LAURA'S FACE.

Samoa Times and South Sea Gazette, Issue 17, 26 January 1878, Page 4

LAURA'S FACE.

"Her face was her fortune :" Ro* H '.t in aug saucily, when her eoMin aagagement to :ai«c Oughton v.. ,: ounee I.

■ J.mv.y in her that «he is pretty," said Mrs. Hiltou.-fretfully.: for that lady had hoped that the visit* ,1 tin- jouoa millioniare were intended for her daughter, not her niece. "Yes," said u third -voice—that of Arthur Hilton—" it is hard lines for a girl without a penny to be ugly too. But after all, Laura has brains as well as good looks, and sings like a seraph! After which pjriod to my speech, I will depart! Goo i-bye, Rosa; present my congratulations to the bride elect!" And Arthur departed to his chambers in New York, where he waited patiently for his first client, being a man needing patience, namely, a new fledged barrister. As soon as he left, Mrs. Hilton broke into a string of-fretful complaints. "If Laura was going to marry Will Fielding, bow, or any other of Arthur's cronies, it would not be so bad," she said, " because, as a pooriman's brido, she could not expect an expensive trossoau. But, for our own credit, -we must -give hor a handsome outfit; and, between Arthur's expenses and yours, 1 am sure j I don't see how it is to be done." I

" I thought we were awfully rich," Rosa said, opening her -eyes wido in amazement, for Mrs. Hilton was rather inclined to brag of the wealth left by her late husband.

"Pshaw! You don't understand!" said her mothor. " I don't -say thit we are poor; but poor relations are always a nuisance!"

And then her heart smote her, for Laura came in dressed for walking, and must have heard her last words. She had not half meant them, for, after her weak, selfish fashion, she was fond of her dead sister's lovely-chili], and would not willingly have wounded her. But Laura.e tnfle paler than usual, only said, "I promised to call on Mrs. Creighton this morning, Aunt Carrio, as she is not well, and requested that I would wave ceremony, aud not wait for her."

" Are you warmly wrapped up ? It is very cold," her aunt said, with an extra •touch of affection in her tone, to make amends for her unlucky speech. " Yes, thank you. I'll get the ribbon for your sash, if you wish, Rosa. I have •a piece of your drees in my purse." So she left them, with a pleasant smile, trying to think she had misunderstood ■her aunt's words. For Laura Marston was of a sunny temperament, one who found silver linings to all the clouds, and they had been numerous, that had darkened her young life. •She .had been tried by povertv, had nursed her father through consumption, ■teaching music in a large seminary at the same time, to earn bread for both. When she accepted her aunt's invitation to visit her, after her father's death, she had intended only to remain a few weeks, and return to the setninary, where a position as resident governess had been offered to her. But Mrs. Hilton HatS urged her to stay, and Rosa gave her •wannest love and welcome.

So two years of rest and content passed quickly in the luxurious home, •aafttiow she was to go to a new home of her own, Max Creighton's wife. It was a good match, in a worldly point •of view—a .great catch for a penniless girl; but Laura never thought of wealth or position when she promised to be Max Creighton's wife. He was a noble man, one of the exceptional few who use great wealth as a stewardship entrusted to their care; a man with a high standard of right,' to which she strove to> carry all the actions •of his life. Yet something of an artist, too, in amateur fashion, who worshipped beauty, and who had been won undeniably bythe wonderful beauty of Laura's face.

