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THE SOUTHERN WORLD, AUGUST 1,1888,
W om $ Skwk-
TEWUl. FAITH.
When heaven was stormy, earth was cold.
Ami sunlight shunned the wold and wave,
Thought burrowed In the church-yard mold
And (ed on dreama that haunt the grave.
But now that heaven Is freed from strife
And earth's foil heart with rapture swells,
Thought soars through Helds of endless life
Above the shining asphodels.
What flower that drl iks the south wind's breath,
Whatsparlcllng leaf, what Hebe morn,
But flouts the sullen greybeard, death.
And laughs our Arctic doubts to acorn f
Pale scientist, scant of healthful blood,
Your ghastly tomes one moment close;
Pluck freshness from a spring-time bud.
Kind wisdom In the opening rose.
Hark the white lily, whose sweet core
Hath many a wlld-bee swarm enticed,
And drew therefrom a honeyed lore
Pure as the tender creed of Christ I
Yea. even the weed, which upward holds
Its tiny ear past bower and lawn,
A lovelier faith than yours unfolds
Caught from the far faint winds of dawn.
—PaULH. Haynk. In Jlarper'i Magazine.
Written specially tor the Southern World.]
HY GRANDFATHER'S WILL.
BY UELKN 11AKCOUBT.
“Well, Marla," said my father, looking
across the table, as my mother laid down
the letter she had been reading, “Was 1
right? Is it really from Jane Weston?"
“It really is," she answered, with a per
plexed look on the dear, tender face, “and it
contains an invitation for Elsie to spend a
few days with her at the Grange.”
“What!”
No wonder my father and I united in the
exclnmation, for in all these years that my
Cousin Jane and her husband had held sway
over the grand old estate that should have
been my father's inheritance, this was the
very first invitation extended to any one of
his family to cross the thresholdof the home
of his youth.
“She says that John, (her husband, you
know), will be away all next week, and she
will be lonely," continued my mother,
“What do you think of it, Harry ? I do not
quite like to accept so tardy an invitation,
and yet it seems wrong to refuse the first
overture toward a reconciliation. I have al
ways believed that Jane would have done
differently, if it had not been for her hus
band."
“I don’t know,” said my father, doubt
fully; "Jaue is, I think, good-hearted, and
1 hold her no ill will, though she reigns over
my rightful kingdom, where my poor futher
meant I should be sovereign lord. What do
you say Elsie? You are slightly interested,
and are entitled to a voice in the matter."
“I—I think," said I slowly, “that I should
like to go, just to see the place where you
were horn.”
“Well, we will think it over, and tell you
our decision to-morrow. You know the cir
cumstances my child, and that it is rather a
perplexing question to settle."
Yea, I surely did know the circumstances,
I, Elsie Heydon, had not lived to the ma
ture age of nineteen, without having heard
all about our romantic family history; how
my father, an only child, had offended my
grandfatherby marrying my mother, instead
of the heiress selected for him; how he bad
been disinherited, and the doors of his old
home closed against him; how a distant
cousin, had been summoned to take his place
in the house, and in my grandfather’s will,
his son being left out entirely.
Then, after several years, the old man fell
sick, and believing he was on his death-bed,
relented, and sent for his son.
There was a reconciliation, full and entire,
and then my father hastened home to bring
his wife and year old infant to his parent’s
bedside.
Contentment, and a lightened conscience
had done wonders for the patient, and the
physician announced his decided opinion
that the crisis was safely passed, and my
grandfather would be as well as ever in a
short time.
“But, I've made it all safe for you anyhow,
Harry," he said eagerly, “the old will Is no
good now, I've a better one here, Lampson
drew it up this morning and Walker and his
wife witnessed it I'll burn the other one
to-morrow; it was a wicked .will, Harry—
can you ever forgive me ?" he added, wist-
fnlly.
“Fully and freely, dear father, And now
you have talked enough; Marla and I are
going down to the village for to-night, John
says Jane has no room ready for us yet; we
expect to find you well to-morrow.”
