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Show RICHARD RAY'S NEW YEAR. <br><br> Richard Ray was a wanderer from his home, an alien from his native land, and had been such for four years. Selfishness and dishonesty was the cause; selfishness and dishonesty on the part of one he had tenderly loved as a sister; one who was his step sister. <br><br> Mary Mason, the daughter of his step-mother, was fifteen years older than himself. At the time of his father's second marriage, he was five years of age, the youngest of the family. Before he reached twelve his two older brothers died; therefore he and Mary were the only remaining children. She was married when Richard was nine years old - Dick they always called him - and was soon the happy possessor of a fine little daughter - Edith. <br><br> Although she was now Mrs. Roberts, and her home in the city fifty miles distant, Mary was often at Col. Ray's, and Dick was never so happy as when with Baby Edith. She would laugh and crow at sight of him, and nestle in his arms as though he were her natural protector. <br><br> The years passed on, and the baby outgrew her childhood, the youth his boyhood, but neither noted nor cared to note the change. When Edith, at seventeen, came down from the city, she greeted "dear old Dick" with a kiss on either cheek, just as she had done when but seven. She would drive to the office every day, at four o'clock, for him, and together they would enjoy a fine ride about the country. The result of their lifelong intercourse was that this charming, lovely little [unreadable] more into Richard May's heart, there to remain through all stress of time or change. Solemn, staid, tender and true Richard - whose heart was thought by his lady friends to be adamantine, so little impression could they make upon it. But he possessed a depth of affection equaled by few. <br><br> Col. Ray, his father, was owner of a large mill property, which for many years had done a thriving business; and as he was prudent and economical, he became possessed of large wealth. Just how this wealth was to be disposed of was a constant query with Mrs. Roberts. If she could only manage to obtain a portion of it she felt she could the easier facilitate her plans. She desired Edith to make a brilliant city match. This she was sure could not be unless her husband's financial prospects changed. The thought that she could ever marry Richard never entered her mind. <br><br> Mrs. Ray, her mother, died about this time, and before the year ended the old colonel died also. Then it was found he had bequeathed his entire estate to his wife and her heirs for ever. <br><br> This was a blow to Richard. He had worked in his father's counting-room for years, since he left school. No one understood or could conduct the mill business like himself. It was so strange! Only the week before his father had told him how he wished various matters arranged; and although he did not say, Dick knew he meant when he should be no more. And now to find that he had given their home, their mills, property which had been in the family generations, to his step mother, and, as she was dead, to her daughter - he could not comprehend it. But he kept his own counsel, and as Mrs. Roberts announced her intention of taking residence at the old place soon, and placing her husband superintendent of the factory business, Richard would not be needed. <br><br> The only way in which he could account for the turn affairs had taken was this: Seven years before, when Richard was twenty-one, he had very serious thoughts of joining the army. This his father sternly opposed; he had set his heart on his only son's following his business and succeeding him in it. He became so wroth that he even threatened to disinherit him if he pursued the plan, and intimated that he had already given the property to his wife and her heirs. Not fear of losing his inheritance, but duty to his father, kept Richard from the battle-field; but this was seven years before, and since that time he had been his father's confidant, his trusted, faithful son. It was all very strange to him, as he sat in the old counting-room for the last time, when the mill operatives came, one by one, to say farewell, for on the morrow he would sail for the East Indies, there to begin life anew, among a strange people in a foreign land. <br><br> It was hard to leave the home of his boyhood, hard to break away from kindred ties and old associations, but hardest of all to part from Edith. She knew nothing of the love Richard bore her, so could not dream of the struggle it cost him to leave her. He just took her hand at parting, kissed her cheek, and bade her, in quiet even tones, to be a good girl until his return, while she clung sobbing to him, beseeching him not to go away. <br><br> The good ship sailed, and in due season reached her destined port, and Richard May began his new life. We will not follow him in it, but recross the ocean to his old home. Miss Kate Ray, maiden sister of Col. Ray and aunt to Dick, had never fully trusted Mrs. Roberts when she was Mary Mason, and came among them many years before. The dislike and distrust conceived for her extended also to Edith, although she had been a most dutiful child, and given no cause for distrust. But Aunt Kate shook her head and said they both had "lying blood" in their veins. <br><br> When Mrs. Roberts established herself at the Ray mansion, she appeared so kind and benevolent, such a Lady Bountiful to the poor, such a help to the church and