For the orphan girl was not merely pretty, not of the'fading order of girlish faces, depending entirely upon round, rosy cheeks of golden curls. Her face was a perfect 'oval, with features of exquisite delicacy and regularity, aud her eyes were large and dark—full of expression. Without one -shado of color, her pure complexion had none of the pallor of illhcaith, being softly fair; and her hair,of nut brown, was glossy and abundant. Tall and slender, she was graceful in every movement; and in Max Creighton's eyes, she possessed every attribute ■ of pert cot beauty. It pained her a little that he laid so much stress upon her fair face, feeling that she would have rather been loved for her mental power, her loving heart, or whatever of sweetness her lover could find in her nature; but she could uot be •angry when Max praised her. She walked-briskly through the winter air, till she reached Mrs. Creighton's and spent a happy unoming; for the lady gave her a cordial welcome as a daughter, aud let her feel that she was entirely happy in her son's choice. Fhere wore some weeks of happiness following the engagement—weeks when Mrs. Creighton and her son threw much brightness into 4he life of the young betrothed, ami thcn.a sorrow came, in a •separation of the .lovers. It became necessary for Uox to go to England to look afiur some property his -father had owned there, and lie was unwilling to have Laura cross tho ocoan in winter. A proposal of Immediate -marriage and a European bridal trip had been znado but Mrs. Milton and Mrs. Creighton opposed it, and Has aid not press it urgently. Tho business that called him to! England would probably cngrcx all hb >

time, and he knew that tit-re must be many dull, lonely day? for his bride, if she was his companion. So he left her, !n«l>iuLr u< return in two months or three, and have a happy wedding in the Spring. It WW only natural that, during the absence of the son and lover, Mrs. Creighton and Laura should bo often together. There was a strong, mutual ■ affection to make the hours of iutercourse pass happily; and Mrs. Hilton and Rosa Lad a new occupation in preparing a trousseau for the latter, who had consented to mate Will Fielding a happy man, rather to her mother's recent disappointment. Still, as the role of stem parent could never, by any possibility, l>e fitted to Mrs. Hilton, she had shed a few tears, wondered what the voung couplo expected to live upon, as Will's salary in a bunk could scarcely bo called wealth, and had gone good-naturedly to the duties of mother-in-law' elect, and entered heartily into the preparation of the double trousseaus for the two weddings. In Mrs. Creighton's home, Laura learned much of the tastes and habits of her betrothed ; and it became an almost •painful certainty to herthat one of the ruling passions of his heart was a love of beauty in all its forms. His mother often spoke of the shuddering disgust with which, as a boy, he had shrank from a repulsive face or unsightly form. And she said that, though he had conquered the outward expression of such recoiling, she was sure ne still felt the same repulsion in manhood. She would show Laura the portfolio f crayon portraits Max had made of . s fair betrothed; ami Laura, half-pleas d, half-saddened; saw her own beautiful face in many varied expressions. Now, sad, it was a Madonna ; now, laughing, a nymph ; now, with inspired eyes, a St. Ceilia; till it became painfully apparent to Laura that, for her great beauty, more than aught else, Max had give her his love.

The second -Week of Max Crcighton's departure was passing, when his mother was taken ill with a feverish attack, that seemed slight. Laura had been helping Mrs Hilton in some of the interminable shopping, and tad not seen her dear old friend for throe days, when,'one morning, Rosa burst into her room, full of bad news.

" Laura !" she cried. " you are certainly the luckiest girl in the world. To think you should have stayed away from Mrs. Crcighton's now of all time ! " Laura looked up inquiringly. " has got the smallpox." " Rosa !" cried Laura, turning very pale ; are you sure ? " " I saw Doctor Craigc this morning. All the servants have left the house, and he is trying to have a nurse sent from Blades. If she does not come to-day, they will have to take Mrs. Creighton to the city, and put her in a hospital ■ " " Not white I can nurse her!" Laura cried, hastily gathering some articles of dress together, and packing a -satchel. " I will go now. Of course I cannot return, Rosa."

" Bui, you will catch it! You will die !" Rosa cried, bursting into tears ; " and mamma is out, gone to New York by the nine o'clock train, and won't be back till evening, don't go ! Wait till mamma comes at any rate." " I must go now," said Laura firmly. " Mrs. Creighton may be even now dying for want of a nurse, I cannot wait, Rosa. There, don't cry so, dear. I have been vaccinated, you know, and may not catch the disease."