They did indeed, find him “well" on the
morrow; sowell that neither sickness nor
trouble could touoh him evermore 1
During the night he bad passed away from
earth; John Weston hadfeat with him to ad
minister medicines, but he bad fallen asleep,
he said, and when he awoke he found him
self alone with a corpse.
“I can’t understand it at all,” exclaimed
the puzzled doctor. “1 never made such a
mistake before in my life. I thought his
life safe for some years to come; he was ap
parently entirely over this attack—I confess
I am puzzled."
Still, the fact remaiued that he was gone,
and to ail appearances, he bad carried out of
the world with him, his last and true will,
for not a trace of it could be found, in vain
the old house was searched in every nook
and cranny, on the possible supposition that
he had arisen from bis bed in secret, and
had hidden it away.
It had been duly executed in my father’s
favor, with a comfortable annuity for Cousin
Jane, and then left in my grandfather’s pos
session ; to thede facts, Lampson, the lawyer,
Walker and his wife Betsey, testified most
emphatically.
But of course, this availed nothing legally,
my father went sadly back to his illy-paid
work, as a clerk in a large store, and tried to
forget the wealth that was rightfully his.
And now, after the lapse of eighteen years,
came this strange invitation to me, to visit
my father’s birth-place.
It was accepted, of course; my parents
were not of the kind to refuse overtures of
friendship, even from one who had wronged
them, and so it came about that the next
day (Cousin Jane had been very particular to
specify the days for my arrival and de
parture), I started for the Grange.
It was a lordly building, well worthy to be
the ancestral home of the good old family of
which my father was the head, and I won
dered how he could so patiently have borne
its loss; my hot young blood boiled with in
dignation, as I thought of the cruel stroke
of fortune that had turned him out of his
rightful home.
And Cousin Jane, how unfit she was to be
the mistress of that beautiful estate! A
little, faded, timid woman, who, with her
husband, and two old servants dwelt in one
corner of one wing of the rambling build
ing—all the rest of the mansion had been
shut up ever since my grandfather’s death.
Cousin Jaue was in very frail health, and
terribly nervous—I saw that at once; evi
dently anxious to have me feel at ease, and
yet herself starting ut every sound, und look
ing fearfully over her shoulders whenever a
door opened suddenly.
Two servants, I have said; one of these
was a feeble old man, whose bright eyes
scarcely left my face, us be waited at dinner
upon his mistress and myself.
“And now Elsie," said Cousin Jane, “I am
going to lie down awhile, I am not strong,
and have to rest every afternoon, but you
must make yourself at home; go where you
like, do what you like. Your room is next
to mine, you know it is John’s room, but
you will be gone before he comes back, and
the rest of the house is not in order for
guests."
Left to my own devices, I soon found my
self wandering down to the beautiful river
that flowed swiftly along at the foot of the
terraced lawn; a boat was moored there, a
light skiff belonging to the Grange, and as I
was fully at home with a pair of oars, 1
yielded to the temptution and was quickly
afloat ; unacquainted with my surroundings,
however, and seeing that here and there
large rocks cropped up out of the shallow
river-bed, I did not venture far, only far
enough to note that about half a mile below
the Grange, in the middle of the stream, was
a cozy little island, with one substantial
farm-house standing back from the shore,
embowered in grand old trees.
Little did I think what urgent importance
that same lonely house was quickly to as
sume in my eyes!
Returning to the Grange, I was met by the
old servant I had noticed at dinner. “Eh I
Miss Elsie," he said, “I’ve been looking for
your sweet face all over. I wanted to see it
for the love of your father, my dear, sure I
taught him to shoot and ride, and ah 1 lack-
a-day, the dear young master I" he drew bis
rough coat-sleeve across his eyes, “I'm Walk
er, Miss Elsie, mayhap you’ve heard the
name?"
“Ah t that I have," I cried, clasping his
rough band in mine. “I have often heard
my father speak of you, he says he has no
more faithful friend in the world than
Walker. I am so glad to know you, why—
you were one of the witnesses to my grand
father’s real true will I"
“Hist I hist I" he exclaimed in a sudden
tremor, looking round as if be expected
some one to appear,—(I easily guessed who.)
