Clemence | Page 9

a fortune with that pretty
face," came from the sofa where the representative of masculine
humanity reclined.
"Harry, my son!" mildly remonstrated the mother.
"Where were you last employed, Miss--what may I call your name?"
Clemence supplied the missing cognomen, and replied truthfully, that
this was her first attempt to obtain such a position.
"You have references, of course?"
She looked aghast. Inexperienced Clemence! The thought had not, until
this moment, occurred to her. She hesitated. There were many who
knew her well as the only daughter of Grosvenor Graystone, who could
not remember the widow's daughter. There was no one whom she could
think of in her bewilderment to refer to as a friend, none of her former
haughty friends who would not think it an unpardonable liberty.
A stranger, with no references. That settled the question at once. The
mother of young daughters could not be too careful in regard to the
character of the persons she employed around them. A knowledge of
their pedigree was an absolute necessity. The idea of an adventuress
stealing into the household, and perhaps laying snares to entrap the son
and heir, could not be thought of for a moment.

Clemence found herself again upon the side-walk, with cheeks burning
with indignation, and eyes that glittered with excitement. She walked
on rapidly for the space of one or two blocks, and as her feelings
became calmer, resolved to make one final effort. She felt strong in the
conscious power of innocence and rectitude, feeling sure that, being in
the pathway of duty, she would ultimately succeed.
Acting upon this resolution, she soon found herself seated in an
elegantly furnished apartment, where she had been shown by an
obsequious waiter. Having some time to wait, she fell into a reverie
from which the voice of a gentlemen aroused her by inquiring in a
dignified manner in what way he could serve her.
Clemence again went through with her explanations, blushing and
stammering awkwardly enough, as the penetrating eyes fastened
themselves curiously and inquisitively upon her face.
"Ah!" he speculated, when she had finished, "this is really interesting.
It is not often that I am blessed with a fair visitor in my bachelor
apartments. I do not need a governess, having, thank heaven, no such
useless appendage as a troop of noisy children, but I do stand in need of
some beautiful lady, like yourself, for a companion to cheer my
loneliness. I can promise you a permanent position, with 'all the
comforts of a home,' a salary of your own choosing, and 'no questions
asked,' as the newspapers say."
"How dare you, sir?" said Clemence, in lofty scorn, as she moved
towards the door, which was opened for her amid profuse apologies,
none of which she deigned to notice.
"And this is trying to earn an honest living," murmured the girl, as she
found herself for the third time alone upon the pavement. "It sounds
very pretty and praiseworthy to read and talk about, but I have learned
to-day that it means insult and contempt from the coarse and vulgar,
and cold suspicion from those who, from their professions, should
stretch out a helping hand in the spirit of Christian love and charity."
Oh! my poor, lost sisters, who have gone before, and whose feet have

stumbled and faltered in the thorny way! He who pitied the fallen
woman of old, will remember all your prayers and tears and remorseful
agony. And in that "last great day," they who have led your
inexperienced footsteps into the path that leads to the gulf of vice and
misery, will suffer the vengeance of an outraged God.
This life is but a fleeting dream, of happiness to some, misery to others,
but there is a home beyond, and for the faithful, a "crown of glory
which fadeth not away." For we know that there is an inheritance for
those who persevere.
Thoughts like these filled Clemence's mind as she walked towards
home disheartened. She had cause for trouble. She knew that their
scanty means must soon fail entirely, if employment was not obtained,
and this was the result of her first trial. She was tired, too, being
unaccustomed to exercise, and her feet ached from contact with the
rough pavement. An empty car passed her, but she had given her last
cent to a beggar a few hours before. She thought of the hundreds she
had lavished without a thought upon the different objects of charity,
and sighed at the contrast. Now she must deny herself for the privilege
of bestowing the smallest gift. But she remembered too, that story of
the widow's mite, which was accounted more than the rich man's
profusion. She took comfort in the thought that the same loving care
was over her, and