" Yes, you will, and be all spotted and scared, and a perfect fright. What will Max say to that ? You shall not go." But Laura had packed her wrapper and slippers, and what other articles seemed useful and necessary, and was rapidly dressing herself for the street, her very lips pale, but perfectly resolute in their firm pressure. She kissed Rosa again and again, as >her little cousin clung to hor, sobbing and entreating; and then with a loving message to her aunt, she started upon her errand He arrival was none too soon. The frightened servants had left the house ipeued and in dire confusion, the invali was tossing in delirious agony—calling for water, burning with fever, an . fright* n <i

at hov own wild fancies It was no romantic work l*;o .. I . .r .. no mere sentimental brow-bathing or poetry-reading to an interesting invalid, fhere was work to he done, food to prepare for the sufferer, the room cleaned and put in order, and a sickness requiring steady nerve and great watchfulness, to be cured. The arrival of the doctor towards night, with a strong Irish girl, whose face was deeply pitted, was a great relief; but the burden of care still rested upon Laura. It was too late for the kind-hearted physician to remonstrate, and he could only recommend some prudent precautions, andlioheartily thankful his patient | was in such good care. For as the weary I days wore on, Mrs. Creighton drew verynear the border of eternity, and thero was a long interval wheu the shadow of death angel's wings hovered in the room. But she rallied, anil as the fever' fancies passed, she knew Laura, and knew the generous love that had brought her to her side.

! " There was little doubt," tho doctor •told her, " that tho removal to the city •hospital would have been fatal, and she •would have surely died of neglect in hor own home, but for the heroic impulse that had brought her nurse to her."

And while she wa« too weak to rise, Laura sickened, and the kind-hcarU.d Irish girl had two invalids to oaro for. The young girl was not dangerously ill, but attring the fever lh< had no one to

watch her as she had watched her friend, and she tore her poor face in delirium when there was no cooling lotion to alleviate the torturing burning and itching. The month of absence was nearlv over, and Max \vi- coming Inline. Laura had never left Mrs. Creighton during the four months that followed her illness; and Max, detained by business, was comforted by thinking of the two he loved best on earth together and restored to health. But now, when the soft Spring airs were blowing, Max was coming home. Mb. Creighton had received a telegram from New York announcing the arrival of the steamer, and Max would come by the six o'clock train in the afternoon.

Laura moved about all day, making the house lovely for the coming of the traveller. She made the tempting cakes and jellies, she filled vases with tho first tender green leaves and Spring blossoms, and it was five o'clock when she kissed Mrs. Creighton and went to her room to dress.

The six o'clock train came puffing up to the station ; and Max Creighton, springing to the platform, ran to the carriage in waiting, too eager to get home to note a closely veiled lady in black, who took her place in the train, and was carried forward with it.

The home-coming was an affair too important for him to have a thought •rive for his mother and Laura—those wo who had passed through such afflioiioii *ince he had last seen them.

His mother was in the drawing-room, and after a long, close embrace, Max looked for Laura. " Where is Laura, mother ?" ho asked. " I cannot wait to see her, to thank her that I have not come back to find my home desolate— to thank her that I am not motherless."

" She will be here presently, Max. Sit d mi, my son, while I keep my promise t<> her, and tell you to prepare for a great shock."

" She isdisfigured ! " she said in a low voice.

" Terribly!" Her face is deeply scared, and a deep red, while her eyes are slightly drawn on the cheek and bloodshot. All her hair is gone, and she wears a close cap."

" As if I needed to be prepared for such a change," Max said, with a quivering voice—"as if the face of the woman to whom I owe my mother's life would not be the face of an angel to me, however it might be scarred! Find her mother! Let me tell her how my love has grown deeper and stronger since wo parteX" Mrs. Creighton was rising when the servant entered with a note.

" Miss Laura left it, ma'am," she said. "To you, Max.' " his mother said. " She has gone home, poor child."

