Clemence
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Title: Clemence The Schoolmistress of Waveland
Author: Retta Babcock
Release Date: March 4, 2006 [EBook #17913]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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CLEMENCE ***
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CLEMENCE,
THE
Schoolmistress of Waveland,
BY RETTA B. BABCOCK,
AUTHOR OF "GRAHAM LODGE; OR, LAURA CLIFFORD'S LIFE
ROMANCE."
* * * * *
Not many friends my life has made; Few have I loved, and few are they
Who in my hand their hearts have laid; And these are women. I am
gray, But never have I been betrayed.
J. G. HOLLAND.
* * * * *
CLEVELAND, OHIO:
PRINTED BY THE LEADER PRINTING COMPANY, NO. 142
SUPERIOR STREET.
1870.
PREFACE.
The favor with which a generous public received a former volume of
the writer's, induced her, after a lapse of nearly two years, to essay
another effort of a similar nature.
In the present work, facts were chosen for a basis, as calculated to
interest, where the wildest dream of the novelist would pall upon the
satiated mind. It has been remarked, in a homely phrase by another, that
"what comes from the heart, reaches the heart," and if the present fruits
of long and unremitting mental labor, sustained often amid such trial
and discouragements, as seldom fall to the lot of mortal to bear, should
find sympathy and appreciation with the mass of readers, the aim of the
writer will have been fully accomplished.
CLEMENCE,
THE
SCHOOLMISTRESS OF WAVELAND.
CHAPTER I.
"Dearest mother, do not grieve for me, it breaks my heart."
The sweet, sad voice of the speaker quivered with unshed tears, as she
knelt before the grief-bowed figure on the sofa, and took one of the
little, shrunken, tear-wet hands in both her own, with the devotion of a
lover.
"Have you not often told me of the sin of distrusting the All-wise Being,
who has cared for us all our lives thus far? Let us put our trust in Him,
and He will 'never leave nor forsake us.' Can you not trust Him,
precious mother?"
"My child, I could bear it for myself; but you, my all of earth, my
heart's dearest treasure, to be exposed to poverty and toil for your daily
bread--who have been so delicately reared that the winds of heaven
have not been permitted to blow too roughly upon you! My poor,
fatherless darling, how can you bear it?"
"'God is our father.' We are not friendless, nor alone. 'He who
tempereth the wind to the shorn lamb,' will guide and guard me. Let us
commit ourselves to His care."
She knelt down, and the sunshine, stealing in at the window that May
afternoon, circled her young head like a glory. Faint and tremulous rose
the sweet voice in prayer, and little widow Graystone's sobs ceased,
and a kind of awe stole over her as she listened. And a sweet peace
filled her soul, for "angels came and ministered unto her." Up from the
mother's heart went a pleading cry. "God keep my darling from harm!"
and as she gazed fondly upon the beautiful face before her, with its
exalted look of wrapt devotion, a fierce pain struggled at her heart, for
she thought of the time in the not distant future, when her only one
would be motherless.
One little year ago she had been the imperious woman of fashion, and
Clemence had seemed little more than a child, in spite of the seventeen
summers that had smiled upon her young head. Indeed, she had often
experienced a feeling akin to contempt at the unworldliness of her
daughter, and sighed in secret to see Clemence just as agreeable to Carl
Alwyn, the poor but talented artist, as she was to young Reginald
Germaine, the heir to half a million.
"Just like your father, my dear," she would say, scornfully, "and
nobody knows what I have suffered from his low notions. Just to think
of his always insisting upon my inviting those frightful Dinsmore's to
my exclusive entertainments, because, years before you were born, Mr.
Dinsmore's father did him some service. Why can't he pay them for it,
and have an end of it? It is perfectly shocking! The idea of bringing me,
a Leveridge of Leveridge, into contact with such vulgar people."
"Mamma!" and Clemence's fine eyes
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