166 
®ie l^aSies’ atonal feiobEinet tm3 Pictorial Home feomjmmom 
A HEART’S REWARD. 
Mabel Clifton sat before one of the windows of her 
father’s magnificent mansion. A servant stood in 
waiting. 
She was making out a list of articles wanted for 
the next day. Coming footsteps attracted her atten¬ 
tion. She raised her eyes and looked out. The crim¬ 
son flush deepened on her bright young face, as “ Oh !” 
in a tone of deep regret escaped her lips. 
She turned round after an instant of thought and 
said : 
“John, I am not just ready to finish this list, and 
shall not send it for an hour yet. If you have any¬ 
thing to attend to in the meantime you can do it.” 
Mr. Clifton had been reading in a distant part of the 
room. Hearing the door close after John’s departure, 
he said : 
“ You have not forgotten to send for those wines I 
spoke of, my dear?” 
“ He has not gone yet, papa.” 
“Ah, well, do not make it late. They will be very 
busy to-night,” her father said, turning again to his 
paper. 
“Papa.” 
“Well?” 
“ A boon, papa. Promise to grant me this last day 
of the year my boon!” 
“ What is it, my love ?” 
“Promise to grant it, first.” 
“ Not in ignorance, my child.” 
“ Trust me, father.” 
She had an eager, earnest, noble look in her eyes 
that her father did trust in, and he promised her. 
“Well, you shall have your way.” 
“Father, let us abstain from using wines to-morrow.” 
“What! no, no; I cannot grant you that. No wines! 
Why, child, have you gone crazy? For twenty-five 
years I have offered my friends wine on New Year’s 
day, and never have felt that I was doing anything 
wrong. What has come over you 
“ Oh, father, I have never felt just right when offer¬ 
ing men wine, and just now as I was making out the 
order for John, I chanced to raise my eyes just as 
Edgar Livingston was passing. It needed but a 
glance to see he was very much under the influence of 
liquor. Father, his mother is a widow; he is her 
only child, and all her earthly hopes centre in him. 
Will they not be wrecked, think you, if he indulges in 
the wine cup? To-morrow he will make many calls. 
Beautiful women will offer him wine. He will not 
have the courage, possibly, to wish to decline. To¬ 
morrow night, most likely, he will return home to fill 
his mother’s heart with sorrow. I do not wish to con - 
tribute one drop to that bitter cup.” 
“ My dear, whether we have wines or not, with him 
it will be all the same, as you say he will make many 
calls.” 
“ Father, if you had a sou, would you not talk dif¬ 
ferently ? Think how many young men of the bright¬ 
est future have failed, nay worse, won 
disgrace and 
if Edgar 
early graves, from love of wine. I feel as 
Livingston stood upon the brink of a fearful precipice. 
Father, stretch forth your strong arm to draw him—if 
only step by step. 
Just then a servant entered and handed him an en¬ 
velope, saying: 
“A telegram, sir.” 
Mr. Clifton tore it quickly open, read it, and ex¬ 
claimed : 
“Really, this is too bad, but I must go. John, 
here - ” . 
And hastily writing a few words for a return 
dispatch, he handed it to the servant, and turning to 
Mabel, said: 
“ My old friend Harwell is dying, and begs that I 
will hasten to him. I can not deny him. So you will 
have to entertain my friends to-morrow, and explain 
to them the reason of my failing to see them this first 
time for so many years. 
“ And—well, dear, you can do as you choose about 
the bill of fare. As I shall not be at home, the people 
will not hold me responsible for what happened in my 
absence.” 
Anjiour after, Mr. Clifton was on his way to the 
side of his dying friend, and Mabel sat down and 
wrote: 
“Dear Flora: — Come help me to receive our 
friends to-morrow. Papa has been called away, and 
I must have you with me, as I am particularly anxious 
to have my reception a success. Lovingly yours, 
Mabel.” 
“ Edgar likes Flory, I can see plainly, and I think 
she is not wholly indifferent to him. Together I think 
we can manage to hold him here to-morrow, and thus 
save his mother a great sorrow, most likely,” said 
Mabel. 
Mabel Clifton was one of the loveliest girls in P-. 
Friends wondered that her heart had not yielded to 
some one of her many suitors. They did not know 
that she had no heart to yield to any of those who had 
sought it. The first season she appeared in the select 
circle in which her father’s wealth and position had 
placed her, she met Ernest Addison. He was a noble 
lookiug man, talented, with mind and heart alike filled 
with true resolve. To Mabel he had been very atten¬ 
tive, and she grew to love him, feeling sure the time 
was not far distant when he would come to tell her of 
his love. But mouths rolled by, and he spoke not. 