“If Mr. Weston heard you, Min Elsie I Bat
the Lord be thanked, he’s had to go away on
business for the first time these eighteen
years, he stays all the time in his library
and don’t like folks to go in it. It’s queer
like. He wouldn’t have let you come here,
he cant abide the name of Heydon. My
idee is that Mrs. Weston knows she ain't
going to live long, and has sent for you to
tell you something before she dies, for she
knows some queer things, or my name ain’t
Walker. But she's mortal feared of that
man, he's a bad one aud he hates me like
pison, because he has to keep me and Betsy
here on fair wages, or else pay us a nuity,—
so the will ordered, and it’s cheaper to keep
us here, so here we stays. He don’t like it a
bit."
Was this really the explanation of the un
expected invitation tendered me, was there
something to be revealed, that cousin Jane
preferred telling me, rather than to my
father? •
All that night I lay awake pondering over
Walker’s words, and my thoughts traveled
in a circle, of which the missing will was
the centre, diameter and circumference.
Several times the next day I felt sure
cousin Jane was about to speak on the sub
ject uppermost in my mind, but each time,
she hesitated, shivered, then turned the con
versation to indifferent topics, and so the
day wore on.
Tea was over, and we too were sitting
quietly together, when a heavy footstep
sounded in the hall outside, and os cousin
Jane sprang to her feet, trembling like one
with a sudden chill, the door was flung open
and a tall forbidding looking man entered
the room.
“John is that you? I thought you would
not be back for a week yet ?”
“And you are sorry your thoughts were
wrong, no doubt. You’re a model wife! I
got througli and came home, that’s all. Who
is that?" he asked suddenly, as his glance
fell upon me.
“Its—its—Elsie—Heydon” fluttered cousin
Jane, cowering against the wall as a thun
der-cloud darkened her husband’s face.
“Who?” he shouted, “who? How did she
come here?”
“1—I—invited her I thought—
A sharp snarl like that of a wild beast
broke from the infuriated man, as with one
bound he reached her side. The next in
stant there was a pitiful cry and a heavy
fall.
“Beast! brute! coward! ’’ I exclaimed,
and then as be turned furiously towards
me, I fled in sudden fear, for the face I saw
was that of a demon.
I fled, but whither ? Not to the room I had
occupied, that was bis, I remembered,—the
bail door stood open—out of the house,
around to the servants quarter’s, into the
arms of astonished old Walker, I rushed,
breathless and panting.
What was I to do? It was too late to start
for my home that night, but I could not
meet that terrible man again, and I knew I
could best serve Cousin Jane by keeping out
of the way.
Walker and Betsey put their heads to
gether in consultation, and as a result con
ducted me quietly upstairs, and Into a grand
old bed-room, in the wing adjoining that oc
cupied by the present owner of the Grange.
“I’ll make the bed up fresh, and put a
warming-pan, to take the damp off, Miss
Elsie,” said kind old Betsey, “and me and
Walker will fix a bed on the floor in the
next room, if you like and leave the door
open; but laws, he'll never look for you
here; he hasn’t stepped foot in this wing
these eighteen years—so don’t you scare
none."
I did not attempt to undress, 1 was too
nervous and excited for that, but threw my
self on the bed in my clothes and soon, worn
out, and soothed by the sense of compan.
ionship afforded by the loud breathing of
the old couple near by, I fell Into a sound
sleep.
When and why I awoke I cannot tell, but
I suddenly became conscious that l was not
alone in the room, I had left the lamp burn
ing, and by its pale light, I saw and that
without the least sensation of tear, that a
man, with snow-white hair, slight and frail
in figure, was standing within the apart
ment.
He turned his face to the light, and I
recognized features, that an old oil painting
in my father’s possession, had rendered me
very familiar with, my grandfather’s I
Yes, there stood my grandfather, looking
at me with a gentle smile on his lips. I felt
no fear as I have said, it did not seem to me
at all strange that he should be there, but as
he raised his hand, I sat up, and gazed at
him in earnest attention.
