A SISTER'S SACRIFICE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 3358, 13 January 1879, Page 3

A SISTER'S SACRIFICE.

« (By "May.") "They were two daughters of one race," and yet one would scarcely think so. Tho first time I ever saw Edith and Lucy Grey was one bright morning in early June, 13 years ago, when they wore scarcely out of their pinafores, and I, not much older, if years were to be reckoned, was led out by my mother to the cool, shady garden to bo presented to my charges. In the future I was to be to them half companion, half instructress, what might be termed a diminutive nursery governess. The two girls were lying carelessly under the refreshing "hade of an old tree. Edith, tho eldor, was then 13 yeara of age — a decided brunette, tall, aud well developed for her ago. Her arm was drawn caressingly around her younger sister, a child of 11, whom, at tho first glanco, I decided was extremely delicate and homely. The picture of my two pupils as I first saw tliem often returned to me in after years, for just so they began and went through life, the elder protecting, and the younger lavishing all confidence and affection on her stronger and more robust sister. I was greeted by them both with cordial smiles and tender assurances of future friendship, and was soon seated beside them with all restraint broken away by that strange faculty which children seem to possess in such a degree. It was not until we commenced laughing and talking that I noticed for the first time the remarkable beauty of Lucy Grey. She was as totally different from her sister as it is possible for one human being to bo from another. ILu> pale golden hair was closely cut and clustered in tiny rings all over her shapely head ; and her complexion was of that clear transparency through which the blue veins are so clearly visible. But the eyes — Lucy's chief charm lay in them — they were of limpid bluo, largo and expressive, and had a timid, half -wistful look in them that appealed to tho soul of the veriest stranger. Her mouth was small and shapely, j ust large enough to show the ivory rows of teeth which glistened like pearls in a coral casket. " She is just the image of her sainted mother," her father was wont to say, as he would tenderly caress his beautiful child ; and yet Edith was never jealous, no harsh thoughts ever took refuge in her gentle breast ; her dark, rianle face would only brighten, and her eyes flash with gratified pride and pleasure when she heard her sister praised ; and when thoir father would look tenderly upon them both, and call them his " motherless babes," her bosom would swell wiini L j\»v.. — ~-<»«rLh.cr. eyes fill with tears of py- "-■ Thus were my two charges as I firofc knew them. Would I had the power to portray them more perfectly. They both luifl their faults, they were human, but in a small way they were true heroines of the little domestic episode I am going to tell about. In this home, surrounded on all sides by love and luxury, I lived many happy, peaceful years. My life before had been fraught with sorrow, even destitution. I had known wliut it Avas to feel the pangs of hunger and the frosty air bite through my scanty garments, and, what was more, had seen tho anguish written on my poor mother's careworn face as she prayed to heaven for bread for her fatherless children ; but now all that seemed as a dark dream of the past, and we three grew to love each other, and lived in almost perpetual sunshine. Years passed on. Mr Grey, in the kindness of his heart, saw fit to send me to the same school with his daughters. First I graduated, then Edith, who at the age of nineteen, was even then tall for her age, and almost majestic in her stately beauty. Her hair had darkened till it was of that deep purple so rarely seen, and which she wore in shining braids ; and her eyes seemed to have grown larger and more brilliant in their dark beauty. She soon won hosts of admirers, and was besieged with many offers, for in our quiet way we held quite a little court at " Ivy Villa," as Mr Grey appropriately termed his pretty' suburban house. Jfriith refused all these offers in an almost careless way, for, as she would tell me laughingly, "the traditional right man had not made hia appearance." One morning at breakfast Mr Grey told in to prepare for a visitor, that on his return to dinner lie would bring a friend. " Some old chap of ninety, scarcely worth dressing for, I wager," laughed Edith. " Perhaps," gravely responded her father as he slowly finished his coffee and propared to stroll out on the porch for his " constitutional," as he termed hi3 morning walk. Dinner hour finally came. Edith and I were watching for the arrivals with a degree of curiosity each tried to concnal. Soon we were gratified ; our keen eyes discovered through the fast gathering twilight two figures sauntering up the walk, discussing apparently, the surrounding country and its products. " Minnie, my dear," exclaimed my companion, who was peeping through the cur- I tains, " positively he's young, but — yes, ho's too slender, I bequeath him to you ;" with which condescending remark we hastened down to make the guest welcome. I saw the look of surprise, superseded by one of rapt admiration, in ilowarct Clinton's cje.-, as they fell on Edith's sparkling face aud comely figure ; and it did not die ouf; as he took the soft, warm hand held out to him in cordial welcome. Edith, too, noticed it, and, in a moment, the rich blood dyed her olive cheek, even to the tip of her (inv ear. Mi Grey's cheery voice broke tho embarrassing silence. *• "Welcome, Howard, to tho old house in which your lather was always an honoured guest. It's simply a garden of rest where a tired labourer returns after his day's toil. "It contains the faircßt flower I've ever aeen," gallantly replied the visitor. After this Howard Clinton wtva often at