charitable societies, that many of the village folk were glad of the change. <br><br> "But I tell you," Miss Ray would say, "it is there; the ‘Old Adam' has been working all these years." And it was true. <br><br> At the time she was so anxious to know what disposal Col. Ray had made of his wealth, she employed her spare time when there in searching for some clue. Of course this was always done under a cloak, and in the most adroit manner possible. Her search was rewarded, for, entering the library one day, she found Col. Ray's private papers spread upon a table, just as he had left them when suddenly called from the room. There was his will, giving his whole estate to his wife, thence to her heirs. Her heart almost stopped beating. Never in her most speculative dreams had she imagined such good fortune. But she was doomed to disappointment; it was only for a moment the specter was real. Beside it was another will, giving more than half to Richard, and the whole after her mother's death, thus cutting her off entirely. She clenched her small hand and vowed this should never be. And so it fell out; after the old colonel's death no other will was found, and as Mrs. Ray, his wife, was dead, Mrs. Roberts, being her only heir, held undisputed right and title. <br><br> But the woman's conscience troubled her. After two years she was so faded and gray that her city friends scarcely knew her, and her health failed also. Edith, dear, trusting girl, never ceased to pine for Richard, and often questioned her mother as to the necessity of his going so far away, when they had plenty. At such times the woman would appear almost wild, and answer her in the sharpest, most unheard-of, manner. <br><br> Another year passed, and Mr. Roberts was suddenly killed by a railroad accident, and in less than a month Mrs. Roberts followed him. She was stricken down in a night and died before morning, with the awful guilt upon her soul. Consciousness was retained, but the power of speech denied her. It seemed to Edith, who never left her, that some terrible thought must have haunted her, from the agonized expression of her mother's countenance. She could not, however, read the Unseen; but the "Open Sesame" was nearer at hand [several words unreadable]. <br><br> Searching, one day, in an old secretary standing in the library, she accidentally pressed her hand upon a concealed spring. The touch revealed a secret drawer, and there she found the second will, also a small jewel she remembered well, lost by her mother. <br><br> Here was the truth! here her mother's sin. The mystery about Richard's inheritance was all explained. She was so dazed and stunned, so terrified by her mother's guilt, that for the time it seemed she almost lost the power of thought, and when Hannah, the housekeeper, found her two hours after, she had the same strained look upon her face. Gradually she came to herself. There was no wavering or faltering with her; justice should be done, were it the last act of her life. <br><br> A letter was sent over land and sea till it reached the distant Indies, summoning Richard to his home. The next steamer brought him, after an absence of four years. It reached the wharf the last day of the year, and the following New Year's morning found him at his old home. <br><br> Edith greeted him, not with the impulsiveness of childhood, but the quiet grace of true womanhood. It was all he could do to refrain from taking her in his arms, so intense was his longing to do so; for his heart had never wandered from its idol for a moment in his distant home. <br><br> She paused only for him to obtain refreshment before taking him to his father's library, locking the door and placing the two wills before him. Then she waited. Oh, how interminably long seemed those seconds, those minutes! At last he looked up. <br><br> "Well?" he said. <br><br> "And, Richard, it must be confessed it was a lie and a humbug. I am here in my mother's place today to ask your forgiveness." <br><br> Ah! Aunt Kate Ray, you will be satisfied now. There is no "lying blood," no shrinking the truth with her. She is gold doubly refined. <br><br> The color faded from cheek and brow. Perhaps the sin was so great he could not forgive. This thought had never entered her mind before. She had thought, with the restitution of his right, his generous nature would overlook the wrong. She told him she had made arrangements to leave his home at once; that the little property she inherited from her father would keep her in food and clothing until she could obtain employment. She had many city acquaintances who would, she thought, assist her in procuring music pupils. <br><br> Still Richard did not reply. I suppose he was thinking of his step-sister's sin and the great wrong done him; or perhaps he was admiring the truth and courage of Edith's character; any way, he had not uttered one word since that "Well?" when Edith crossed the room, and laying her hand upon his arm said,-- <br><br> "Dear Richard, for the sake of the old days--"<br><br> "Dear Richard" clasped her in his arms and rained kisses upon her cheeks, lips, eyes and hair. It was some moments before he would allow her to free herself from his embrace, and then he told her a little story, old as the sun, yet new as the morning light. And as Edith listened she knew why she mourned his absence so; why she never cared for suitors like most girls. And Richard took his answer from her, not his restored wealth, as his New Year's gift.-[Ernestine Irving, in Waverley. |