Gradually his visits grew less frequent, until they 
ceased. What it was that had come between his love 
and her she could never think ; but she felt perfectly 
sure that he did love her, and so, hoping that time 
would solve the mystery and bring a balm to her 
wounded spirit, she watched and waited for the 
coming. 
New Year’s day same beautiful and bright. Mabel 
and her friend, Flory, never looked lovelier. Mabel 
had explained her wishes, and fully infused her spirit 
into her friend. It was impossible for any indifferent 
person not to feel their power of fascination. To Edgar 
Livingston, one of their first guests, they were quite 
irresistible. He lingered on, notwithstanding the 
many efforts of a young friend who accompanied, to 
draw him away. 
“ Do stay and help us,” said Mabel, and when 
Flory’s beautiful eyes repeated the wish, Edgar 
yielded. 
Few, if any, went away from the Clifton ma»sion 
dissatisfied. But, as her father had said, many tongues 
were busy speculating about it, and in a few hours it 
was widely known that Miss Clifton was giving a 
temperance reception. Eagerly Mabel’s eyes sought 
the door on every new arrival of guests. She had 
hoped for the coming of a certain one. She had 
seated herself wearily in an arm chair when the same 
greeting that had fallen on her ears so many times 
that day, “ Happy New Year. Miss Clifton,” caused 
the bright light to return to her eyes, the beautiful 
flush to her face, as she rose to receive Ernest Addison. 
There was rare expression in his eyes, when he received 
from her the greeting which seemed as if seeking an 
answer to the suspense of years. Edgar Livingston 
had drawn Flory to the window. They were looking 
out on the passers by. Reeling along the sidewalk, 
shouting and singing a drunken song, came Edgar’s 
friend of the morning. Flory turned from the sicken¬ 
ing sight. Edgar followed, saying : 
“ But for you and Miss Clifton, I might have been 
one of that party.” And going to Mabel, he said : 
“Miss Clifton, your slumber to-night should be 
peaceful. You have not helped to cloud either brain 
or heart of any of your friends to-day. Accept my 
warmest thanks for having saved me from both.” 
Edgar saw an expression in Ernest’s eyes that made 
him think it would be quite as agreeable to all parties 
if he would take Flory back to the recess of the win¬ 
dow, to the piano, or any where out of hearing just 
then. A few moments after his fine voice was blended 
with hers in a well chosen duet. Then Ernest told 
Mabel of the love that had been hers ever since he 
knew her. 
“ I came one night to lay my heart before you. 
You had many guests and offered them wine. You 
noticed not that I placed my glass untouched on the 
table. I left early. I dared not woo the heart or 
one who held such a fearful temptation before me ; 
why you will know when I tell you the terrible truth. 
My only brother went down to a drunkard’s grave, 
the woman he loved urging him on. For a time 
mother and I won him from the fatal passion. He 
was doing well. We believed he would fulfil the 
bright promise of early youth. He grew to love a 
beautiful girl. She was wild and thoughtless, and one 
night at a party in her father’s house, she urged him 
to drink. ‘ One glass. Every one but you takes 
wine,’ said she. He resisted. She taunted him about 
having to abstain entirely because he had not the self- 
control to use wine in moderation. He yielded, 
accepted the fatal glass from her hand, and drank, first 
moderately, then on and on, in the old fearful way, 
until the end came—a ruined life and a mother’s 
broken heart. Do you wonder that I fled from you ? 
Every hour since, yearning to return yet daring not. 
To-day I heard what you were doiug. Earnestly 
thanking God that light had dawned upon you, I 
hastened here to lay my heart before the only woman 
I ever loved. Will you be my wife, Mabel?” 
Her heart was too full of joy; she could not tell him 
in words how happy she was, but her little hands lay 
still in his. She raised her eyes a moment, and he saw 
the love of years beaming there. He needed no 
answer. Judging from the low tones into which the 
voices in the other room had fallen, I think some 
other hearts must have found their mates. But the 
pairs were separated, or rather rejoined, by the return 
of Mr. Clifton, who entered, calling out: 
“ Mabel, dear, to me these rooms look rather dark. 
Let’s have the gas turned on, if you please.” 
And when there was light enough for Mr. Clifton to 
look into his daughter’s eyes he saw a bright light 
shining there. Another moment, when Flory came to 
greet him, he said with a smile, 
“ Ah, I see why you young folks know nothing of 
the surrounding darkness—guided by the-light within. 
Well, have you had a pleasant day ?” 
“ A happy day, father; there are no regrets to steal 
in and mar it,” Mabel said with a bright smile. 
“ I am glad of it — glad of your resolve, Mabel. 
How glad you will know when I tell you that this 
morning I closed the eyes of a father whose only son 
was away in some drinking saloon. How my heart 
ached for that father! And what a balm it was to 
think at that time my daughter was not holding the 
fatal glass to any 
voice trembling. 
young man,” said Mr. Clifton, his 
