearhyn lived 1.11 the neightborhood of
Capitol Hill. It happened that his
inquiries were made in the right quar-
ter.
" 011, yes," was the answer ; "Mr.
Penrhyn—queer old fellow—lives on the
H you know if his name is Basil ?"
asked Mr. Inglefield.
"Yes," was the reply, "that is
his name --Mr. Basil Penrhyn,"
" A queer old fellow, you said ?"
"Yes, I meant it, but queer in a
good way. The children have reason
to think well of him."
"Whose children ?"
" All children."
"Do you mean his own ?"
" No ; he has none that I know of.
He lives alone."
"Why, then, should all children
have reason to think well of him ?"
Beoause," was the repier, "he is
Kriss Kringle's lieutenant."
"'Criss Kringie's lieutenant " ex-
claimed Mr. Inglefield, much bewilder-
ed by this explanation. • "I do not
understand."
" Perhaps you never heard of Kriss
Kringle ?"
"He is Santa Claus, is he not ?" ask-
ed Mr. Inglefield.
"Yes, Kriss Kringle and Santa Claus
are one and the same. In most of
our States he is known es Santa Claus;
in a few, as Kriss Kringle. But it is
O long story for rise to tell, and I have
no time to spare. If you are ac-
quainted with Mr. Penrhyn"—
" I knew hien," said Mr. Inglefield,
"many years ago, when I was a young
man. We were friends."
"Then go to him, and you will hear
as strange and pleasant a story as, ac•
=ding to my reckoning„ a man could
listen to."
Mr. Inglefield acted upon the advice
in the evening of the same day, and
had little difficulty in discovering the
house in which Basil Penrhyn lived.
He save, from its exterior, that it must
be a large house, with many rooms in
it, altogether too large and too roomy
for a man who. lived alone. He knock-
ed at the door, and a woman answer-
ed the summons.
"Does Mr. Penrhyn live here ?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is he in ?"
"Yes. sir,"
"Will you kindly take my name to
him ?"
"With pleasure."
" Say that Mr. Richard Inglefield
would like to see him."
The woman went away, and almost
immediately the visitor heard a cheery
voice crying :
" What! Inglefield, my old friend !
Is it possible ? Has he dropped from
the skies ?"
And Basil Penrhyn ram, into the pas-
sage with eager face, and hands out-
stretched.
"Why,RichardyR
, 1,ichard 1"
"Basil
Their hands met in a cordial ciasp.
" Come in, coma in !" cried Basil.
"Why, why, why! who would ever
have thought that we should meat
again, and so far away from the old
land? And is it indeed you,. Rich-
ard ? How glad I am to see you. It
is like a. whiff of old times ; but you
look ill. Never mind, never mind ;
come in, old friend. I give you hearty
welcome."
In all the years that had. passed
since he had driven his daughter from
his heart and home, this meeting with
hie old friend was, in the light of the
welcome he received, his only.pleasant
experience.
Te BID 0014TINI1Ell.
A Fitting Rebuke.
Workingmen not only have the sensitive-
ness of other people about their personal
integrity, but sometimes may have a neat
way of replying to an imputation upon it,
A carpenter, seut to make some repairs
in a private house, entered the apartment
of the lady of the house with his appren-
tice,
Mary, the lady called to her servant,
see that my jewel -case is locked at once I
The carpenter understood, He reMoVed
his watch and chain from his vest with a
significant air and gave them to his appren-
tice.
john, he said, take these right back
to the shop, It Boerne that the house isn't
safe I
Guest --,-“By Jove I've eaten ouch Of
hearty diener that 1 guess VII have to go
upstairs- and sleep ib off," Rotel °kirk,–
",In that ease,we'll have to charge you with
a meal taken to your room."
A Mother's Beautiful Child
Dragged Nearly to Death's Door bySevere
Nervous Disease—Suffered Extreme Pain in the
Head—Doctors Could Do Nothing—South
American Nervine Called in at the Eleventh
Hour and Restores to Health Little Annie
Joy, of West Toronto Junction—The
Great Remedy is Reducing the Death
Rate of All Cam dian Cities.
MISS ANNIE JOY,
A. bright little lad, or golden -haired
girl, is the delight of your home.
Whether you revel in riches, or know
something of the privations of
poverty, that child is all the world to
you,, It is no wonder that mother
and father become anxious when
siekness overtakes the little one.
The remedy, fathers and mothers,
is near by. South American Nervine
has been the means of giving back
the bloom of youth to thousands of
suffering little ones, It is not a
medicine that buoys up the parents'
hopes,only to have them in a short time
dashed down again lower than ever.
Whether with child or adult, it
promptly gets at the seat of al
disease, which is the nerve centres.
From this fact it is peculiarly
efficacious in the treatment of ner-
vous diseases
ohild.
A recent case is that as told by
Mrs. M. A. Joy, of West Toronto
Junction, whose little daughter
Annie, aged 16 years, had been a
sufferer from severe nervous depres-
sion for about two years. As with
all mothers, no trouble and expense
was spared in the effort to bring
relief to the child. The little one suf-
fered extrerne pains in the head, so
PL41,73
WEST TORONTO JUNCTION.
distressing at times as to render het
completely helpless, sapping all her
strength. The best skill of the most
skilled physicians was called into
request, but little Annie steadily
grew worse. Becoming more hope-
less and discouraged as the weeks
went by, Mrs. Joy decided on trying
South American Nervine as almost a
last resort. Employing her own
words she said: "I determined to
give it a trial, although I felt it was
useless."
of man,
woman Or
To -day it is all happiness around
that home, for before one bottle Of
the medicine had been taken, the
mother tells us Annie commenced to
show decided signs of improvement,
The child has taken three bottles and
has practically regained her natural
health and -vigor. There is nothing
surprising in the fact that Mrs. Joy
cannot speak too highly of South —
American Nervine.
Much was at stake, but thie
wonderful discovery proved equal te
the emergency, and so it does in ever)
case. Thousands of letters on file
from well-known citizens prove this,
For nervous diseases of young or old,
from whatever cause, it is an ala.
solutely infallible care.
C. LUTZ 'Sole Wholesale and Retail Agent for Exetet:
Thos. WicuKuTT, Orediton Drug Store, Agent
witli a coney baby or a coney stomach
isn't pleasantither can be avoided
by keeping a bottle of perry Davis'
pAneXtr,t,Sat on the medicine shelf. It
is invaluable it sudden Attacks of Cramps,
Cholera Morbus, Dysentery and DiarrImea,
lust as Valuable for Ea -external painS.
.,.bostr.ont3 tonendtniM In a ha46.041.4mmaimuniammiimmumminowssysemoirlAgg pf ,iFatOr Or Milk (WArin 011V011141
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