WON AT LAST.
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��sary expenditure of money foolish if not sinful, and consequently refused to com- ply with Fannie's wishes. All this she endured uncomplainingly, but when Ralph Carey was forbidden the house, the bright eyes grew mournful and the
gentle heart heavy.
From the day our story opens, for sev- eral weeks no mention was made of a subject so painful to Fannie and her father, but the latter missed the happy, laughing face of his daughter — a quiet, sad-faced girl had taken her place, and the good man felt very uneasy whenever he looked at her, and he felt at times a half wish that he had not been quite so
decisive in his action.
In the meantime Ralph and Fannie had
met but once since the day the Deacon had politely told the young man that his visits could be dispensed with. Sadly but decidedly she had told him of her de- termination never to marry without her
father's consent.
fc ' He is a good man, Ralph, and he
thinks he is doing right," she had said,
by way of vindicating him.
" I have not given you up yet, Fannie,
by any means. My studies terminate the
first ot December, and then I launch out
upon the sea of life for myself. I must
either " sink or swim, "and I think it will
prove to be the latter. I shall always
love you. Fannie, and you have promised
to wait for and be true to me. I will not
seek to meet you in secret, for I do not
consider it strictly honorable to do so.
I do not despair of winning you even
yet. One kiss, dear, and good-bye."
His encouraging words rilled her little trusting heart with a vague hope, and she grew more cheerful.
About this time one of the merchants of the little village, an old friend of the Deacon's, standing in need of pecuniary assistance, applied to the good man for aid. Pitying his friend he unhesitating- ly advanced him the needed money, tak- ing his note as security. It made quite an inroad upon his property, but he felt confident of his friends ability to repay all he had borrowed in time, and really delighted in lightening his burden, but he placed far more confidence in the merchant, Samuel Black, than he should have done.
��CHAP. II.
Ten months have passed and gone since we took a glimpse within Deacon Gordon's humble home, and August, with its sultry heat, finds but little change therein, if I may except the fact that the Deacon himself had grown older and grayer, with many an added wrinkle in his face and a decided stoop in his once erect form. Fannie, with her sad, thoughtful face and dusky brown eyes, has changed but little since we last saw her. She but seldom met Ralph; never to exchange more than the common civ- ilities of life. His success as a lawyer was established, and she heard his praises on every hand.
Deacon Gordon had been very unfor- tunate during the past few months, los- ing first a valuable cow, and afterwards his horse. He was also troubled in re- gard to money matters. His whilom friend, Samuel Black, had not made him the payments agreed upon, and his other losses made the use of this money almost a necessity. He bitterly regretted his want of forethought in not taking a mortgage of goods to secure the note, for there was a premonition of trouble which would make itself felt, causing him, as well as his wife and daughter, many anxious hours. We shall soon see how their forebodings were realized.
It was in the evening of the 17th of August that Fannie went to spend the night with a young lady friend who re- sided at the upper end of the village. Mrs. Gordon was also away, watching at the bedside of a sick neighbor, and thus the Deacon was left alone. For several nights he had slept but little— the con- stant worry of his mind was beginning to tell upon him — but upon this evening he sank into a deep slumber, which lasted until past midnight. He was awakened by a cry of fire upon the street and the ringing of the church bell. He sprang from his bed and saw to his horror that his own house was on fire and that the flames had already burst into the room he occupied, which was upon the ground floor and adjoined the sitting-room. To draw on his clothes and spring from his window was the work of a moment, and in his excitement he never thought of
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