But the noto was a farewell. It was thus Laura wrote:—

" The woman you loved. Max, is dead. She died to you when a hideous mask was drawn over the face you loved so well. There is no beautiful Laura to welcome you home; and the disfigured girl, who loves you too well to become an object of disgust to you, bids you mourn for her as dead. Heaven bless you, Max, now and ever!" She was not at Mrs. Hilton's and Max could find no clue to her hiding-place. Never in her beauty had he loved her as he knew he loved her now, when she had fled from him. A •deeper, nobler manhood in his heart made him bitterly ashamed of the stress he had placed so long upon mere beauty—the artist's out.pouring over the lovely face that had led Laura to belive it was alone he lov«d. A year passed away, and Mrs. Creighton was again in feeble health. Her physician recommended mountain air, and a house was secured for the Summer in the little village in Pennsylvania, near one of the large seminaries. Here she was gaining health and strength, when Max came to pass a few words with her. They were at church one Sunday morning, and were lingering in the porch a ter the .itliers of the congregation had departed,'when Max asked, "Who leads the choir here, mother r"

" V'tn irgfUMSt, ."Siio is a lady beaching isi • i;i the seminary m the hill."

Uiies nut her v.ii e re ni:id you of

"V s, I have tried to see her face ; ii it, .she eonies very early, and I have never met her leaving the church." ' It may be Laura ! How can I find out ?"

" You cannot forget her!" his mother said, sadly. "Forget her! Never! It is the one hope of my life to find her, if only to tell her how she has misjudged me. I must see her at once. She must learn how I love her; understand that the disfigured face is dearer to mo than any beauty can ever be—that every scar upon its loveliness is a mute record of the sacrifice made for my mother. Can I never show her my heart ? Will my Laura never come to mo again i "I am here, Max!" said a low, sweet voice beside him.

Ho started as the speaker swept aside a heavy veil, and the scarred, disfigured face was fully revealed. The large, soft eves had regained all their beauty, and the hideous redness had all faded from her complexion ; but the deep scars wcro there for life, and tho beauty of tho fair faco would never return to it

Max never thought of what was gone. He only realized that Laura was restored to him; he only felt that death alone could ever port thorn again. Only a few days later the little church was the scene of a quiet wedding; and in the happy years that followed, Mn.v Crcighton's wife never doubted that it was Laura he loved, and not Luura's face.—" American Paper"

AN OBLIGING (TSTOMKK. (From the New York Weekly.)

"Tin: best customer I ever did meet," said the book agent, leaning against the counter and helping himself to another round of crackers and cheese, " was ■ gentleman down in Missisaipi." I was •canvassing down there in '(!(>, and things were booming, you bet. I had about a dozen books I was taking orders for at the time, and I dropped in on him one afternoon to inquire if he didn't wont to subscribe to one.

" Well, we talked about the crops and the niggers and politics, for awhile, and had two or three drinks together, nnd then I opened on him. In five minutes I then hail his order for two and cash down."

" Got any more ?" he asked. " A few, I answered. The thing was really commencing to pan ont handsomely. I showed him two or three other samples, and he bought them, too. "See here," said I, "you appear to have a fondness for literature. Can't I close out the whole lot to you on liberal discount ?"

" I don't know but you can," he answered, " Namo your figures." I did so, they were accepted, and he paid me over the cash in full. Then we had some more whiskey. " What will you take for your watch and chain?" he enquired, in an amiable tone, as I was about leaving. I didn't want to sell, so I named a figure twice what they were worth. " Let's have em," said the obliging man, counting out the greenbacks on the table.

There was no help for it, so I passed over the articles and put the money in my pocket with the rest. " Hold up !" he said, as I was getting out the door. " Don't you want to 3eli that diamond pin of yours ? I'll give you 5250 for it."

It was worth just half that, and I couldn't resist the offer. The amount of it all was I went out of that man's place and mounted my horse minus books, watch, and diamond, but with 8000 of his money in my breast-pocket. Tile narrator here stopped as if interrupted by some powerful emotion, and then leached for some more crackers and cheese.

" Well," said the barkeeper, who had boon listening eagerly, " lie wan a good customer, sure enough. Did vou ever sue him again ?" " See him '" replied the book agent. " I guess I did. About an hour later, as I was Hding out of town, I saw a doubleuaireled shot gun pointing tit me from a. tree along the roadside, and he was at the further end of it. He remarked that upon mature deliberation the purchases didn't suit him, and I must give him his money back or die. Preferring the former alternative, I shelled out promptly, and then he gave me ten minutes to make mysolf scarce. I did so, and ever since that —well, no more obliging customers for me."