CHRISTIAN FORD’S TROUBLES.
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outer door closed—he was gone! Unflinching in her self-martyrdom, she did not even ap- proach the window to catch a last glance as he departed. Then the woman entered with a letter, the pages blotted, and torn, and full of reckless passion. Christian read every word, firm as before, laid it carefully aside, and then her tried strength gave way.
The records of the next three days were best unwritten; no mortal ear ever heard their sufferings; and when Christian Ford descended from that darkened chamber, she was quiet and composed as of old.
CHAPTER II.
A year went by; the long winter passed, the mocking sunshine of midsummer paled, and it was autumn again.
Christian Ford was there in her lonely home, patient and resigned. She had stood by the bedside of the dying relative, whose declining years had been cheered by her love, and was now wholly alone in the world.
Once there had come a letter from Robert Gray, but it only brought renewed pain, and she was glad that the months passed without tidings. Soon after that letter, she had heard his name spoken—he was leading a dissipated life and causing his mother much trouble—that was all she knew.
One bleak, autumn evening, Christian was returning from a visit to a sick woman in the village. The wind blew in chilling gusts, and she hurried on impatient to be at home. As she entered the grove, which was near her house, she caught the flutter of a woman’s garments on the hill above. In a moment they had disappeared—but again and again she saw them as if the person were pursuing her, and yet dared not approach.
She reached her own gate and stood looking back, when through the night a woman’s form appeared, falling at her feet, while a voice of wild anguish cried,
“Save me, Christian Ford, do save me!”
Christian raised the suppliant and looked in her face, so pallid and worn that she did not recognize it.
“You don’t know me,” moaned the girl, ‘‘oh, no wonder—no wonder! Christian, Miss Ford, I am Lucy Dean.”
Christian tottered back in horror and sur- prise; a year before she had seen that face in the glow of girlish loveliness, and now it knelt there pale, haggard with wretchedness and want
“Don’t leave me,” pleaded the girl; ‘‘I went home first, but they drove me away; there was nothing left but the lake, I thought, and then I saw your face. Don’t send me away, Christian, for God’s sake."
Christian Ford did not pause to answer; she raised the shrinking creature and led her into house. The domestic was absent, and she took her into her own room where a bright fire was burning. She brought her food, and the girl ate eagerly.
“It’s the first morsel I’ve tasted today,” said.
‘And take off your shawl, Lucy,” Christian said, ‘‘and when you have slept you shall tell me all.”
No, no; I have no right here, you will drive me away as my father did!” she cried, in her frenzy. ‘Look at me, Christian Ford, I was so handsome and proud—see where my beauty and pride have led me—I am ruined, lost, with nothing but death before me.”
She fell upon the floor and hid her face in Christian’s dress, resisting every effort to raise her.
I am going to tell you all,” she moaned; don’t touch me, don’t look at me! I was tired of living here, and a year ago I left my father and went to New York. My relations weren’t very kind to me, and I wanted to leave them. Then I saw that Mrs. Gray, the lady who lived here once, and she took me to live with her. She had a son—oh, I can’t tell you!”
She broke off abruptly and crouched lower down. Christian Ford sat upright in her chair, her eyes staring wildly, and her hands clenched together.
Mrs. Gray was very kind, and petted me like a child! I was always sewing in her room, and Robert used to come there. He had some great trouble, and I was very sorry for him. It was all my fault—I couldn’t help but show I loved him—and—eh, you know, Christian, you know!”
Christian did not speak—did not stir—but in her excitement the girl did not heed it.
“At last it all came out; Mrs. Gray drove me from the house when Robert was gone. I came home the best way I could and told father everything; but he cursed ms and drove me away— oh, Christian—Christian!"
That plaintive cry roused Christian; a shudder of horror came ever her as she shrunk away from the wretched girl; but when that moan was repeated it passed.
“You must go to bed now, Lucy,” she said “I will be your friend, remember that.”
The girl clung to her with passionate tears, but Christian put her gently away—sho could