He moved towards the door, then turned
rad beckoned me to follow; still keeping
my eyes fixed upon him, I stepped to the
floor and obeyed him.
Down the corridor, up one flight of stairs,
down another—the full moon beaming in
at the windows as we passed—I followed my
ghostly guide.
The figure paused at a door; it flew open,
and we entered an apartment I recognized
at once,—it was Mr. Weston's library, where
nearly all his time was spent; there was a
dim light burning, it was always kept so,
for he had a habit of coming there at night
when he could not sleep.
Straight across the room I followed my
guide until we stood before tbe quaintly
carved fire-place; then one finger was raised
and pointed towards a group of carved
flowers.
Mechanically, so far as any conscious
volition of my own was concerned—I too
reached forth my hand and my finger
touched the central point of the flower
group; instantly, the latter swung inward,
disclosing a shallow aperture, so artfully
concealed by the skillful carving, that no
one would have dreamed of its existence,
even if searching for some such hiding place.
Still tlie finger pointed onward, and I
plunged my hand into the opening and
closed it upon a folded document!
“The will! the will!” I exclaimed ex
citedly ; I saw a triumphant smite light up
the wan features of my ghostly guide, and
then the spot where he stood was vacant.
At the same instant a terrible oath smote
on my ears, and John Weston, wild, hag
gard, with the look of the very devil in his
eyes, leaped towards me from the open
door.'
I had felt no fear of my ghostly visitor,
but from my earthly assailant I recoiled in
humble dread, there was such hatred, des
peration, murder written on his convulsed
features.
I eluded his grasp and cried out as I fled
towards the door.
"My grandfather brought me here, he
showed me the hiding place—oh ! there he
is now, grandfather, save me, save me! ’’
I saw that frail form once more, it stepped
between me and the infuriated man who
threatened me, and John Weston stopped
short in his efforts to seize me, his cheeks
grew ashy pale, his eyes protruded, his knees
shook, and with a low groan he sank an ab-
ject heap on the floor.
Had my words alone so magical nn effect,
or did he see what 1 saw ?
I did not stop to consider that question,
grasping the precious will tightly, I ran as
one runs for life, down the stairs, out into
the clear quiet moonlight, down the path,
across the lawn, with quick coming breath,
for 1 knew the instant John Weston recov
ered from his temporary stupor, he would
pursue me relentlessly.
On, on, on, flown to the river shore, and
there lay the little skiff before me, floating
lightly on the tide.
Blessed little skiff, a revelation of hope
and escape I The oars were lying in the bot
tom, and to unhook the chain and push out
from the shore was the act of a moment
Carefully I slipped that precious paper
inside my dress, to insure its safety, and
then os the sound of hasty steps running
down the gravel walk to the shore, caught
my ears, I pulled away with might and
main.
A fearful torrent of curses, a pistol ball
that whistled by, and struck the water
ahead of me, and soon after the rattle of
oars, fiercely, swiftly falling oars, behind
me, urged me on to greater and greater ex
ertions; my foe had found another boat,
I remembered having seen another close by,
and now it was, as I felt, a race for life or
death, %
The moonlight guided me on my course,
just as the rattle of my oars guided my
pursuer, for I had happily too much the
start, for my small boat to be visible in the
soft lustre of the moon.
Suddenly the island I had seen the day
before loomed up before me, and my heart
gave a great leap as I recalled .that cosy
house near to the shore.
On flew the skiff until its prow touched
the shelving sands; then I sprang out, and
running out into the water with the boat
sent it afloat down the stream.
"He won’t hear the oars, but he’ll see the
boat soon, and think I have fainted, so he
will follow it for a while anyhow, till I am
safe in the house.,’
So I reasoned as I ran swiftly to my haven
of refuge, and startled the peaceful inmates
from their slumbers, never intermitting my
attack upon the door, until the farmer cau
tiously opened it.
And then, the fearful strain over, I fell in
sensible at his feet, to the dismay of
rad his kind hearted wife.