»^"'"«»««iw««gssaggHßßaa«naa3Mßiiii n m „ nnm m .i "Ivy Villa;" aud soon the town gossiped, a. all small towns will, and their names wer frequently linked together and Edith plav fully congratulated. J At first they met with a cool denial, but few weeks later, she accepted the congratulations with a heightened colour and a hapnv smile. J All this time Lucy, our darling, was still at school, some few miles away. One day Edith received a letter telling us when we mighfc expect her. "1 am coming home to stay," she wrote. " I shall not wait to graduate, for, Edy, dear, lam not very well ; the doctor says I havo trouble- with my heart, which, if I am careful, may not amount to much, but ho warns mo to avoid all excitement. So, to do this, I am coming home to you, my sister. Edith wept bitterly over the pathetic littte letter. We had all known for years the> transparent ekin heralded something of th« kind, but had not dreamed it would come so soon. So sho came one early spr.ng morning. Never to us had she looked moro beautiful ; the still, keen air lent a brilliancy fco» her fair face ; she oven appeared stronger, and soon our anxious fears died away. The evening of her arrival we were all seated in the drawing-room ; the lights burned low, and we were discussing with contented hearts Edith's future plans and happiness. Lucy sat immediately in the recess of the deep bow window, through which the glorious full moon shone with, almost unnatural splendour, throwing its translucent rajs over her pale face, and forming an odd contrast with the dress she wore of some light blue, clinging material, that became so well her little figure. Tha step we wore waiting for soon sounded itl the hall, and exclaiming, in a cheery voice, " What a charming picture !" Howard Clinton entered the room. lie greeted Lucy cordially, even wanniy, "he had heard eo> much of her." So days, weeks, even months rolled rapidly on. In my great love for the two sisters I noticed with fear and trembling the growing affection between Lucy and Edith's affianced husband. " What should I do ?" In my perplexity I prayed fervently to God to aid and direct me. None seemed to heed it ; Edith— if sho noticed it at all, it wa» ■with a sense of happiness that the two" beings she so dearly loved should love each other. Lucy seemed to bo unconscious of: it all, but her faco glowed as with a newly found happiness, the purport of which sho herself scarcely realised ; and when she would oftentimes glance up and discern Howard's eyes resting upon her with admiration, and I saw love, too, in their depths, she would blush brightly with, pleasure. "Docs sho realise it?" was my constanfr thoughfc. " Docs she realise the extent of tker wrong sho is doing ?" Alas ! no one seemed to but Howard; he did, I was sure. Hi« usually sunny face was often clouded, and I. noticed, with increasing alarm, his growing repugnance to being left alone with, hia afiianccd. Things cannofc go on thus, I reasoned, much longer. I would speak t<* Lucy, I would warn her, tell her to go away, ;o be no longor the innocent barrier between two hearts. As one almost unconsciously pnts off a disagreeable duty from day to day, so did I posfcpono this ; until one morning an unusual opportunity offered itself. She was alone in her own room, looking so bright and happy that my heart smote me for the sorrow I was bringing her. It was a beautiful day, the sun so bright, the pretty pink furnitures so cheerful ! ["To be continued.]